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Baptism of the Our Lord Sunday
January 8, 2023 | 10:00 a.m.

From Generation to Generation: The Waters of Baptism

Shannon J. Kershner
Pastor, Fourth Presbyterian Church

Matthew 3:13–17

They all stood down there at the river’s edge. We don’t know if they were in a line, each waiting for their turn, or if they were milling around in a big clump of people, feet getting muddier and muddier by the minute. Now while I have never seen the Jordan River, I have heard it can be quite murky. Regardless, though, even if the Jordan’s waters ran clear on that day, when you have a lot of people traipsing around in dirt near water, it is bound to get pretty muddy.

And we have good reason to think there were a lot of people traipsing around, waiting for their baptism. Before the text we just read, Matthew tells us that John the Baptist was preaching his call for repentance to crowds of people, “the people of Jerusalem and all Judea and all the region along the Jordan.” Lots of people, crowds of people—crowds that included soldiers and tax collectors, family people, synagogue people, religious leaders, as well as other people of rather ill repute. So not only does it sound like it was a large, muddy crowd huddled down there by the river’s edge, but it was one made up of interesting characters, to say the least. And right in the middle of all of them stood John the Baptist as he strongly preached to about their need to repent, to turn around, to get clean, to change direction—a change, he implied, that would start at the moment of their baptism.

And yet, John was not the only member of his family member who was present. No, Matthew indicates that Jesus, his cousin, also stood right in the middle of the crowd if the people were gathered in a clump; or perhaps at the end of the line, if that is how they were handling it that day. Matthew simply states that Jesus came from Galilee, just like all the others, to John at the Jordan and requested to be baptized, just like all the others. Now, at first, John was surprised by this request. For while John might not have known exactly what was different about his cousin named Jesus, he knew something was different about his cousin named Jesus.

Thus, John asked to switch things around for that particular baptism. Let Jesus baptize him instead, he stated. Keep things in the order in which they ought to be. But Jesus refused John’s request and told him to go ahead. His baptism was necessary, Jesus said. It was his ordination if you will, the beginning of his ministry.

And so, Jesus went down into the water, just like everybody else, and was baptized by John, just like everybody else—all the soldiers, all the tax collectors, all the people John had scared straight through his tough preaching of repentance and change. Jesus went down into the water, just like they did, and was baptized by John, just like they were.

But we wonder why, don’t we? Why did Jesus go down to that river’s edge with everybody else and get baptized in the same exact way? After all, John was preaching a baptism of repentance—a chance to start washing away the old sinful self, in order to start again. A kind of tangible New Year’s resolution of sorts. That is why all those other interesting characters were there. To get a new start. To get right with God. To repent and change directions. To demonstrate a new and different way they hoped to live.

But Jesus—why would Jesus do that? For while we believe that Jesus was fully human, just like you and me, we also believe that he lived out that calling so completely that he never fell short of it, unlike you and me. So clearly, Jesus was not being baptized for his repentance. And that causes us to wonder why he was even down there in the first place, hanging out in the mud and the muck, either waiting in the middle of a mass of sinners or waiting patiently at the end of the line?

Now, we have a surplus of theological reasons that you and I have explored over the years, but for today, while we still linger in the beginning-ish of January, the start of yet another year, I want us to concentrate on just one part of this baptismal moment. Today, I want us to consider what Matthew reports happened as Jesus came up out of the water. I want us all to receive the gift of the Voice once again.

For after convincing John to go ahead with it, after getting dirty and wet and baptized just like everybody else, Jesus came up out of the water to see the heavens open up, God’s Spirit descending down as a dove, and the dove settling on Jesus while a voice echoes out for all to hear, saying: “This is my Son, the Beloved; with whom I am well pleased.” And with those words recorded not only in the Gospel of Matthew, but also in the Gospels of Luke and Mark, God hands you and me a Christmas gift, or rather, an Epiphany gift, and waits for us to open it.

For while it might already be January 8th, in Jesus’ baptism, we get to see and hear the Christmas proclamation yet again. The proclamation that Jesus was God’s love made visible, God’s love made our flesh, God with us. Now, let’s set aside the holy voice for just a moment and again clarify that Jesus did not go down to that river’s edge to confess anything he had done or not done, or to repent for any ways he had fallen astray. Rather, Jesus stood around with all those interesting characters in the mud and the muck, getting dirty and wet and baptized just like them, because, in him, God had truly decided to be one of us—not one like us, but one of us.

And to be one of us meant getting dirty and wet and baptized just like everybody else. To be one of us meant waiting in line, holding the cloak of the man in front of you as he walked into the river, and celebrating with the woman next to you as she made her way back to the shore.

Our Reformed theological tradition claims that one reason Jesus was baptized on that day was precisely so he would be identified and linked with all of those interesting characters who were listening to John: linked with the soldiers, linked with the tax collectors, linked with the family people, linked with the synagogue people, linked with the religious leaders, linked with all the sinners, linked with you and linked with me. Jesus was baptized that day, precisely so he would be known as one of them, one of us, not just our Savior, but also our brother, our sibling.

