YEAR C 2025 baptism of jesus

The Baptism of Our Lord
Isaiah 43:1-7
Psalm 29
Acts 8:14-17
Luke 3:15-17, 21-22

In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.

Although I forgot to mention it last week, for those who are interested, there’s a basket of chalk in the parish hall, along with instructions for chalking your door for Epiphany.  Some people say that chalking the door brings good luck, or keeps evil spirits away.  But that’s not why we do it.  We put chalk on our doors to remind ourselves that God is with us, not to dispel demons.  As I remind us, over and over again, God does not save us from trouble; God saves us in our troubles.

We worship a God who specializes in resurrections, new beginnings, hope for the hopeless, love for the unloved.  All the miracles of Jesus are about setting things right: restoration of sight, healing of disease, raising the dead back to life.  Chalking our door reminds us that Jesus is with us; that’s why we do it, despite what troubles might come our way.

And speaking of Jesus' being with us, today we celebrate the Baptism of Our Lord.  It’s a big deal in the Christian Church; it gets its own Sunday every year.  And in today’s version of his baptism, from Luke, we have John the Baptist with his dramatic speech to set the stage.  He’s really building Jesus up to be a scary guy, baptizing with fire, a winnowing fork in his hand, with unquenchable fire!  The drama is off the charts here.  “Ladies and gentlemen, I give you JESUS!”

And then Luke writes, “when all the people were baptized, and when Jesus also was baptized . . .”  That’s it.  That’s the entrance.  Jesus gets baptized right along with everyone else—a parenthetical thought on the Feast Day of Our Lord’s Baptism.  Luke doesn’t give us any details about the baptism.  Jesus is just . . . baptized along with everybody else.  Or, as Luke says, right along with “ALL the people.”  All the people were baptized, and Jesus also was baptized.  Kind of an understated entrance for the guy John the Baptist has been stumping for, isn’t it?  I mean, the set-up seems a little overblown.

But, of course, you know what happens next.  Jesus is praying, the heavens open up, the Holy Spirit descends in the form of a dove, and there is a voice from heaven saying, “You are my son, the beloved; with you I am well pleased.”  Whole theological careers have been built on this sentence.  And mine will not be among them.  There are too many questions about what this means for Jesus’ own sense of his Messianic identity for me to wade into.  But this voice from heaven sounds remarkably similar to what comes just prior to the reading we heard from Isaiah this morning.

In Isaiah 42 we read, “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.”  Of course, we might conclude that Luke intends for it to sound remarkably similar, and that’s why it does.  But the echo is certainly there, and it would make the connection clear for anyone familiar with the writings of Isaiah.  

And just after that prophecy, in today’s reading from Isaiah, we have a series of promises.  I have called you by name and you are mine.  Do not fear; I am with you.  You are precious in my sight.  I am the Lord your God, your Savior.  These are promises to God’s people.  These are promises to you and me.  

And these texts from Isaiah parallel the announcement at Jesus’ baptism along with the people.  I mean, ALL the people.  Isaiah 43:2—When you pass through the waters, I will be with you.  When you pass through the water, God is with you.  You are God’s beloved child.  In you, God is well pleased.  And how do we know God is with us when we pass through the water?

Because as we heard, Jesus meets the people being baptized in the water, and God is well pleased.  Jesus joins with each of us in the waters of baptism, just as he meets us at this Altar in the sacrament.  When Jesus joins us in the baptismal water, the water overflows with promise--forgiveness, new life, God calling us by name, God proclaiming us beloved. Like Jesus, we are named precious, honored, and loved. God is with us always; we do not need to be afraid, because Jesus is the fulfillment and embodiment of God's promise.

And, after meeting us in the water, Jesus meets us in every circumstance, every season of life, even in the moment of death—especially there. From the water, Jesus walks with us on the journey of our lives, ending at the cross, and the empty tomb. Jesus has gone before us, and is always with us, whether or not we chalk our doors.

But there’s a sticky point in the Baptism of Jesus, and maybe it’s a thought you’ve had yourself, and it is this:  If Baptism is for the remission of sin (you know, forgiveness of sin), and since Jesus is without sin, then why does Jesus have to be baptized?  Why does Jesus get baptized along with ALL the people?  Well, two thoughts on that . . .

First, we kind of have the shoe on the wrong foot here.  It’s not that Jesus is baptized like us; it’s that we are baptized like Jesus.  Jesus isn’t doing what we do in baptism; rather, in our baptism, we are doing what Jesus does.  We are joining in the baptism of Jesus.

