Tag Archives: Baptism

Why The Revelation thinks we need courage (5th Sunday of Easter, 5/18/2025)

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Readings (The Revelation reading is extended to include vv.7-8: “Those who conquer will inherit these things, and I will be their God and they will be my children. But as for the cowardly, the faithless, the polluted, the murderers, the fornicators, the sorcerers, the idolaters, and all liars, their place will be in the lake that burns with fire and sulfur, which is the second death.”)

At Baptism there’s a prayer for the newly baptized, part of which runs “Sustain them, O Lord, in your Holy Spirit. Give them an inquiring and discerning heart, the courage to will and to persevere, a spirit to know and to love you, and the gift of joy and wonder in all your works” (BCP 308). Today’s readings, with the baptism of the Gentile Cornelius with his family and friends in the background, can help us hear this prayer more clearly, particularly that ‘courage’ bit. Let’s dive in.

Our Revelation reading gives us John’s vision of a new heaven and a new earth. But in what sense ‘new’? Here—as in most of the book—John is playing off particular Old Testament texts, specifically the announcement of a new heaven and earth toward the end of Isaiah. Here’s a bit of it: “They shall build houses and inhabit them; they shall plant vineyards and eat their fruit. They shall not build and another inhabit; they shall not plant and another eat; for like the days of a tree shall the days of my people be, and my chosen shall long enjoy the work of their hands” (Isa. 65:21-22). That may sound underwhelming until we remember that for Isaiah’s audience, as for most people in most times and places, it’s revolutionary. The normal in most times and places is that you have your house or vineyard only until someone more powerful decides they want it. So the new heaven and new earth is this heaven and earth—with justice. And already we get a sense of why ‘courage’ might be relevant, because the powerful tend to be happy with things as they are.

Well, how do we get from here to there (pretty much the question that drives the whole Book of Revelation)? Revelation answers by rereading the Old Testament, thereby challenging popular misreadings. Last Sunday we noticed two of John’s rereadings: he hears “the Lion of the tribe of Judah” but sees “a Lamb standing as if it had been slaughtered.” He hears of 144,000 Israelites being sealed (probably for violent battle) but sees “a great multitude that no one could count, from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages.” The slaughtered Lamb wins the new heaven and new earth; that great multitude follows His lead.

So, in today’s text, “See, I am making all things new.” But lest we assume that we’re just passive beneficiaries, there are the last two verses that focus on our responses, conquering or not.

“Those who conquer will inherit these things, and I will be their God and they will be my children.” “Those who conquer” echoes the promises that end each of the messages to the seven churches in chapters 2 and 3. The first: “To everyone who conquers, I will give permission to eat from the tree of life that is in the paradise of God” (2:7). The last: “To the one who conquers I will give a place with me on my throne, just as I myself conquered and sat down with my Father on his throne” (3:21). “Those who conquer” is another one of John’s reinterpretations. It’s the language of holy war, but interpreted by the slaughtered Lamb: to conquer is to give faithful witness—as did the Lamb—despite the dangers. In a world too often enslaved by lies, witnessing to the truth can be liberating—and dangerous.

So “those who conquer” theme highlights the virtue of courage, “the cowardly” head John’s list of those excluded. That, of course, is a deeply troubling list, troubling enough that the Revised Common Lectionary ends the reading two verses earlier. But John’s been arguing throughout the book that our choices now matter, whether we accept God’s generosity matters, whether there are witnesses to the truth in the midst of lies matters, whether we’re finally about “Your will be done” or “My will be done” matters. As for that “lake that burns with fire and sulfur,” it’s an image within a vision; it would be pointless to look for it using Google Maps. Nor is Scripture sure that anyone actually ends up there. God, as Paul writes to Timothy “desires everyone to be saved” (1 Tim. 2:4). But John doesn’t want us to forget that our choices matter.

How do we get from here to there? There’s another dimension to that question that sets us up for our other readings. “See—John hears—the home of God is among mortals.” But since it’s the New Jerusalem that’s coming down, why isn’t it “the home of God is among the Jews?” Back toward the start of the story God had promised Abraham “You shall be the ancestor of a multitude of nations” (Gen. 17:4). But how that was going to work was never clear. Notice how today’s psalm ends: “He has raised up strength for his people / and praise for all his loyal servants, / the children of Israel, / a people who are near him. / Hallelujah!” It was easy to assume that the distinction between the children of Israel and everyone else was baked into creation itself, so that the only way to become part of God’s people is to become Jews. Which is why Peter got an earful in our first reading.

