The Baptism of Our Lord

Sermon Notes from January 9th

In 1521, Martin Luther was sequestered in Wartburg Castle in the Thuringian region of Germany. He was absorbed in the revolutionary work of translating the Hebrew and Greek of the bible into the vernacular High German of the local churches. His own writings reveal profound distress and disruption - it was aching work, and Luther was convinced that the devil himself was scheming against him. Throughout the castle, he could be heard shouting “I AM BAPTIZED! I AM BAPTIZED!” Against the forces of whatever evil he believed to be at work, he raised his own baptism as the only necessary and powerful defense. 

The Gospel text from Luke this morning offers us just one of the four Gospel recollections of Jesus’ own baptism by John the Baptist in the Jordan River. The gospels are always very deliberate - there isn’t a word or phrase or chapter that does not tell us something immediately important about Jesus. The fact that this story is included in each of the four gospel texts insists on our attention to the riches of its mystery. -- But there are some questions here. Baptism, as we are often taught, is what removes from human beings the stain of sin. It is, according to the Book of Common Prayer, “the sacrament by which God adopts us as his children and makes us members of Christ’s body, the Church, and inheritors of the kingdom of God.” But if Jesus is the Son of God, and if Jesus was, as the Letter to the Hebrews proclaims, like us in every way but sin, why would Jesus need to be baptized at all? What sin could be taken away from one who is sinless? What unity could be more intimate than being God’s own son? 

In the telling of this story in the Gospel of Matthew, Jesus comes to John the Baptist and is initially refused - “I need to be baptized by you” John exclaims, “and yet you come to me?” Jesus insists, declaring, “let it be so now. For it is proper for us in this way to fulfill all righteousness.” To fulfill all righteousness. The phrase in the Bible suggests that this means both to show obedience to God and to fulfill the prophecy of the Old Testament’s hope for the coming Messiah. Underlying everything, this language of fulfillment and righteousness indicates that something is to be made complete. Something in this act is the summation of the hope of the cosmos that has longed for redemption. Something here is perfected, consummated - rendered immaculate, integral, and true. Something here is made whole. 

In this baptism of Jesus, God - the sweet and perfect divine in Christ - stands in the waters of the earth that he created. In this baptism, humanity - the human person of Christ - becomes wreathed in majesty. The water that was once the medium of God’s judgment and purification in the story of Noah is consecrated in Christ, the One through whom our own judgment and purification are mediated in mercy…….. 

St. Maximus of Turin, in his sermon on the baptism of Christ from the late 4th century, writes that, “Christ is baptized not that he may be sanctified by the waters, but that he himself may sanctify the waters.” What a magnificent idea. There is no individual sin, here, to be reconciled, or personal unity with God to be sought, but as Christ himself steps into the waters, all of Creation is borne between his shoulders. It is here that the Holy Trinity is manifested completely - Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. There is Genesis imagery here: remember at the story of creation: the Spirit of God hovered over the waters. Here again, the Spirit hovers over the waters. At the Creation, something new was brought into being and here again: there is something new, something created. 

Here we see nothing less than the complete and total revelation of the triune God inaugurating the public ministry of Jesus. Before his miracles, before his teaching, before his calling of the apostles and his feeding of thousands, before his Passion, it is this baptism through which the Father confides, “You are my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.” 

How revelatory that Jesus begins his public ministry by stepping into the place of sinners. Notice that there is a crowd, there, at the Jordan River. The gospels tell us that he is one of many. John has been speaking to a group: preaching and baptizing. Jesus was there among others who - had they not known him - likely thought he was just like them. Just a man and a sinner, a person like them with a heart grown ill from absence and decay. He stands with them, enters into the water with them, and so anticipates the Cross itself. In this act of standing in the very place of sinners, Christ gives eternity a foretaste of his Passion, death, and Resurrection. He is here already the Lamb of God, the Passover who is sacrificed for us. 

It is through our own baptism that we come to recognize the magnitude of salvation. We know, intimately, what it is to suffer and yearn and lose and decay. We know what it is to be dragged into the desert of our own spirit, to stare temptation in the face - to see the devils among us so agile and strong alongside the humiliation of our weakness. But Jesus, too, was a traveller of the desert. 