And secondly, baptism is not a requirement; baptism is a gift.  God doesn’t love us because we have been baptized.  Instead, we get to be baptized because God loves us.  And that’s particularly clear when we remember those words from Isaiah.  God says when you pass through the waters I will be with you.  Which is quite different from saying, after you have passed through the waters, I will consider loving you.

And as we saw in today’s gospel reading, when ALL the people were baptized, Jesus was with them.  Not just watching them from the shore, nodding in approval.  No, Jesus is baptized with them.  Not in some special, private, rock-star baptism, but right along with them.  
Which suggests that rather than looking up to heaven for God, maybe we should look around the room.  Because that’s where Jesus is.

In our own Baptismal Covenant, we promise to seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving our neighbors as ourselves.  We renew that covenant every time we witness a baptism.  Every time we see someone get confirmed.  Every time the Bishop visits.  Every Easter.  And today as well, on the Baptism of our Lord.  And, as with all the promises we make in church, we make the promises along with the phrase, “with God’s help.”  We promise to do the impossible, with God’s help.  To seek and serve Christ in all persons, with God’s help.  Because God is with us.

I encourage you to hear these words again, because God says to you, “Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine.  When you pass through the waters, I will be with you . . . For I am the LORD your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Savior. Because you are precious in my sight, and honored, and I love you.”

God loves you.  Exactly as you are.  And whether or not there is chalk on your door, Jesus is always with you.

Amen.

The Burial of Wendy Little

Wendy Little, 1/10/25
Isaiah 25:6-9
Psalm 23
Revelation 21:2-7
John 6:37-40

In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  Amen.

Wendy was always on the move.  She traveled the world because she wanted to see things, and learn things, and visit exotic places.  And then, when she got back, you would hear all the stories—some of them quite bizarre, I must add.  But Wendy was always on the move.

Later in life, when her doctor told her she needed exercise, Wendy took to walking.  Actually, I should call it power walking.  You’ve never seen someone with a walker move so fast!  Since we live around the corner from her house, we were on her route.  And any time I was out grilling in the driveway, I could count on hearing Wendy’s walker racing up the block.  Determined to get her steps in.  Always on the move that Wendy.

And not just physically.  Though Wendy was firm in her political positions, she was always willing to hear what others had to say.  More than once she called the office, or spoke to me after church and said, “You know, I’m a Republican, but I agree with what you said, and I’m glad you said it.”  To be clear, I am careful not to preach politics in church, but to Wendy it was important to start these sentences by telling me where she stood politically, even though it wasn’t a political sermon she was talking about.  But she was always willing to move . . . at least a little.

In the passage I read from John’s gospel a few minutes ago, Jesus says “Everything that the Father gives me will come to me, and anyone who comes to me I will never drive away.”  Everything and everyone will come to Jesus.  And Jesus promises that he will lose nothing the Father has given him, but will raise it up on the last day.  Jesus walks with us throughout our lives, no matter how fast we go or how much we are on the move.

Wendy was always on the move.  But in all her travels, she has not gone anywhere she has not already been all along, which is safely in the palm of God’s hands.  Jesus says he will lose nothing that has been given to him.  Not Wendy, not you, and not me.  No matter where we travel, no matter how much we move, Jesus is holding us throughout our entire lives.  And—more importantly—Jesus is also holding us in death, because Jesus does not lose what is his.

Wendy has traveled to a new place, and one day we will join her there.  And she will most certainly have even more interesting stories to tell as we walk together, if only we can keep up with her.  God bless Wendy Little, and God bless you.

Amen.

YEAR C 2025 christmas 2

Christmas 2, 2025
Jeremiah 31:7-14
Psalm 84:1-8
Ephesians 1:3-6, 15-19a
Luke 2:41-52

In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  Amen.

So, here we are on the 12th Day of Christmas.  I hope you’re enjoying the 12 drummers drumming.  (It’s getting a little crowded in our house at this point.)  The Christmas season is almost over, we’ve just entered a new calendar year, and Epiphany starts when the sun sets tonight.  Things are changing . . . quickly, whether we’re ready or not.

Accepting change is very hard.  The most recent example for you and me right now is probably the appearance of the number 5, since I’m sure I’m not the only one who’s had to cross out 2024 and write 2025 on something.  We say that change is good, and that we embrace change, and change is for the better and all that; but when it comes right down to it, change is hard.  Especially hard when we don’t want things to change.  Still, the change keeps coming.

But first things first, to change the subject . . . The question we’re all honestly asking ourselves right now:  Three days?  They were searching for Jesus for three days?  I have often lost track of my kids for three minutes, and in some settings three hours, but THREE DAYS???  And when they find Jesus, Mary says to him, “Your father and I have been searching for you in great anxiety.”  Well there’s an understatement, huh?  “Great anxiety” doesn’t begin to describe it I’m sure.  On the other hand, part of me expects Jesus to say, “Well you’re the ones who left me.”  And, of course, that’s why he’s Jesus, and I’m not.