Peter had had a disquieting vision. Before he could digest it the messengers from the gentile centurion Cornelius showed up looking for him, and the Spirit said “Go!” Peter preached to Cornelius and his family and friends, and the Holy Spirit descended. These gentiles spoke in tongues, praised God; Peter had them baptized.

And, as our text tells us, the “circumcised believers” criticized him. Why? Well, following their reading of texts like Psalm 148, Peter should have first circumcised them, then discussed baptism. But the Spirit decided otherwise. Cornelius’ house is where the question of how Abraham becomes “the ancestor of a multitude of nations” got decided.

As you may recall, those favoring an exclusivist reading of texts like Psalm 148 did not give up easily. So Peter’s hearers’ conclusion “Then God has given even to the Gentiles the repentance that leads to life” is deeply problematic in what it doesn’t acknowledge. First, God gave both Peter and the Gentiles repentance. “By no means, Lord; for nothing profane or unclean has ever entered my mouth.” Had Peter stayed stuck there, no story. Second, God gave to the Gentiles repentance as Gentiles: they didn’t need to become Jews first.

It’s hard to overestimate the importance of this story. Bishop Lesslie Newbigin uses this story to capture the difference between evangelism and proselytism: in proselytism only the hearers are supposed to change. Here it’s a Jewish problem, but it quickly becomes a Gentile problem, with the Gentile Christians saying to the Jewish Christians “If you don’t eat pork you’re not a real Christian.” And any group with a bit of power can play this game: “You’re not a real Christian until you’re like us. We decide what your repentance needs to look like.”

In terms of John’s vision, Peter is one who conquers, not by demanding that Cornelius with his family and friends become like him, but by courageously following the lead of the Spirit, despite the flak he knows he’s going to get from Jerusalem. He conquers because he understands that repentance is an ongoing project. Our brother Martin Luther nailed it in the first of his 95 theses: “When our Lord and Master Jesus Christ said, “Repent” (Mt 4:17), he willed the entire life of believers to be one of repentance.” (And recall that in the Episcopal tradition the core of repentance is not simply feeling sorry about what one’s done, but changing one’s behavior.)

Our Gospel text’s “I give you a new commandment, that you love one another” takes John’s “Those who conquer” in a related direction. We don’t need that commandment when we’re in agreement; it’s when we disagree seriously that “love one another” needs to kick in. “Those who conquer” are not those who’ve brought everyone else around to their way of thinking, but those whose love keeps the circle unbroken. Like the apostles did during Easter week. They were all “Alleluia” and Thomas “I really would like to see some, you know, evidence,” and they’re still together when Jesus appears again. That’s love, courageous love. That’s conquering.

So, picking up the baptismal prayer, “Sustain us, O Lord, in your Holy Spirit. Give us an inquiring and discerning heart, the courage to will and to persevere, a spirit to know and to love you, and the gift of joy and wonder in all your works.”

Jesus’ Baptism–and Ours (1st Sunday after the Epiphany, 1/12/2025)

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Readings

This sermon was delivered at Holy Cross, Wisconsin Dells, in 2022.

Then as now we’ve never lacked idiots declaring—often with sandwich boards—that the end is near. Perhaps that’s why Luke gives us two long chapters of backstory so that we take this “idiot” John the Baptist seriously.

First there’s Elizabeth’s extraordinary pregnancy when she and Zechariah are “very old” (CEB). Then Mary’s even-more extraordinary pregnancy, being a virgin. John is born to Elizabeth, and his father Zechariah responds with a lengthy prophecy speaking of “a mighty savior” and of being able to serve God “without fear.” Mary, even before Jesus’ birth, sings what we know as the Magnificat:

He has shown strength with his arm;
he has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts.
He has brought down the powerful from their thrones,
and lifted up the lowly;
he has filled the hungry with good things,
and sent the rich away empty.