As Christ consecrated all waters of baptism, our own baptismal seal as his own forever unites us to him, and each burden is rendered light when we bring it to his river. St. Paul in his letter to the Romans writes, “Do you not know that all of us who have been baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into his death? Therefore we have been buried with him by baptism into death, so that just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, so we too might walk in newness of life. For if we have been united with him in a death like his, we will certainly be united with him in a resurrection like his.” 

Just as Jesus’ baptism heralded the conversion and transformation of all of creation, our baptism calls to us as children of God to let our own hearts be knit into this holy work of redemption. Martin Luther in that castle did not yell, “I WAS BAPTIZED.” He yelled, “I AM BAPTIZED.” Baptism is a continuing state of being! It is a radical affirmation of the completeness of God’s care, and if we are living it - praying in it, swimming in it, holding it close - it will show us who we are. 

We are asked by the whole Church, “will you continue in the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, in the breaking of the bread, and in the prayers? Will you persevere in resisting evil, and whenever you fall into sin, repent and return to the Lord? Will you proclaim by word and example the Good News of God in Christ, seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving your neighbor as yourself, strive for justice and peace among all people, and respect the dignity of every human being?” And we answer, “I will, with God’s help.” May Jesus’ baptism remind us of the power of this promise. 

Against the rot of pride and fear, let your heart cry - I am baptized. Against temptation in the desert - against insidious lusts for power, safety, or stability - I am baptized. Against indifference, cruelty, ignorance, loneliness - I am baptized. Set aside whatever it is that has kept you from trusting in God’s sweetness, and come down into the river at his bidding. It is Jesus himself who showed us how.

Preached by Mother Brit Frazier
The Baptism of the Lord 2022
Saint Mark’s, Locust Street, Philadelphia

The Gift of the Magi

The journey of the Magi begins with a visit to Jerusalem.  To understand what the scriptures might be teaching us in the story of the Epiphany, it’s important to be aware of how the story is actually told, which starts with remembering why it was they traveled to the holy city.  The Magi had observed a star in the East, and for reasons they did not share, they interpreted the appearance of this star as a sign that a king of the Jews had been born.  We don’t know why precisely this piece of news was of interest to the Magi, who were not Jewish; but that doesn’t matter.  Jerusalem was the center of the Jewish world, and the location of the Temple, so, when they thought a new Jewish king had been born, it was to Jerusalem that the Magi went.

News of these noticeable strangers’ visit reached Herod, along with the reason for their visit, “Where is the child who has been born king of the Jews?” the Magi came asking.  But Herod, who was a lackey of the Roman Empire, thought that he was the king of the Jews, and he was not about to let anyone steal his crown.  And so, Herod devised a plan to eliminate any possible threat to his power.  He secretly called the Magi to him and tasked them with finding this mysterious, newborn king.  “Look,” he said to the Magi, “I just want to come and worship him too; nobody’s saying anything bad is going to happen.  All I’m asking you to do is find me that kid.”  But of course we know that what he really wanted was to prevent the possibility that any other authority might certify the legitimacy of a rival to his power.

For most of my life, I have seen the story of the Epiphany as just what the church says it is: a story of revelation, of manifestation; an opening up of truth of the Incarnation of the Word of God to the whole world; an expansion of God’s work of salvation beyond the boundaries the chosen people of Israel; a point of profound sharing of God’s grace and favor with all humanity.  And I have no doubt that the message of this feast is, indeed, a message of such revelation, such manifestation, such an opening of the truth, and expansion of salvation, and sharing of grace and favor.  But I see now, that there is another very obvious message to be found in the story of the Epiphany, since it is also a story of power.  At its functional level, the story of the Epiphany is the story of a struggle for power.  Well, that’s partly true; for although the story is about power, only one party in the story sees it as a struggle - and that’s Herod.  The other party is an infant child, whose only struggle is to find his mother’s breast.

