Sermon: January 8, 2023 (Baptism of Jesus)

Preacher: Rev Ryan Slifka

Scriptures: Isaiah 42:1-9; Matthew 3:13-17

For those of you who don’t know, this past year St. George’s started this thing called “The Way.” It’s our adult spiritual formation process, where a couple dozen people have been gathering Sunday nights to share a meal and listen to the Bible together. It’s been building community, building friendships, building faith. I can’t speak for everyone, but from my vantage point it’s been awesome. It’s still open to join. Speak with me after church or send me an email.

The group’s meeting tonight again after a long Christmas hiatus. About half of our participants will begin discerning whether or not to continue in the process through the season of Lent, towards Easter, where they will either be baptized or renew their baptisms as disciples of Jesus Christ. And—whoda thunkit—our reading to begin this leg of the process is Jesus’ own baptism by John. Perfect time, perfect opportunity to talk about baptism. How fortuitous.

You might remember from about a month ago that John’s baptizing crowds of people by the banks of the Jordan River. Crowds come to confess, to pledge to repent—which is to turn away from their old lives of sin. John dunks them, they are forgiven, and turn towards a life of righteousness. All in the hopes that they will escape the coming wrath. To get their lives in order before the righteous judgment of God. Washing off all the mud and the muck of human brokenness. People come to John for a nice clean fresh start. One that hopefully sticks. Before it’s too late.

Now, lately when I’ve read about John and his throng of confessors, I can’t help but see myself in that crowd. I can’t help but remember my own baptism.

It wasn’t by the banks of a river, and it wasn’t in response to intense teaching. Back in March of 2007, my future wife Cheyenne and I—in our early 20’s—sat in a circle on some metal folding chairs in the library of Knox United Church in downtown Calgary. A few months prior we’d filled out church membership forms and placed them in the church’s offering plate, only to discover that membership required baptism. Neither of us had been baptized. We just liked the church and wanted to get involved. So there we were about an hour before the church service, with a half dozen people, ages 20-75. It was one of two or three sessions for people preparing for baptism, for themselves or their children.

I don’t remember a lot, but I remember us going around the circle, each of us answering a question like: “so why baptism at this time?” One dad, who was presenting his daughter for baptism, said that her being born made him want to be a good dad. Then there was this lovely old hippy grandma telling us about how her eyes had been opened to the ecological crisis, that she’d even switched all her lightbulbs to compact fluorescents that weekend (remember those?). Baptism to her represented an ever-deepening commitment to do good. And my reply was something vague like “I want to commit to being a better person.” I’m sure everyone heard that and thought, “future theologian over here.”

At this point, you might recognize a pattern of sorts. Though each of us had obviously different goals, and were at way different places in our lives, baptism seemed to represent our desire to be better: better dads, better environmentalists, better people-in-general. It was far less exciting, threatening, and urgent. But like those perched in the sand on the banks of the Jordan, we were all perched on those metal folding chairs seeking a new start. From this point on, we were going to do our best to do life differently. Baptism was a ritual, symbolizing our commitment to be more faithful. Our commitment to be better.

Now I’ll be honest. This newfound commitment didn’t last long. I mean, the fact I thought of things in very vague terms was pretty helpful. We did start recycling. I guess that counts as becoming a better person. I guess. But funny enough, though, there was little in terms of drastic change. Cheyenne and I actually became less committed to church for a while after that. We didn’t really take up any new disciplines of prayer or Bible reading. It was actually a time of reduced commitment, rather than renewed commitment. If baptism meant committing to turning away from sin and becoming a brand-new person, then I just didn’t get much better. If that’s what baptism meant, then I guess it either didn’t work in general, or didn’t really stick on me in particular.

Now, obviously something changed for me along the way.

After all, I’m standing before you dressed in something resembling a baptismal gown. On a day called “The Baptism of Jesus.” I’ve baptized people of all ages, and we’ve got a whole program that rotates around baptism and renewal of baptism. Wouldn’t it be a fun surprise if the point of my sermon was just “considering baptism? Skip it.” Obviously something’s changed between now and then.

What’s changed, really, is my fundamental understanding of the Christian faith. And that thing is that Christianity isn’t primarily about our ability to do stuff. I mean, it took me to seminary and having great teachers and mentors to realize this. I mean, I wish I’d discovered this at church. But Christianity isn’t first about our ability to be better, but about God. It’s about God and God’s goodness to us.