After Jesus’ birth the shepherds convey the words of the angel and the angelic military chorus, and Simeon and Anna add their witness in the temple. So, John the Baptist is no ordinary “idiot.”

John’s message is, I think, three-fold: (1) “all flesh shall see the salvation of God.” God is coming to set things right. (2) Repent! When God comes it’s prudent not to be obviously part of the problem: stop hoarding, stop extorting! (3) Me, I’m just the warm-up act. It’s all very apocalyptic. The newspapers might have called it the “Apocalypse Now” tour. Things have to be pretty bad for apocalypse to sound like a good idea, and the crowds flocking to John give us a pretty good idea of life in the benevolent claws of the Roman Empire.

And, at the end of today’s Gospel: “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.” In those words of the Divine Voice many hear echoes of three biblical texts:

The new king’s witness in Ps 2: “I will tell of the decree of the LORD: He said to me, ‘You are my son; today I have begotten you’” (Ps. 2:7).

The Lord’s introduction of the servant in the midst of exile: “Here is my servant, whom I uphold, my chosen, in whom my soul delights; I have put my spirit upon him; he will bring forth justice to the nations” (Isa 42:1)

The Lord’s words to Abraham: “Take your son, your only son Isaac, whom you love, and go to the land of Moriah, and offer him there as a burnt offering on one of the mountains that I shall show you” (Gen. 22:2).

John is hardly underplaying what’s going on here! And all three of these texts continue to echo in Luke’s Gospel. Psalm 2: Jesus sorting out his messianic role, which is essentially about what it means to live as a human being. Isaiah 42: Jesus assuming the mantle of the servant—and invites his followers to do so as well. What sort of service pleases God? Genesis 22: Jesus continuing on a trajectory over which he has limited control.

There are many things that we might explore in this and the other readings. Since we’ll be doing the renewal of baptismal vows in a few minutes I’ll focus on just two.

First, this salvation that everyone’s been celebrating—Zechariah, Mary, Simeon, Anna, John—doesn’t play out predictably. Luke’s mention of John’s imprisonment brutally yanks John offstage, and signals what Jesus is getting himself into. This is probably not what John had in mind when he proclaimed “every tree…that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire.” And Simeon had warned Mary “and a sword will pierce your own soul too.” And the echo of the words to Abraham in the words to Jesus. Fast-forwarding to Paul, who started his career very certain of how God’s salvation was going to play out, being baptized into Jesus’ death and resurrection means giving up our illusions of control.

Second, for all that Zechariah, Mary, John, etc. get right, there’s plenty that they don’t get right, plenty of room for ongoing repentance. Zechariah responds with so little faith to Gabriel’s announcement that Gabriel decides it would be better for all concerned if Zechariah would just shut up until John’s birth. The story we heard last week of the twelve-year-old Jesus in the temple: every parent’s nightmare, but also evidence that Mary and Joseph had no idea who was living under their roof. This pattern continues with the disciples, so that in Luke’s telling they chose the Last Supper to continue their argument about who’s the greatest (22:24-30). They all end up abandoning Jesus. So, when in the renewal of the Baptismal Covenant we say “I will, with God’s help,” Luke would probably want us to remember that “God’s help” includes graciously accepting our repentance. Jesus tells us to accept a brother’s or sister’s repentance even seven times a day (Lk 17:3-4); our firm hope is the God does likewise.

Let us close with the collect for Friday from Morning Prayer: “Almighty God, whose most dear Son went not up to joy but first he suffered pain, and entered not into glory before he was crucified: Mercifully grant that we, walking in the way of the cross, may find it none other than the way of life and peace; through Jesus Christ your Son our Lord. Amen.”

God’s Clashing Desires (5th after Pentecost, 6/23/2024)

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Lessons (Track 1, 1st set)

What a combination of readings: David & Goliath, Jesus in the middle of the lake calming the storm—and Paul pleading with the Corinthians.

Let us start with the obvious. Our world has plenty of Goliaths, enemies who claim to dominate our present and future. Our world has plenty of storms. It is very good news that Goliath’s claims are simply claims, that the pitch black skies and the water-drenched deck at unbelievable angles are not the last things we’ll experience. The battle is the Lord’s: Goliath doesn’t get the last word, our feet will again be on solid ground. These are stories to hang onto, and there are times in our lives when that’s all we need to hear from them.