It is the same reason Jesus was born of a woman—to be all of who we are so that we might become more like who he is. As Barbara Brown Taylor once wrote, “[In his baptism, Jesus] took the plunge right along with the rest of us, and never asks us to go anywhere he has not been first. ”

But even that proclamation of total solidarity with us is not the entire gift we are handed on this Baptism of the Lord Sunday. We are also handed the gift of the blessing. The gift of the voice. “This is my Son, the beloved, with whom I am well pleased.” For on this Baptism of the Lord Sunday, I am here to proclaim to us all that just as God delighted in Jesus at the moment of his baptism, giving voice to the claim on his life that had been there all along, so God delights in us just as much. So, God claims us, just as much.

And trust me, I know it can be hard to believe, hard to trust. You might not really believe me now. After all, we hear so many other voices telling us who we are, or who we are not. What we are worth, or how worthless we are. Sometimes, for those of us who are adults, the voices from childhood still ring in our ears, voices that cause us to question if we will ever be enough to warrant belonging, if we will ever do enough to warrant love. And for those of us who are in middle school or high school, not only do you now have to contend with actual voices questioning your beloved-ness, but you also have the pressure of all the voices on social media and beyond.

And undoubtedly, whether we acknowledge it today or not, many of us make these kinds of harsh judgements about ourselves all the time. I just need to do this better. Or, I just need to stop doing that. Or, I just need to look this way, or I need to speak that way. I am sure you can add your own. But rarely do those other voices or our own voice of self-judgement ever say anything like “This is my beloved one, with whom I am well pleased.” As a matter of fact, typically, all those other voices, all that self-judgment, stand in stark contrast to the voice of God’s blessing.

And yet, guess what. On this Baptism of the Lord Sunday, I get to proclaim to all of us, myself included, that just as Jesus was baptized like everybody else, the voice of blessing that echoed for Jesus, also echoes for everybody else. It echoes for all those interesting characters with muddy feet including the soldiers, the tax collectors, the family people, the synagogue people, the religious leaders, the whole variety of sinners, you, and me.

As Henri Nouwen once wrote about the gift of that holy voice of blessing, “I want you to hear that voice, too. It is not a very loud voice because it is an intimate voice. It comes from a very deep place. And it says ‘You are my beloved son; you are my beloved daughter; [you are my beloved child]. I love you with an everlasting love. I have molded you together in the depths of the earth. I have knitted you in your mother’s womb. I’ve written your name in the palm of my hand and I hold you safe in the shade of my embrace. You belong to Me and I belong to you. Trust that you are the beloved. That is who you truly are.’”

Try something this week, will you? Each morning or each evening for a whole week, open up this late Christmas gift, this Epiphany gift, from God. Each morning or each evening this next week, turn to this third chapter of Matthew and listen to this text, making a slight substitution of words: Read: “You are my child, my Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.” If you have children, do the exercise with them, too. For don’t you think that hearing that voice of blessing every single day could change you?

Don’t you think if you regularly heard deeply that the truest thing about you, the most defining assessment of who you are, is that you are one of God’s beloved ones—don’t you think if you heard that each day that you might become more courageous, or more peaceful, or less anxious, or kinder to yourself or others? After all, that truth is what I claim every time we have a baptism, as we walk down the center aisle. And yet, that is a claim not just for newly baptized babies or children, that is also God’s claim on every single one of us.

For Jesus’ baptism is the announcement that just as Jesus was baptized into our humanity, we have all been baptized into his family. And the truest truth for all those who stood at the river’s edge on that day; the truest truth for the generations who have come since, as well as for the generations who will follow; the truest truth for you and for me is not that we fail; it is not that we fall; it is not that we sin; it is not that we don’t measure up; it is not that we need to regularly repent and change direction—all that is quite clear and cannot be argued.

And yet, in the Gospel’s great Nevertheless, God’s promise is that no matter how true all that might be, there is an even more profound truth lodged in each of us. And it is the profound truth that echoed for all the ages at Jesus’ baptism: we are all beloved of God—and not just us, but ALL people. And the announcement of that blessing is the most beautiful and powerful gift God could hand us on this day or on any day.

In a few moments, all those who have been baptized or who are preparing for baptism will have an opportunity to reaffirm our baptismal vows. To recommit ourselves to discipleship. To renew our dedication to being a part of this group project called church. To affirm again that though none of us have it all figured out, we are doing our best to try and move in the right direction—into the direction of good and grace, in the direction of God.

And it is my deep hope as your pastor that as we hear once again those words of promise and covenant; as we once again listen for God’s promise of faithfulness that needs no renewal; and as we once again make our own promises that need constant renewal; I hope that underneath all of that, we will listen for the voice. We will listen for the voice of God’s blessing that unequivocally states who we are—God’s beloved ones, in whom God delights—not tolerates, but delights.

And that we might remember together that the most powerful truth about our lives is that truth—You are God’s beloved; with whom God is well-pleased. And then, perhaps, with practice and God’s grace, we might start regularly listening for it; we might start regularly believing it; we might start regularly trusting it; so that we might start regularly living it. For this is who we are—all of us—now and forever and there’s nothing we can do to change it. Thanks be to God.

Amen.

Taylor, Barbara Brown. Leaving Church: A Memoir of Faith
Nouwen, Henri. Life of the Beloved. New York: Crossroads Publishing. 1992.

Sermon © Fourth Presbyterian Church