And the next question is, how did that happen, anyway?  How do you just leave your eldest child behind and not even notice for a whole day?  In fact, I think that question is so distracting that we risk missing the rest of the story.  It’s especially strange because this is the only story we have from Jesus’ childhood.  Only Luke has any mention of the early years of Jesus’ life and this is it.  We get one childhood memory between his birth and the start of his ministry, and it’s: Hey, remember that time we left Jesus in the Temple for 3 days and didn’t notice?

But two things to point out here:  First, Mary and Joseph are traveling with a large group of people.  It’s not like they’re climbing into their hatchback with an empty carseat in the back, not noticing that their only child is missing.  As the text says, “they assumed he was within the group of travelers among the relatives and friends.”  I am only dwelling on this to try to get us past what is probably a glaring obstacle in our modern minds.  And, Mary’s reaction on finally seeing her boy sets the right tone.  She has been worried sick about him.  Searching “in great anxiety.”  Great anxiety is something we can all relate to I think.

And the second thing going on here has to do with the gospel of Luke.  When you read Luke’s Gospel, you’ll notice that everything points to the Temple.  Jesus is always heading for the Temple.  The Temple is the scene of all the big confrontations.  For Luke, Jesus’ destiny is always in the Temple.  It’s the most natural place for him to go; it’s sort of his default destination.  If you’re looking for Jesus in Luke’s gospel, you should probably start in the Temple.

Mary asks, “Why have you treated us like this?”  She’s not ready for this kind of change.  And so she makes it a story about Mary.  But, really, who wouldn’t?  At this point, she doesn’t really know the full truth about Jesus.  And, personally, I’m willing to consider that Jesus doesn’t know the full truth about Jesus, either.  To Jesus, it seems only natural that he would be in the Temple.  And when I was 12 years old, it seemed only natural to me that I would be at the candy store.  Jesus responds to his mother (and it’s worth noting, this is the first time Jesus ever speaks in the gospels), he asks “Why were you searching for me?  Did you not know that I must be in my Father’s house?”  It’s almost as if Jesus hasn’t noticed the change of focus either.

Then Luke adds, “But they did not understand what he said to them.”  Well of course they didn’t!  They don’t know that when Jesus says “My Father’s house,” he’s not talking about Joseph’s place.  To Jesus (and Luke), it’s only natural for Jesus to be in the Temple.  

So Jesus disappeared, his parents found him, he seems surprised that it took them so long, and then the gospel reading today closes with this:  “And Jesus increased in wisdom and years, and in divine and human favor.”  That seems like an odd phrase, doesn’t it?  It kind of sounds to me like, “And Jesus, Mary, and Joseph lived happily ever after.” And Jesus increased in wisdom and years, and in divine and human favor.  Or actually, it sounds more like it’s the beginning of a story, rather than the end of one.  Maybe even like the end of an introduction to a story.

Just before that, we see Mary doing what Mary does in Luke’s gospel:  Pondering these things in her heart.  Well, our translation today uses “treasured these things.”  Mary treasures these things in her heart, because she does not understand, but she also ponders them, and turns them over to try to understand.  Pondering is a good word for this, since it implies an activity, an action on her part.  These are not precious little memories of Jesus’ childhood to store away in a scrapbook and bring out to show friends at parties.  She ponders, trying to understand.

Mary ponders these changes in the boy Jesus, just as we ponder the changes we continue to go through.  We want the baby that we had just twelve days ago.  Safely tucked in his crib, no crying he makes in the silent holy night.  A baby, we know how to handle.  Change the diapers; feed the baby; wrap the baby in warm clothes.  Babies we understand.

I think that’s one of the reasons Christmas is so comfortable for us, and for everyone, really.  We embrace the “little 8 lb 6 ounce newborn baby Jesus, don’t even know a word yet, infant cuddly, but still omnipotent.”  Because that’s how we like Jesus to be.  We don’t want him to change into an adult.  And it’s tempting to think that the Christmas story is the biggest part of the life of Jesus—given how our society treats Christmas—like it’s all just details after December 25th.  But, honestly?  It’s not.  Christmas is just the way to start the story.

And the fact that we moved from his birth 12 days ago, to his circumcision on Wednesday, to his first words in the temple at the age of twelve today kind of drives home the point.  Christmas is important because it is the start of our redemption story.  And for that reason, on some level the whole Christmas story is like the phrase, “Once Upon A Time.”  It starts the story, but it sure isn’t the point.  I mean, it’s a big deal that God walks among us, don’t get me wrong.  But the point of the story is yet to come.

