Sermons

Justice and Righteousness

John Wilkinson	Third Presbyterian Church
January 13, 2008	Isaiah 42:1-9/Matthew 3:13-17

    
Ebenezer Baptist Church is located in the Auburn section of the City of Atlanta. Its most famous member is Martin Luther King, Jr., who later, with his father, became that church’s co-pastor. The church now has two buildings, in fact. One is the historic building called the Heritage Sanctuary. It is where the events to which we often attach Ebenezer Church happened. If you go there and sit in the pews for a while, you’ll hear recordings of King’s sermons and speeches played throughout the day. That Heritage Sanctuary is located near his boyhood home and just up the street from his final resting place.

Somewhat more recently the church has completed a new building. (Yes, in fact, they had a capital campaign to do it!) It’s called the Horizon Sanctuary. It houses the church’s current, vibrant, growing ministry.

Now, we all know that as much as we are different, so do church traditions differ. If you go to Ebenezer Baptist Church’s Heritage Sanctuary, you will see behind the chancel (about where our stained glass window is) the baptism pool, into which Martin Luther King entered as a child, and into which, we presume, his father baptized him.

I like the little later part of the story. After preaching a trial sermon to the congregation at the age of 18, King was ordained as a minister on the spot. And as scary as that prospect sounds, it sure beats the interminable number of committee meetings I had to go to in order to achieve ordination!

This is the season to think about Martin Luther King, Jr. And it is a day to think about baptism. Not to equate the two, but to connect them. And by so connecting them, to connect every baptism with the one that we recount today.

We read this morning in Matthew’s gospel about Jesus’ baptism. According to Matthew, it was Jesus’ first adult experience. Jesus suddenly shows up at the River Jordan and presents himself to John and says, “I want to be baptized.” There’s a little bit of a heated interchange between Jesus and John. John protests, “What? Me? Baptize you? How on earth could that be possible?”

But John’s reluctance is met with Jesus’ persistence, and figuratively and literally, into the River Jordan Jesus plunges. And when he emerges, when he comes out of that cool water, the Spirit of God descends upon him, something like a dove. And it identifies him. And a voice booms out, “You are my beloved, I am well please with you.” And it sets him on his way, his ministry, his destiny, his path, his vocation, his calling.

To read these few brief verses is to discover that much is going on. So much is going on, in fact, that the obvious theme of the story can be overlooked. That is, the centrality of baptism. The centrality of baptism for Jesus, for the life of the church, for you and me. There’s so much to say this day about this notion of baptism and its importance and centrality. Allow me to focus on just two simple notions: what baptism is, and what it does.

We all know this, from our Sunday school, and our commissioning, and our new members’ experiences. But simply put, baptism is one of our two sacraments. It’s a sacrament because Jesus told us to do it. Later in the gospel he will say, “Go and make disciples, baptizing them” --- a commandment from him to us as the church. And so we do it.

We know as well that there are many traditions and practices around baptism. King was immersed in a tank at the Ebenezer Church. Others, standing right in front of this pulpit and behind this font will be sprinkled with a few drops of water. I don’t know if that says something about us Presbyterians or not, but what it reminds us is, no matter the form or the way baptism is administered, water needs to be present.

What we do believe, and what it’s worth reminding ourselves from time to time, is that both of our sacraments, baptism and the Lord’s Supper, function as signs and seals --- signs that point to something else, and seals that confirm something that is already present.

That is to say, that as Jesus emerged out of the water, and the voice boomed out, and the dove descended, something had been confirmed that had been established at his birth. And it does the very same thing for us. Grace is already present --- from the moment that we enter this world as a child of God. That’s why in our tradition we talk about baptism. Period. No “adult” baptism. No “child” baptism. No “infant” baptism. But baptism. Period.

Because the theological issue as it is for so many things is grace. Baptism is a response to God’s grace, not an accomplishment or an achievement that we humans hatch on our own. It’s the act of the Spirit. So we try to avoid anything that has the appearance of a human accomplishment.

We know, from our traditions and from our experiences, that there are many ways that churches practice this act. But, for us, since it is in fact a gracious act of the Spirit, baptism can happen in any church, in any way, at any age, and it needn’t ever happen again --- so much so that in this “open door church” (a reference to the children’s sermon) notion, if you walk in and you’ve been baptized, you are a part of this community. And if you haven’t, we would welcome you into this experience as well, to confirm the grace that you’ve already received by God’s love.

Now, sadly so, we know, in fact, that that’s not the case in every place. And I mean not to quibble with other theological traditions, but sadly so, some churches would not recognize my baptism or yours. But in this place, we do.

I remember one time earlier in our life, when we were observing a family in a neonatal intensive care unit in a Chicago hospital. A newborn baby was in that unit and was not doing so well. They called a minister in for a kind of “emergency” baptism. The mother told me later, “We wanted to do it just in case...” And she didn’t need to finish her sentence. And the pastoral response was to be affirming, and welcoming, and acknowledging the important moment that that baptism represented. And that’s what I did. But at an even deeper level, what I wanted that parent to know was that God loved that child, and God loves that child fully and abundantly, no matter what happens. And that baptism did not establish that love but points to it, and reminds us of it.

Baptism. Why does it matter? So what? Well, one of the ways that it matters is to connect us to the earlier readings from Isaiah that Jamie just shared with us, whereby the servant that Isaiah describes is empowered by the Spirit to bring forth justice and righteousness to the nations. That is to say, that baptism is no private experience, but is a communal enterprise. And the one who is baptized, whether as a baby or as a child or as an adult, is called therefore to act with justice and righteousness in all the world.

