From the Pulpit:

I had a lovely week this week. I hope you did, too. Maybe it was partly because it was so cold, maybe it was partly because I was more or less easing myself back into work after spending delightful and restful time at home, maybe it was that the new year’s resolutions haven’t completely worn off yet, but I had a number of very meaningful conversations with friends new and old. One person, more or less out of the blue, asked me, “So what do you like about being a priest?” I’ve told you over and over my favorite things, and they make up a long, long list, but I don’t think anything outshines baptism. I’ve told you before about the one photograph I have of the day I was baptized. There must have been more, but something happened to them over the years. I was only about six weeks old, so obviously I don’t remember it, though I do remember being told that my father was baptized at the same service. But the one picture is me in the arms of my great-grandmother surrounded by my two grandmothers and my mother. They all wore hats and gloves and the marten stoles that were all the fashion that year, the ones where the pointy mouths fastened to the tails and the little clawed feet hung down. I remember many hours of playing with those fur stoles. My daddy and I were baptized that cold day in Cleveland, Ohio, and I don’t remember a thing about it, but it made all the difference in the world. 

Jesus was not the first person to be baptized. We’re told that John had been baptizing all sorts of folks, promising them that their sins were washed away and sending them on their way to live better lives. I wonder what he though when he saw Jesus coming. According to Luke’s gospel John and Jesus were cousins, with only about six months age difference. When the people asked John if he was the messiah he said, Oh, no. I baptize with water but one is coming who will baptize with the spirit and I’m not worthy to untie his sandal, so it seems he knew full well who Jesus was. And he knew that Jesus didn’t need to be cleansed of his sins, but here he came anyways, walking into the water, anticipating that something amazing would happen, and it did. Jesus rose up out of the water, dripping wet, and walked to the shore where the people were waiting. I imagine somebody gave him something to dry himself off with, and he walked off a ways and found a rock to sit on and he bowed his head in prayer. That was when the heavens opened. That was when the Holy Spirit flew down like a gentle bird and he heard the voice say, loud and clear, You are my Son, the Beloved. In you I am well pleased.  

That’s what we are here for today. To hear those words. In just a few minutes I’m going to ask Tammie and Tim and Emily and Ashton’s godparents to come up here and we’re going to all make some promises on his behalf and we’ll splash water on his head and we’ll make the sign of the cross on his forehead in oil, and we’ll light a candle for him, but I’m imagining that even though he is a little fellow he’s going to be hearing God say to him, You are my Son, the Beloved. In you I am well pleased. 

We are all complicated people. I’m not perfect by a long shot, and I don’t imagine y’all are either. But this is a day for us to remember that each and every one of us is the apple of God’s eye. God loves us so much that he came to be with us. God loves us so much that he never gives up on us, that no matter how much we mess up or fall short, God is always there encouraging us, forgiving us even when we can’t forgive ourselves.  

There is a legendary preacher named Fred Craddock. His sermons are published and preachers love his rich and folksy stories. He tells of a time he was out to dinner with his wife at a little restaurant in the Smoky Mountains when an elderly gentleman came over to his table and introduced himself. “I am from around these parts,” he said. “My mother was not married, and the shame the community directed toward her was also directed toward me. Whenever I went to town with my mother, I could see people staring at us, making guesses about who my daddy was. At school, I ate lunch alone. In my early teens, I began attending a little church but always left before church was over, because I was afraid somebody would ask me what a boy like me was doing in church. One day, before I could escape, I felt a hand on my shoulder. It was the minister. He looked closely at my face. I knew that he too was trying to guess who my father was. ‘Well, boy, you are a child of…’ and then he paused. When he spoke again he said, ‘Boy, you are a child of God. I see a striking resemblance.’ Then he swatted me on the bottom and said, ‘Now you go on and claim your inheritance.’ I left church that day a different person,” the old man said. “In fact, that was the beginning of my life.” He went on to be elected twice to the office of governor of Tennessee.  

I think baptism is above all about recognition. It’s not about something new that is happening so much as it is about our recognizing something that has been there since God first thought of us. It is about our family resemblance, each and every one of us, no matter what our skin color or our age or our gender. It is about becoming aware of our spiritual DNA, owning our sacred heritage, and recognizing it in other people. It’s about that cross that is emblazoned indelibly on your foreheads. Take your finger and trace it there. I know you can feel it. And look at your neighbor. Do you see the resemblance? For me the most stunning promise we make when all together we recite our baptismal covenant is when we vow to respect the dignity of all persons. Dignity is a powerful word. We promise to respect that they are royalty, and not just the ones we’re friends with or the ones we have something in common with or rich and generous people or the ones who are easy to get along with or who smell good or are kind to us and our children. No, it is all persons. That’s a tall order,  but think of how different this world would be if just the people in this church this morning could actually pull it off. That’s why we all recite our baptismal covenant every time we baptize a new Christian. Because just as much as baptism is about recognition, it is also about remembering who we are. God’s own beloved. You. Me. All of us. Each of us God’s own favorite child. As the minister told the young man in the Smoky Mountains, “Now, you go on and claim your inheritance.”

Amen.