Things have changed quickly these past 12 days.  Jesus is out of the crib and taking on the world.  Suddenly he’s twelve years old and giving us clues as to where this story is going.  And, like Mary, we’re already confused.  We’re already wishing he’d just stay put, surrounded by animals and shepherds and wise men.  Stay right there in that manger and don’t ever change, little Christmas Jesus.

But that Christmas Jesus has moved on.  The crib is empty.  And now we follow him on this journey that takes him to the cross and leads us to the empty tomb.  It’s one, long, wondrous story that begins with his birth, and takes us to our rebirth.  From the empty crib to the empty tomb, a lot is going to change for us in the next few months.

And here’s the thing:  Jesus is not confined to a manger scene.  And Jesus is not confined to this building.  As we heard, Jesus is out in the world now too, busy doing the work that the Father sent him to do: bringing restoration to the people, and restoration to our relationships.  Jesus has come, and God walks among us.  And you and I will continue to ponder all these things in our hearts, knowing that the salvation story is just getting started.

May God continue to remind us that Jesus is out in the world with us, among us, wherever we may be.  Yes, we have anxiety, and yes we are all a little bit confused, but Jesus is with us here in God’s house, and also with us out in the world.  Emmanuel: God is with us.

Amen.

YEAR C 2025 feast of the holy name

Holy Name, 2025
Numbers 6:22-27
Psalm 8
Philippians 2:5-11
Luke 2:15-21

In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  Amen.

Well, on this Feast of the Holy Name of Jesus, January 1st, New Year's Day, I am going to read to you the same sermon that I read every year on this day, because I need to hear it, even if you don't.  

Every year, on January 1st, our secular society celebrates New Year’s Day, while on the same day the Church is celebrating the Feast of the Holy Name, Jesus.  As we heard on the Sundays leading up to Christmas, the name Jesus literally means, “God saves.”  So we lift up the name of Jesus on this day, not because the word itself is special, but because it is a constant reminder of the promise: God saves.  Jesus means, God saves.

But I want to talk about a different name for a moment today: Janus.  Janus was the Roman god of beginnings and endings, gates, transitions, time, doorways, and passages.  Our month of January gets its name from Janus, and you can see why.  When the odometer of the calendar rolls over, it’s a beginning, and an ending, and a doorway, and a gate, and so on.

The god Janus is always depicted as having two heads: one facing forward, and one facing backward.  Seeing the future, and looking at the past.  And how fitting this is for how we view the start of the new year.  We look back at the past year, and we also give some thought to how things will be in the new year.  And, every year, we look back in judgement, and make resolutions about how things will be better, how we will be better.  And that’s why so many people feel dispirited at the turn of the calendar: because when we look backwards, we can be disappointed in ourselves and others.  And thanks to the Romans, we have Janus, who is always looking backward, always judging, always disappointed.  Just the kind of god human beings would make up, when you think about it.

But then we have Jesus, who is always looking forward.  When we confess our sins together, we hear in the Absolution that God forgives all our sins through our Lord, Jesus Christ.  ALL our sins.  But we still see them, don’t we?  We still lie awake at night with regrets over something we said to someone in third grade, or whatever.  We can see all our mistakes and failures and disappointments clear as day, because just like Janus, we are always looking backward.

And we also look backwards to define ourselves and others.  We explain our identities by looking to the past.  Here’s my degree; here’s where I served in the military; here’s my Eagle Scout badge.  Obituaries and resume’s are by definition an accounting of the past.  They look backward.  We naturally look to the past to tell who someone is.  We want to know, “How did you get here?”

But God always looks forward, not backward.  And the promises we make in church are always forward, never backward.  The priest asks a couple about to be married, Will you love, comfort honor and keep each other?  Before a person is Baptized, the priest asks Will you seek and serve Christ in all persons?  And the candidate says, I will, with God’s help.  We always ask “will you.”  We never ask “have you.”  It doesn’t matter how you got here.  It matters that you are here.  Again, God always looks forward, not backward.

Because when God looks backward, God sees nothing: all your sins have been erased.  They’re not there.  When God looks back there is nothing but Jesus: God saves.  Your sins, your mistakes, your regrets, those are no longer known to God.  They are only known to you.  God’s hindsight sees nothing but goodness and forgiveness and Jesus.  Because God saves.

May God give us all the grace to see our lives as God sees them, always looking forward, because of the Holy Name of Jesus: God saves.

Amen.