But how does Paul’s “through great endurance” fit into those stories? It’s not Paul’s fault; David and Jesus had their share of “through great endurance” moments. It’s that in many situations “where’s my slingshot” isn’t the appropriate response—though we’ve all had experience with folk like that. There were probably parts of Paul that wished for a slingshot, wished to simply shout into the storm “How about you all just shut up and do what I say!” Why not go there?

Recall our Old Testament lesson from two weeks ago: the people want a king, which the Lord and Samuel think is a really bad idea, and the Lord tells Samuel to give them what they want. How do we make sense of that?

Wrestling with the text two weeks ago, this is what I came up with. God wants two things, that we be free and that we make good choices. Either would be relatively easy. Together, not so much, as any parent knows. This combination of desires is one way to talk about God’s love. God loves us: desires that we be free, desires that we make good choices. “We want a king like all the nations.” “OK; we’ll do this the hard way.” A king can serve as a template for the Messiah.

Where this gets challenging: God desires that we share these desires. This is typically not an easy sell. Recall that scene in Luke, when the Samaritan village refuses hospitality to Jesus and his disciples. James and John: “Lord, do you want us to command fire to come down from heaven and consume them?” (Luke 9:54). Desiring people’s freedom and that they choose well means that their good becomes primary, so Jesus has to work on the disciples’ notion of greatness: “You know that among the Gentiles those whom they recognize as their rulers lord it over them, and their great ones are tyrants over them. But it is not so among you; but whoever wishes to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wishes to be first among you must be slave of all” (Mark 10:42-44). Discipleship is a lengthy process because learning to desire what God desires doesn’t come easily.

Which brings us to Paul, trying through letters to reset his relationship with the Corinthians. They’re a typical congregation, working out what being Christian means, and sometimes avoiding that work. The city of Corinth’s motto could have been “The one who dies with the most toys wins,” so some in the congregation assumed “The one who has the most spiritual gifts wins.” So Paul in 1 Corinthians talks about spiritual gifts, culminating in that bracing chapter that begins “If I speak in the tongues of mortals and of angels, but do not have love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal” (1 Cor. 13:1).

And in the text we heard this morning Paul details what that love has meant: “great endurance, in afflictions, hardships, calamities, beatings, imprisonments, riots, labors, sleepless nights, hunger; by purity, knowledge, patience, kindness, holiness of spirit, genuine love.”

Paul gives them this long list not to score points—though perhaps that’s not completely absent, Paul being human and all—but because this is how the Corinthians need to love each other. So that—picking up David’s words—“all the earth may know that there is a God in Israel, and that all this assembly may know that the LORD does not save by sword and spear.”

Paul’s saying nothing new here, simply reminding the Corinthians of Jesus’ story, a story that’s to become our story. Jesus’ love, a love serving others, means a story of death and resurrection. So in our baptism we pray “Grant, O Lord, that all who are baptized into the death of Jesus Christ your Son may live in the power of his resurrection.”

God desires that all be free and that all use their freedom well. For that God needs a people committed to that project, and baptism is how we are enlisted. “Yes, Lord, I want to learn to love as you love, desiring people’s freedom and that they use it well. I want to learn to serve them, so that Jesus’ death and resurrection play out in this flesh.” Amen.

Baptism’s Deadly and Life-Giving Waters (1st Sunday in Lent, 2/18/2024)

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Readings

Quite a set of water images in today’s readings—and an opportunity to think about our baptism.

Peter compares the waters of Noah’s flood and the waters of baptism. Our first reading: a scene just after that flood. Meanwhile, Jesus’ baptism at the Jordan river, a location that in Israel’s memory is firmly paired with the crossing of the Red Sea. God parts the Red Sea to save Israel from the Egyptian army; God parts the Jordan to allow Israel to enter the promised land dry-shod. So: Noah’s flood, Israel passing through the Red Sea, Israel passing through the Jordan, Jesus’ baptism at the Jordan, our baptism.

