Sermon from January 8, 2006

Baptism Sunday

Mark 1:4-11

“How Baptism Might Mean Something”

It is baptism of the Lord Sunday, and every year we read scriptures about water and one of the gospel accounts of Jesus’ baptism by John in the River Jordan. And every year the challenge is to figure out how baptism might actually mean something. A good, deep, meaningful understanding of baptism gets squeezed from several angles.

On the one hand, there are those who see baptism as an almost magic ritual, a rite of passage in and of itself. Some of the most difficult moments pastors face is when a long-term, well-loved member asks to have a grandchild baptized. The pastor asks, “Where does this baby’s family go to church? Why not have the child baptized there?”

“Well, uh, they don’t go to church much--just Christmas Eve here sometimes.”

“Are they planning to start participating here? Will we have the opportunity to teach and shape this child?”

“Well, they live twenty minutes away, you know, and go camping a lot and are so busy.”

“Uh-huh. And will you be bringing the child with you?”

“I don’t think so.”

“So why do you want to have this baby baptized?”

“Well, everyone in our family is baptized! You don’t have to make a big deal out of it.” But of course baptism is a big deal and does require commitment and covenant.

On the other hand, those who practice believer’s baptism sometimes put so much emphasis on each person’s conversion experience that baptism is just kind of tacked on. It’s as if to say that the real thing happens when someone accepts Christ as their Savior, and baptism is just a sign of that acceptance, after the fact. But of course the New Testament makes a much bigger deal of baptism than that. It is a moment all of its own. God has chosen to work through water to claim and change our lives.

And on the other hand (three hands?), some people expect too much (or at least the wrong things) of baptism. Do you remember the movie Tender Mercies? Robert Duvall plays Mac, a down-on-his-luck country singer with a drinking problem. With the help of a young widow Mac turns his life around, and both Mac and the widow’s young boy, Sonny, decide to get baptized. Driving home after the baptism, Sonny says to Mac, “Well, we done it Mac, we was baptized.” He stares at himself a moment in the rearview mirror, then says, “Everybody said I’d feel like a changed person. Do you feel like a changed person?” “Not yet,” replies Mac. “You don’t look any different, Mac. Do you think I look any different?” “Not yet,” answers Mac.

These people thought they’d look different, and especially feel different, right away. Thought they’d dry the water off their face and feel all warm and different inside. Well, that can happen, but if that’s the measure of success for baptism—instant new feelings inside--I’d have to say baptism fails almost all the time.

It’s in the face of those misunderstandings of baptism that we struggle to make baptism mean something. There is nothing magic about baptism. Apart from faith and the Holy Spirit of God, the water in that font won’t do anything but get you wet. And baptism is not some cute, quaint ritual, something to do to keep grandma happy. When you submit to baptism, or bring your child for baptism, you promise to repent of your sins, to put your whole trust in the grace of Jesus Christ, and to remain faithful members of Christ’s holy church. Everyone can worship and sing and study and serve in the church, but if you don’t mean those things, you shouldn’t come for baptism.

Yet baptism is more than just an outward confirmation of something that’s already happened inside your heart. Paul writes that baptism is dying to sin and rising with Christ. Baptism, in the book of Acts, is often accompanied by the descent of the Holy Spirit. And as Brent read from 2 Corinthians, baptism is the source of our unity despite all our difference. We are all one, because we are all baptized into the one body.

And while baptism is a powerful moment, it is the starting point, not the endpoint, of the Christian journey. Baptism washes away our sins, but it takes some time to learn how to live a forgiven life. Baptism is our initiation into Christ’s holy church, but it takes time to learn to love and trust and live with one another.

One word I like to use with baptism is solidarity. When Jesus saw that long line of sinners waiting to be baptized by John, he didn’t stand back and offer to pray for them. He went and got in line with them! Though he was the Son of God, he was baptized like a common sinner, that is, like us. He stands in solidarity with us.

Which means, of course, that in baptism, we’re in the same line with Jesus. We stand in solidarity with him, and all that that entails.

And finally, through our common baptism, we all stand in solidarity with each other, and with all Christians of all times and places. From the Pope to Rosa Parks, from Cleo LeMaster to little Owen Alderman, from those of us who march in the Pride parade to those who protest against us—we all stand on the same leg—baptism in the name of Jesus Christ.

Lately I’ve been influenced by Walter Brueggemann to want to claim more power for baptism. Brueggemann claims, and surely most of us would agree, that the dominant pattern of life in this country is destructive and ultimately deadly—our addictions and eating disorders; our cheapening of sex and the brokenness of our families; our insatiable desire for more--more money, ore gadgets, more oil; our reliance on violence and killing to feel secure.

But baptism, Brueggemann says, is a “bold counteract.” In baptism we claim different values. When we come up out of the water, God calls us beloved and hands us a different script. And while there’s nothing easy or automatic about it, new things are possible.

· So if someone tempts you, “Why don’t you stay the night?” You can say, “Oh, I couldn’t possibly.” “Why not?” they wonder. “Baptized!” you say. “Ohhh . . .”

· You may feel like just giving up on God and religion, like no one cares about you and nothing really makes any difference anyway. “Why do you keep dragging yourself to that church,” someone may ask you. “Baptized!” “Ohhh . . .”

· As Carolyn’s car has limped along these last few months, it’s occurred to me that we’ve given enough money to this church over the last few years to buy several cars. Why not keep more of that money for ourselves? “Can’t.” “Why not?” Baptized.” “Ohhh . . .”

· A few years ago the Mennonites, one of the historic peace churches, came up with a proposal: Can’t we agree that as Christians we at least won’t kill other Christians? Liberals objected that this proposal makes it sound okay to kill Muslims or atheists or Hindus, which of course isn’t the point. Conservatives protested that this proposal might make war impossible. Ah, we wouldn’t want that, would we? Just try to imagine what the world would be like if we took that proposal seriously--that as we decide whether or not to own a weapon, vote on the death penalty, debate about going to war--we will not be responsible for the death of any baptized person. Why not? We’re baptized, of course.

· Even within the church, some of us have a tendency to be dismissive of people who are a little slower or needy or obnoxious than we’d like them to be. We have a tendency to create in-crowds and out-crowds, those who get care and attention and those allowed to slip slowly out of the circle. We have a tendency to do these things, but of course we won’t. Why not? Baptized!

Now I’m aware that there’s a danger in what I say of being merely moralistic, of depending on our own good behavior instead of on the grace of God. But of course I’m not saying that these things are possible because we are so very good and we try so very hard. I’m saying that when we come up out of the water, God calls us beloved and hands us a different script, that because Jesus gets in line with us, new things are possible. And that is surely how baptism might actually mean something.