In his telling of the Epiphany, Saint Matthew is inviting us to see how God uses God’s power, and to notice how different are God’s methods of using his power from the methods of an earthly ruler - even an earthly ruler who counts himself among the chosen people of God (Herod was ethnically Arab, but raised in a Jewish household and counted himself a Jew.).  In the Epiphany, like the whole Christmas story, God’s incarnation is made manifest literally as an embodiment of non-violence, since Jesus is as helpless as any human infant. But Herod schemed secretly, and then ordered an act of terrorism on his own people when he feared he had been outsmarted.

For most of my life, I have seen the gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh, and the generosity in their gift-giving and their veneration as the most important attributes of the Magi.  But now, I see that perhaps their most important attribute is that they saw things for what they were - or more importantly, that they saw people for who they were.  The Magi saw Herod for who he was, and so they did not give him what he wanted.  And they also saw Jesus for who he is, and so they gave him what he never asked for.

The New York Times this morning reports on the political influence of Christian nationalists in America. The story mentions some of the most prominent names in leadership in the conservative evangelical movement, who seem to me to be deeply confused about the nature of God’s power and the way God asks us to follow the One who is non-violence incarnate.*  The burden of the Times story is to examine the way such Christian nationalists misunderstand and disrupt American democracy, a perspective with which I happen to agree.  But more to the point, American Christian nationalists misunderstand and disrupt the Gospel of Jesus Christ, the Christian faith, and the ministry of the church, doing violence to them all, and making it very difficult indeed to proclaim the true Gospel of love and peace.  

Jesus has not called us to make America a Christian nation.  Jesus has called all Christians to live lives of peace and love with a deep concern for their neighbors.

I am a Christian and a patriot, in that order.  Sometimes, what order things come in matters.  And if you want to be a Christian and a patriot, it seems clear that if you don’t get the order right, you won’t do well at being either a Christian or a patriot.

The Feast of the Epiphany offers us this triple reflection on power and the way it’s used.  We see Herod’s cruel and jealous use of power that stems from his insecurity.  We see Christ’s soft power of love, which is the power of non-violence incarnate.  And, most particularly to this feast, we see the power of seeing things and people for who and what they are, which is the greatest gift of the Magi, and which makes the lessons of the Epiphany matters of crucial importance for those of us who wish to be both Christians and patriots.

Preached by Fr. Sean Mullen
The Feast of the Epiphany 2022
Saint Mark’s, Locust Street, Philadelphia

* “Christian Nationalism Is One of Trump’s Most Powerful Weapons,” by Katherine Stewart, in the NY Times, 6 Jan 2022

Oh, take the Child

In dreams the warning came to Joseph thus:
“Get up! and take the child, his mother: Go!
For Herod wants to search and to destroy 
the Child, who is the hope and light of this 
dark world.  So flee to Egypt; there remain 
until it’s safe for light to shine again.”

The scriptures say that this was to fulfill 
the prophet’s word and God’s divine intent.
But truth to tell, there’s more than that.  This flight 
to Egypt shows that earth itself is not 
a place where Jesus could be safe.  His home - 
our home - is hostile to the Lord of Love.

We tell the story as though days gone by 
were different from our own more lightened days.
As though today we make an easy home 
for Love.  As though the Christ is welcome here 
among us now.  As though it’s safe for him 
to be with us, to teach, to heal, to live.

But Herod’s not the only threat that stalks 
the Son of God.  There’s lust, and pride, and greed,
and everything addictive sold to us 
in our own day and age.  A market was 
the only thing that Jesus overturned.
But markets rule our every step today.

And if we think that we have made on earth 
a happy home for Jesus, we should think 
again.  His flight to safety’s not a tale 
of long ago.  He is not safe with us.
Our manger scenes and cradle songs are meant 
for us, not him. (“Take the Child and go!”)

This was not how it was s’pposed to be.
The earth God made was good right from the start.
All things were good: God’s image-bearing folk 
the most of all.  But love’s not love without
the choice to stray, and still be loved, but sent, 
fig-leafed, outside the gates of paradise.

We tend to want to think the best about 
ourselves.  We need not think that everyone’s 
depraved, to see that we have work to do.
We need not hate ourselves, to admit we choose 
again and again to stray, because we’re weak, 
we’re proud, self-centered, and adventuresome.