All these water images juxtaposed with today’s psalm suggests that whatever baptism is, it’s not a “get out of jail free” card, a fast-forward to the “and they lived happily ever after” part. It’s a dangerous business—as spelled out pretty clearly in the prayer book (p.306):

We thank you, Almighty God, for the gift of water. Over it the Holy Spirit moved in the beginning of creation. Through it you led the children of Israel out of their bondage in Egypt into the land of promise. In it your Son Jesus received the baptism of John and was anointed by the Holy Spirit as the Messiah, the Christ, to lead us, through his death and resurrection, from the bondage of sin into everlasting life.

The water at the start of creation: the earth a formless void, darkness covering the face of the deep, a wind from God sweeping over the face of the waters (Gen. 1:2). Not somewhere we’d choose for vacation. At the bank of the Red Sea: stay here and die or enter that eerie dry path between the walls of water. “The baptism of John:” that’s the John whose arrest our Gospel records.

Back to the BCP: “We thank you, Father, for the water of Baptism. In it we are buried with Christ in his death. By it we share in his resurrection. Through it we are reborn by the Holy Spirit.” The world is such that our best option is being buried with Christ in his death. And this, pulling back the camera, after publicly declaring a change in allegiance (p.302): from rooting/working for Pharaoh to rooting/working for Moses.

Baptism, in other words, is something that happens in the middle of a war zone. Baptism doesn’t remove us from that war zone; it does begin a process of learning how to live there with integrity.

That’s not easy. Fredrich Nietzsche, one of the more interesting 19th century philosophers: “Be careful who you choose as your enemy because that’s who you become most like.” Not always true, but true more often than we’d like. How do we avoid our cure being worse than the disease?

And that’s where psalms like Psalm 25 come in. The enemies are the presenting problem (v.1). But the psalmist is equally clear that not all the problems are external (v.6). Elsewhere in the psalm: “forgive my sin, for it is great” (v.10). So the dominant plea is not for protection—although that’s certainly there—but for instruction (vv.3-4). Vv.7-8 continue the theme—and the psalmist is clearly including themselves among the “sinners, humble, lowly.”

Humble. There’s a too-often ignored truism in management and military circles that what bites you is often not the unknown, but the unknown unknown, those areas where you’re not aware that there’s something you don’t know. I think that would have resonated with our psalmist. The psalmist—we, for that matter—isn’t in a position to say “Lord, teach me about A, B, and C.”  Too often—as friends and neighbors know—it’s the teaching about H, I and J that’s needed. Lent isn’t about coming up with another set of New Year’s resolutions. Humility: staying attentive to what God might be trying to each us despite our assumptions.

So, on this first Sunday in Lent: if the cries for help in Psalm 25 resonate, we shouldn’t be surprised. Our baptism wasn’t about getting us out of those turbulent waters, but about positioning us to live—to thrive—in them. Recall the prayer after baptism:

Give them an inquiring and discerning heart, the courage to will and to persevere, a spirit to know and to love you, and the gift of joy and wonder in all your works. (p.308)

I like the “gift of joy and wonder in all your works” part; I’d guess that the different petitions in that prayer are pretty closely related, so that if I want the joy and wonder, I’d best not shortchange the “inquiring and discerning heart” part. And I really don’t want to end up as another example for Nietzsche to use. Psalm 25’s petitions for ongoing learning might help me with that.

The 2nd Sunday after Pentecost: A Sermon

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Readings (Track 1)

Today we are baptizing Eliza, so it’s not a day for a long sermon. Nevertheless, each of our readings underscores something important about this baptism, and that’s worth noticing.

From the letter to the Galatians: “for in Christ Jesus you are all children of God through faith.” Today happens to be Father’s Day; today we’re celebrating Father’s Day on steroids: in baptism we are adopted as God’s children. After herbaptism Eliza has the privilege of calling God ‘Father’. She has a new family, with all that comes with living with a new family.

Adopted as God’s children. In the Thanksgiving over the Water we pray that “those who here are cleansed from sin and born again may continue for ever in the risen life of Jesus Christ our Savior.” Part of what’s at stake is shown by our Gospel reading. Sin is not simply something we do; it’s something that enslaves us, dehumanizes us. So, in the questions for the candidates “Do you renounce the evil powers of this world which corrupt and destroy the creatures of God?” The possessed man enters the story in a very bad way; after meeting Jesus, “clothed and in his right mind.” Baptism gives us the possibility of living humanly.

