(Preached on Sunday, January 10, 2010)
…and 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.” -Luke 3:22
I remember the night I was ordained. It was so special, and holy, and is one of the few days of my life that are burned into my memory. Do you remember the time you were ordained? You are, you know, ordained. You are a minister of the gospel. In the early rites of baptism, the church made this clear. The newly baptized Christian was given a new white robe, symbolic of the new life that was now being lived. Hands were laid on the head, sign of the gift of the Holy Spirit, the empowerment to be in ministry with Christ in the world. So, the night I was ordained was not June 1, 1980 when hands were laid on my head in St. John’s UCC, Cullman, Alabama, but rather December 24, 1966, the night I was baptized in Third Baptist Church in St. Louis, Missouri.
Today’s gospel is an account of the baptism of Jesus. When Jesus was baptized, says Luke, a dove descends and there is a voice proclaiming Jesus as the beloved child of God. Right after this event Jesus begins his ministry of preaching, teaching and healing. Jesus’ baptism is the day of his “ordination,” the beginning point of his work – his ministry.
Properly understood, ministry is a response to the call and claim of God on one’s life. Baptism is the sign and symbol of that call and claim. Luke is very clear that the focus of the baptism of Jesus is the naming and claiming of Jesus as God’s own, the Beloved.
Baptism is a naming ceremony. We easily forget this today, what with sonograms telling parents the sex of the child weeks prior to birth and a name being attached before the umbilical cord is cut. By the time the child is brought to the font her name is familiar to family and friends. We make an admirable effort to pretend otherwise. Before the act of baptism, we refer to “this child.” Then comes the moment when the church, through the pastor, takes the child in its arms and asks, “By what name shall this child be called?” The parents respond with the chosen name. Only then does the liturgy allow the use of the child’s name. All of this is intended to remind us that it is in our baptism that we receive our name and discover our true identity. Just as Jesus did, hearing the voice pronounce him “Beloved,” even so in baptism we hear our name called by God and know that we, too, are truly “beloved.”
As we are named, we are also claimed by God. No longer do we belong solely to ourselves, or to our parents, to our clan, to our nation, to the economic machine, or to the world. We know ourselves to truly belong to the family of God as beloved children, too. Other voices attempt to redefine us or claim us throughout life. Whenever we leave this sanctuary we encounter those voices – telling us we belong to no one but ourselves, or we belong to the great economic machine as consumers, or we belong to our government as citizens and patriots above all other loyalties. But the truth is we who have been baptized recognize our primary identity in God, as beloved children. God has claimed us and showers love, grace, forgiveness on us – gifts which no one can take from us.
Martin Luther, the great Protestant Reformation leader, passionately reminded people to “Remember your baptism!” Unfortunately, only a minority of us literally recall our baptismal experience, since so many were baptized as infants. But I think Luther meant something bigger than our historical memory of one day. In his catechism, the book for teaching the faith, Luther wrote, “A truly Christian life is nothing else than a daily baptism once begun and ever to be continued.” Luther wanted us to remember each and every day who we are, and whose we are, and how beloved we are. Even in an age when we spend so much time talking about “self esteem,” don’t we still long to hear that we are beloved?
This is where we receive the power for living our lives as children of God and followers of Jesus. This is the source of meaning and purpose we yearn for in our lives. There is real power in baptism – power for new life, for change, for transformation. This is why we speak in the baptismal liturgy about being “born again from above.” Far too often today some people use that phrase “born again” as a slogan or a code, a way of saying who is in and who is not.
Twenty years ago the Berlin Wall came down. A 13-year-old girl from the eastern side somehow made her way to a Christian community in West Berlin and found shelter there. Several years before, this child had been sold into prostitution by her mother. One day in that Christian community there was a baptism. The pastor poured water into the font and as he did so he spoke of being “born again from above.” Sitting near the back, the 13-yeaer-old girl listened to his words. After the worship she went to the pastor who stood near the font. Shy, she asked, “Can I be born again?” For her the words were not a formula or slogan. They were not code words. They were truth and life. The answer was, “Yes.”
Today, in churches around the world, people are still being baptized, still being washed in the living waters, still thirsting for God’s grace and a word of forgiveness and life, still waiting to be included, to find their place in the story of healing and salvation, still longing for the chance to start their life over. The voice from heaven says, “You are my Child, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.” These words may come from heaven but they do not come out of the blue: they echo God’s words from Isaiah long before. In chapter 43 the prophet wrote: “Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine… you are precious in my sight, and honored, and I love you” (43:1b, 4a). God’s love didn’t start yesterday, or even with the teachings of Jesus. It is from of old, and it is focused on each one of us, by name. We belong to God, and God loves us. It’s as if God is trying to say to each one of us, “No matter what happens and not matter how low and discouraged you feel, no matter what is happening around you and in your life, don’t you ever let anyone tell you that you are anything but a precious and beloved child of God.”
There is power in hearing that message. There is power in remembering that message – the message about our true name – “Beloved Child of God.” In the stage play, The Man of La Mancha, the great rescuer, Don Quixote, meets a prostitute named Aldonza. “You will be my lady,” he announced, to the shock of this woman. Then he added, “Yes, you are my lady, and I give you a new name – Dulcinea.” Dulcinea laughs scornfully. Undaunted, Don Quixote keeps affirming her and declaring her to be what he believes she is. The play continues, and we come to a scene where the stage is empty. It is nighttime. Offstage a woman screams. It’s Aldonza. She’s being assaulted. She appears onstage hysterical. Her blouse is town, her hair disheveled. There’s dirt on her face and terror in her eyes. She’s panic-stricken. Loud and clear comes the voice of the Man of La Mancha, “My lady!” She can’t handle this and screams, “Don’t call me your lady; I’m not any kind of lady. I was born in a ditch and left there. Don’t call me a lady! I’m only Aldonza. I am nothing at all!” She then whirls and runs out into the night, but Don Quixote calls after her with a loud voice, “But you are my lady, Dulcinea.” The curtain falls, but shortly again rises, this time on the death scene of Don Quixote. He is dying of a broken heart – scorned, laughed at, despised and rejected. Suddenly, to his side comes what appears to be a Spanish queen in mantilla and lace. She kneels and prays, and as she does he opens his eyes and asks, “Who are you?” “Don’t you remember?” The lady rises and stands tall. She whispers softly, “Don’t you remember? You called me your lady. You gave me a new name. My name is Dulcinea!”
Whether we can remember our baptismal day or not is less important than whether we can remember that we too are blessed and beloved. Remembering our baptism is remembering our true name, our true identity, no matter what else has happened in our lives. The more we can remember our baptism every day of our lives: remembering who we are and whose we are – a child of God, loved unconditionally – the more that reality will shape our lives. The more we can remember it, the more we will be transformed by that reality and truly become in all we think, say and do, the beloved Child of God – which is our true identity.