We know what Jesus did following his baptism, what that empowerment by the Spirit meant: to feed the hungry, to clothe the naked, to visit the imprisoned, to heal the sick, to welcome all whom society had outcast and ostracized.

It establishes our identity. It establishes our calling. And so whatever we say about Jesus in his baptism, we must say about ourselves and our baptisms.

Baptism sets a seal upon us and is a sign of God’s love and God’s identifying us as God’s children.

Theologian Gerard Hughes: “When asked to introduce yourself to a group of people, how do you identify yourself after giving your name? I’m a businessman or a housewife or a doctor or a baker. And if you’re unemployed or unable to work, how do you feel about declaring this? Because we identify ourselves by what we do, we feel devastated when we are no longer capable of doing it, as though we had lost our very meaning. You are not your occupation. You are not your achievements. You are not your failings, not your health, wealth, or status. All these things are connected with you, but are not you, for you do not cease to exist when these things disappear. And then Hughes writes, “You are a unique manifestation of God, who is closer to you than you are to yourself. This is the truth of your being, the glory and wonder of it.”

Well, now. If that’s true, and I believe it is, if all of our other identities pale in this identity as a child of God and a manifestation of the Spirit, then are we not called to live that way?

It has serious implications for the church, to be true, for the whole church --- not just the Presbyterian church. I’ve mentioned other traditions and practices. I believe we are all called together to consider and to receive each other’s baptisms in a way different than we are doing in this era. I “get” the theological issue, the balance between it being God’s gift and our response. We’ve tended toward this side of things. Others have tended toward the latter. And surely that’s a good and healthy conversation to have. But, surely as well, can it not happen at the same time that all baptisms are welcomed? Because I live for the day when I would walk into the door of a Roman Catholic church, or a Roman Catholic sister or brother in Christ would walk into this church, and we would recognize our baptisms so that we might join together around this table of the Lord!

And it has serious implications for the Presbyterian family as well. I believe, in this era, we are called as much as in any era, to take baptism seriously and live into its promise fully. In fact, one of my primary discussion points whenever I’m conversing with somebody about our ordination standards and practices is just this: it’s to remind them that the theologian, the great theologian of the 20th century, Karl Barth, said, “Our baptism is our ordination.” And by our baptism we are truly called into God’s family. And so if we don’t think that all should be able to be considered for ordination, then we should be honest with ourselves and not consider them for baptism either. And once you utter that sentence aloud you realize how unjust and inconsistent such a position is, and that a deeper level of conversation in the Presbyterian family about baptism might lead us to a more fair and just ordination practice. Would it be so.

You’ve heard, and we will say more in a minute, about the new worship proposal, discussed in our capital campaign vision. Peter DuBois and others will talk about it following worship today. That vision includes many, many, very interesting and important elements for us to consider. But I think one of the most important ones is the centrality of the baptism font, as it’s proposed in the new sanctuary configuration. It’ll be right there for all of us to see, all the time, whether a baptism is happening or not. We know this to be part of a trend, a very important trend, in the life of the broader church, but I think of Third Church as anything but trendy. So we proposed it not to be trendy, but rather as a deep reminder and a constant vision of the centrality of baptism in the life of this faith community. An act of the spirit and an act of the church.

We’ve been looking through old pictures at our house. I don’t remember my baptism. In fact, I don’t think there are pictures of it, though there is, of course, a worship bulletin from that service on that morning. What I know is my parents loaded me in the car and drove me the long trip from Rices Landing, PA, to Akron, OH, where I was baptized in the church in which my father and mother had been baptized, and later married, and my father ordained as a minister. I don’t remember that day. But I know what it meant.

I believe, as when Charles Cousar says – that it’s true for mine, and yours, and all of ours together – that Jesus’ baptism says something about the nature of Christian baptism. Those who receive it are not only given distinctive, Christian names, but by the Spirit are commissioned to obedient, faithful service, to follow the path blazed by the unique son of God. Their task, our task, like his task, has to do with establishing justice on the earth, with being a bonding power to the people, and a light to the nations.

We’re living through a very interesting liturgical evolution. Many new liturgies are being developed. They are intricate. Some of them are very wordy. Some allow us to re-claim traditions that we Protestants previously rejected. There is, in the presbyterian world, something now called the “renewal of baptism vows.” We borrow from it from time to time. My favorite part of that renewal of baptism liturgy is this: it’s the reminder for all of us to remember your baptism and be grateful. Remember your baptism, and be grateful. Remember your baptism, and be grateful.

What would it look like if each day, as we woke up and looked at ourselves in the mirror, we would say that? Remember your baptism, and be grateful. What would it look like if we said to ourselves, “You are a child of God. You are a beloved child of God. Nothing can ever separate you from that love.” What would that look like? What would it look like to remind ourselves that, because we are God’s beloved children, we have been given gifts and graces to do extraordinary things, that God and God’s Spirit have called us into the world to seek justice, and to live in righteousness, to build a community of reconciliation, to restore brokenness wherever it may be found, to bring the things of God to the people of God, so that God’s people might live fully and freely as God intended for them to live.

What would it look like, if every morning we looked at ourselves in the mirror and said, “You are God’s beloved. Remember your baptism. And be grateful.”

So… remember your baptism. Lean into it. Rely on it. Have faith in it. Believe with it. Trust the Spirit that empowers you. Claim your name. Claim your name as a child of God, a beloved child of God. And claim every rippling implication and trajectory of that identity, as far as the waters cover the sea. Thanks be to God. AMEN.