In today’s psalms you may have noticed the refrain:

Why are you so full of heaviness, O my soul?
and why are you so disquieted within me?
Put your trust in God;
for I will yet give thanks to him,
who is the help of my countenance, and my God.

Baptism heightens the tension between the way things are and the way things are supposed to be, the way God wants them to be, the way to which God will ultimately restore them. C. S. Lewis put it bluntly:

“I didn’t go to religion to make me happy. I always knew a bottle of Port would do that. If you want a religion to make you feel really comfortable, I certainly don’t recommend Christianity.”[1]

Bob Pierce, founder of World Vision, used to pray “Let my heart be broken by the things that break the heart of God.” Heartbreak is part of the baptismal package, which—please God—can result in what Representative John Lewis used to call “good trouble.” Here’s a bit of John Lewis:

“Do not get lost in a sea of despair. Be hopeful, be optimistic. Our struggle is not the struggle of a day, a week, a month, or a year, it is the struggle of a lifetime. Never, ever be afraid to make some noise and get in good trouble, necessary trouble.” [2]

“Sea of despair:” not a bad description of Elijah’s situation in our first reading: “I alone am left.” In Elijah’s day the problem was Baal, a religious problem, but equally a political problem, because Baal was another of those gods who automatically underwrote the status quo, with all the oppression and violence this entailed. And Elijah had caused “good trouble.” Among all the things we might notice in this reading, there’s God’s parting statement: “Yet I will leave seven thousand in Israel, all the knees that have not bowed to Baal, and every mouth that has not kissed him.” Elijah, know it or not, you have company. Eliza, know it or not, you have company, more than you can imagine, a very large and diverse family

After the baptism we pray “Sustain her, O Lord, in your Holy Spirit. Give her an inquiring and discerning heart, the courage to will and to persevere, a spirit to know and to love you, and the gift of joy and wonder in all your works.” Eliza, we look forward to God’s response to that prayer, and to the ways that your response to God’s response will enrich us all. Amen.

[1] From “Answers to questions on Christianity,” reprinted in God in the Dock.

[2] https://www.usatoday.com/story/news/politics/2020/07/18/rep-john-lewis-most-memorable-quotes-get-good-trouble/5464148002/ (accessed 6/13/2022).

Re the Daily Office Readings June 27 Anno Domini 2020

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Holy Trinity, Thornhill, California

The Readings: Numbers 20:14-29; Romans 6:1-11; Matthew 21:1-11

Today’s reading from Romans is an invitation to reflect on our own baptism. Recall the Celebrant’s prayer:

“We thank you, Almighty God, for the gift of water. Over it the Holy Spirit moved in the beginning of creation. Through it you led the children of Israel out of their bondage in Egypt into the land of promise. In it your Son Jesus received the baptism of John and was anointed by the Holy Spirit as the Messiah, the Christ, to lead us, through his death and resurrection, from the bondage of sin into everlasting life.

“We thank you, Father, for the water of Baptism. In it we are buried with Christ in his death. By it we share in his resurrection. Through it we are reborn by the Holy Spirit. Therefore in joyful obedience to your Son, we bring into his fellowship those who come to him in faith, baptizing them in the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.

“Now sanctify this water, we pray you, by the power of your Holy Spirit, that those who here are cleansed from sin and born again may continue for ever in the risen life of Jesus Christ our Savior.

“To him, to you, and to the Holy Spirit, be all honor and glory, now and for ever” (BCP 306-307).

This is New Exodus language, signaling the start of a journey to life in its fulness through an indissoluble bond (BCP 298) with Jesus. It mirrors what Paul received; what Paul wrote. The Greek language lets you tack a preposition onto the front of a verb, and Paul does this repeatedly with ‘sun’ (‘with’, as in ‘synapse’, ‘synchronic’, ‘syntax’, etc.): “buried with him” (v.4), “united with him” (v.5), “crucified with him” (v.6), “live with him” (v.8).

As Paul’s argument makes clear, this does not erase my agency. But I’m no longer in Egypt. I don’t have to listen to Pharaoh. And if I am not baptized, what am I waiting for?