We rather like ourselves like this, you see.
We are not sure we want another way 
to go.  We see that we are marv’lous-
ly made, but we forget whose hand it was 
that made us so.  The more they tell us what 
to buy, the more forgetful we become.

What home could Jesus find with us today?
What roof could shelter Love and keep him safe?
It is not purity he needs, but grace, 
a gift that comes from him, if you accept.
What peaceful land would claim its prince?
What peaceful peoples raise his banner high?

It is not safe for Jesus here with us.
I’ll be your angel; this will be your dream.
The powers of darkness dwell with us.  They seek
to quench the light.  For in that light there is 
forgiveness, truth, and justice for us all.
But power and wealth feel stronger in the dark.

When Herod died, an angel came again 
to Joseph in a dream.  “It’s safe to go
now,” came the message.  But it was not safe.
Another Herod ruled, and carried all 
his father’s cruelty, jealousy, and hate; 
that twisted way some sons their fathers ape.

You see what treach’ry lies in wait for Christ.
One night, an angel says it’s safe for him; 
the next, another angel brings renewed 
alarm.  And so it goes, from genera-
tion on to generation, just like that.
Another angel comes to Joseph’s dreams:

“Get up, and take the Child; it is not safe! 
Another Herod rules somewhere nearby.
His schemes employ new tactics, but his aim 
is tried and true: to take what he can get.
And Jesus, buying nothing, selling less, 
disrupts the markets.  This they will not have!”

The case I’ve made declares that Jesus is 
not safe here in this world with us.  I’ve called 
the darkness out.  I’ve named the markets for 
the idols that they are.  And idols are 
at enmity with God because they claim 
what rightfully is God’s as theirs, not his.

Another Herod lurks by every door; 
and you would think another angel, too.
For you would think the message has not changed:
Get up at once and take the Child and go! 
You’d think that Jesus would be on the run.
You’d think he’d gone and found another home.

You’d think that if the Lord of Love was forced 
to flee and flee again, he might give up.
You’d think he might just take his Love and go 
until he found a place with people who 
don’t stray so much, but love him in return, 
who find it easy to accept his grace.

But here, the Gospel tells us otherwise.
We’re told the earth’s not safe for Jesus, but, 
we’re told, he comes to us.  We’re told he will 
not stay away.  We’re told he will not flee 
again, but makes his home with us.  We’re told 
that Herod’s power does not rule the day.

Another Herod always takes the place 
of one who came before.  And Jesus is 
not safe.  But light has shone in darkness and 
the darkness overcomes it not.  You see, 
the Word-made-flesh comes to his own; his own 
receive him not, but still he will not flee.

It’s true, the world we live in is not safe 
for Jesus, who is peace itself, and who 
gives every gift away for free.  But he
will not depart; he will not shrink; he will 
not go away; he cannot shine less bright; 
he loves; forgives; he weeps; he suffers; dies.

And then, with healing in his wings, he rises, 
this humble Lord of Love, who points us back 
toward the goodness for which we were made.
He helps us learn to love the light.  He makes 
us shine with his reflected light.  He’d make 
the darkness disappear if we’d allow.

Perhaps some angel will descend to us 
to plant a dream inside our hearts that will 
awaken us from sleep, distract us from 
our screens, prevent us in our wars, and turn 
our hearts toward the One who never could 
be safe with us, but came to save us all.

When angels come to bring us dreams, their work 
is meant to waken us so then we act 
upon those dreams, as Joseph did so long 
ago.  And now, I hear a fragment of
that dream: “Get up and take the Child; but do 
not flee; he’s home, and he will stay with you.”

Oh, take the Child, and hold him in your heart.
Oh, take the Child, and bring him home with you.
Oh, take the Child, and let him teach, and heal, 
and live with you; he’ll bring forgiveness, truth,
and justice for us all.  Oh, take the Child; 
though it’s not safe, he’s here.  Oh, take the Child.

Fr. Sean Mullen
2 January 2022
Saint Mark’s, Locust Street, Philadelphia