15As the people were filled with expectation and all were questioning in their hearts concerning John, whether he might be the Messiah, 16John answered all of them by saying, “I baptize you with water, but one who is more powerful than I is coming; I am not worthy to untie the strap of his sandals. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire. 17His winnowing fork is in his hand to clear his threshing floor and to gather the wheat into his granary, but the chaff he will burn with unquenchable fire.”
Luke 3:15-17, 21-22
21Now when all the people were baptized and when Jesus also had been baptized and was praying, the heaven was opened, 22and the Holy Spirit descended upon him in bodily form like a dove. And a voice came from heaven, “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.”
My sermon from Baptism of Our Lord Sunday (January 12, 2025) on Luke 3:15-17, 21-22.
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So for those of you here in the sanctuary, it’s not hard to notice all the different ways Christmas lingers. Even though we had a lot of amazing volunteers come together to put away the creche, the tree, and the candles – stuff remains. There’s, for example, the dozen or so poinsettias sitting in our narthex and the stray box of ornaments that haven’t quite made it into the storage space behind me. And since our cleaning service won’t be here until later in the week, there’s also a lot of plastic pine needles sitting at our feet. I’m also pretty sure those at home can see the light brown glaze of hay still covering the steps leading up to the altar as well as the shimmer of all the silver and gold glitter that, no matter how much we vacuum, will never go away. One of the major outcomes from these big celebrations, worships, and moments is that they linger longer after they happen. And in our reading today from the gospel according to Luke, we discover how Jesus needed something to linger with him too.
Now the baptism of Jesus is always our first Sunday after Epiphany and even though I’ve preached on it a bunch of times, I’m still not entirely sure what this moment might mean. It is a bit odd that the Son of God would need some kind of ritual washing to show how God was always with him. This baptism Jesus experienced wasn’t exactly like what we do when God baptizes us with a little bit of water and a few special words. But these kinds of ritual washing have been part of our human story for centuries. Using water as a way to tend to our relationship with God was a big part of Jesus’ own Jewish identity and served as a way to refocus people’s mind, spirit, and energy towards the God who loved them. We often need this kind of gift since we pretend as if our ego, our wants, and our perspective are the only things that truly matter in our world. Ritual washings can invite us to not only recognize the ways we fail to be who God knows we can be but to also reaffirm that, in spite of all of that, the creator of the universe still cares about you. The baptism John practiced was, I think, something along those lines – helping folks recognize how being with God makes a difference in the here and now. And so, one day, when word of what John was up to in the wilderness finally reached Jesus, he put down what he was doing and went to see what was going on along the shores of the Jordan River.
Now when Jesus arrived, his experience as described in the gospel according to Luke was a bit different than we see in the other versions of Jesus’ life. We don’t, for example, see John pointing to Jesus as the One holding that winnowing fork nor is it implied that everyone heard that booming voice from heaven. Instead this moment – while big – is also very muted. And Luke acts as if Jesus – the One who was there when the universe was made – was only one person indistinguishable from everyone else in the crowd. All those people along the shore of the Jordan River had gone through the same ritual; heard the same words; and felt the same kind of fear, awe, wonder, doubt, and hope such a moment can bring. But once the water had dried from his hair, something very personal happened. Jesus was doing what he often does in Luke – praying – when he saw the heavens open and the Holy Spirit manifested in the physical form of a fancy looking pigeon. It was the kind of event that, I think, was big enough for everyone around him to witness and see. Yet when the voice echoed from above, the message Divine spoke was for Jesus alone. The “You” in “You are my son” is not a general “you” meant for everyone in the crowd. It’s the kind of “you” entirely focused on Jesus himself. God the Father, God the Creator, and the God who is, and was, and will be – told Jesus not only that he was the beloved; but that God was already well pleased with him. Before Jesus had shared a single story; before he healed anyone who was sick; before Jesus casted out a demon and before he took his first steps towards the Cross – Jesus heard from above that he already mattered. This wasn’t, I think, meant as an affirmation of what Jesus would do. It was, instead, a reminder of who God always is since there was nothing the Son of God needed to do to earn a place within the Trinity he was already a part of. Rather, the word God the Father shared was a word the Son of Mary needed to hear since he had a lot of living left to do.
I’m not sure, from a deep theological perspective, if Jesus really needed to be baptized. But I do think that he, like all of us, needed something to linger with him as he moved through what was about to come. Jesus longed for the assurance that when the troubles and tribulations came, everything about him wasn’t merely arbitrary, random, or meaningless. The Son of God knew what could be yet the Son of Mary needed the affirmation that being known by God and knowing God does more than simply tend to our fragile egos. There is something that fills our soul when we realize that all of this actually matters. The prayers we say; the worship we do; the communion we share; and the wonder we make real in the lives of others through acts of service and care does more than simply give us something to do. Rather, the gift of faith invites us to realize how we are part of a holy story that doesn’t let our individual story be the limit of what God is all about. And while it would be awesome if life was full of over-the-top experiences that show us what faith can be; what we often get instead is the bits of grace, mercy, kindness, and love that lingers long after those big moments are gone. It’s the pine needles of hope; the shimmer of a peace; and the glaze of wholeness that carry us into a meaningful life while living through moments that often feel meaningless. I’m not sure if I’ll ever come across a deep theological explanation about Jesus’ moment that will open my mind to the fullness of what this moment in Jesus’ life was all about. But I do know that as someone who needs from God all bits of words, prayers, feelings, knowledge, and experiences that show me all the different ways God’s love lingers in my life and in the life of others; I appreciate how it seemed as if Jesus once needed the same. And while I’m not always sure how those bits of faith will be made real in your life, I hope that God will give you every bit of grace, hope, and love that you need to be carried through everything that this life might bring.
Amen.