Back to John and the crowds by the river. John’s calling everyone to repent, to turn around. And he’s shocked to find Jesus there. After all, according to the gospels, Jesus is the long-awaited Messiah, the Son of God. Or in the words of the Nicene Creed “true God from true God, begotten not made.” The Bible and Christian teaching maintain that as God in the flesh, Jesus is sin-free. The letter to the Hebrews says that Jesus is 100% human, like us in all ways, yet without sin. And John knows it. He’s a little stunned to see Jesus count himself among the rabble, and putting in his baptismal request. “Hold on a second,” he says. “You should be baptizing me, not the other way around.” Jesus is out of place because he has no need to repent, to turn away from the old life, because his way is already set towards God and God’s way. Unlike us, Jesus is in no need of a reboot, restart, or life change. No need to commit to getting better cuz he’s already there.

So why does he do it?

 “Let it be so now,” Jesus replies. “Let it be so now; for it is proper in this way for us to fulfill all righteousness.” To fulfill all righteousness. What does that mean? I like what Origen, one of the early church writers says. He says that “by this act, Jesus showed himself to me ‘meek and lowly in heart.’ Coming to those inferior to him, doing all that followed in order humble himself and became ‘obedient until death.’”[i] Jesus’ baptism is a great act of humility. Jesus is revealing his nature as the suffering servant that Isaiah talks about in our Old Testament reading, the one who will not grow faint or be crushed, but the one who will be obedient to the end for the sake of the world.

I mean, look what happens when he surfaces after John dunks him. The sky tears open. The Holy Spirit descends diving down like a dove and lights on him. It ignites Jesus with the power of God. And a voice from heaven declares him to be God’s beloved Son.

Note the difference. John’s Baptism was first about confessing, and committing to start over. But with Jesus’ baptism, God’s in the mix. Rather than standing on the sidelines, shouting at us to swim harder. He’ll dive in head first in to the dangerous waters of the human condition, to save us from the sea of sin and death. To bring God’s saving love and presence to us. Jesus isn’t baptized for his sake, but our own. Baptism points to God’s commitment to come to us, to be with us, and with him the power to change us. From the inside out.

And really, this is the difference that’s made baptism meaningful for me. Baptism isn’t about my commitment—thank God (literally). Which as I said, failed pretty quickly after being pretty vague and lukewarm to begin with. And, if I’m really honest, a it’s a commitment that still fluctuates day-to-day, and fails sometimes spectacularly. But the fact that in my baptism God has come to me, is with me, in presence and in power, and has claimed me as her own forever. Knowing this… that’s changed me in ways my own effort never could. It’s brought me hope in times of fear, it’s brought me strength in times of pain, and courage in times of testing and temptation. And though I still have a long, long way to it’s, through it God’s made me more humble, kinder, and gentler, more empathetic, understanding in ways I didn’t think possible. Baptism is what we call a means of grace. Through it God’s even made me better in ways I never would have expected. That I never could have done on my own.

And really, what I’m talking about, the same thing I’ve experience it’s promised to you, too.

If you’ve spent your life trying to live up to expectations. If you’ve got the idea that Christianity is all about your ability to be good and do right, the most powerful thing you can do is give that up entirely. If you’ve spent your life trying to be good and do right and falling short. If you’ve tried to be better and failed, even if you’ve never met a commitment you’ve decided to break… boy do I have some good news for you: there is a power greater than all of your failings. And one of the ways that power comes to us is in baptism.

To be baptized means that the heavens are opened. That God comes to us, not the other way around. It means that God is with us in the water, God is for us in Christ in the world, meaning we’re not alone and we don’t have to rely on our strength alone. And it means that God is at work in us, that the same Spirit that lit up Jesus in his baptism is alive and active to bring about change in us when our lives seem unchangeable, the same Spirit that promises to make us new even when we’re just about dead. Baptism isn’t about our commitment to be good. Which is fickle, faltering, and fails. But it’s about God’s incredible goodness. God’s unflinching, unfailing commitment to us in Jesus Christ.

If you’ve already been baptized—whether as a baby or a teen or a week past retirement. Today, remember your baptism and be thankful. And if you haven’t… come on in. Cuz the water is fine.

AMEN.

[i] Origen, in The Ancient Christian Commentary on Scripture: New Testament, vol. 1a (Downer’s Grove: Intervarsity Press, 2001), 50.