BAPTISM OF JESUS 2007 | Luke 3:15-17, 21-22

I have only seen my father cry twice in my life. Once was at his own father’s funeral. The other time was when he and my mother came to visit to attend my graduation from CIIS. I had just earned my PhD in World Religions, and since I was the first doctor in the family, it was quite a big deal.

The graduation ceremony was a fiasco, not surprisingly. CIIS is, after all, one of those “alternative schools,” and since my family recoils at anything smacking of “hippie” culture, it was not a good fit. The graduation address was given by Ram Das, after all. He had just had a stroke and, lord bless him, it took him about 45 minutes to say hello. When he finally did struggle on to the main text of his talk, it was all about psychodelic mushrooms, wouldn’t you know. Ralph Metzner took the stage after him and proceeded to give Ram Das’ Vedic Horoscope.

For my occult-phobic relatives, this was simply too much. After the ceremony, I looked at my mother nervously, and she waved her hand imperially and pronounced, “We shall not speak of it.” Afterwards it was back to our house in San Leandro for a reception. At the party my mother asked if they should join us for church the next day. Fr. Richard was preaching, and since you never know what the man is going to say—heavens, HE never knows what he’s going to say—I thought it safest to suggest that my parents simply sleep in. Ram Das and Richar Mapplebeckpalmer on two consecutive days is simply asking for trouble.

The next day, after breakfast, my father handed me a card. It contained a check for a thousand dollars, which was quite generous. But it was nothing compared to the next gift he gave me. A tear swelled up in his eye and he said words I have waited my entire adult life to hear. “I’m proud of you,” he said.

This is the only time I have ever heard those words from him since I graduated high school. It meant more to me than I can possibly say. I’ve thought an awful lot about that day, and I must admit that it is a bittersweet event. Sweet, because I finally got the parental blessing that I had, in fact, been knocking myself out for for seven years. Bitter because—well, why should I have had to do all that to hear those words? Why should my father’s love and approval be so stingily doled out? It felt like some kind of watershed experience to hear those words, and yet, my rational side says  it should be commonplace. To so withhold a blessing is almost abusive. At the same time I felt profoundly relived, I also felt cheated and marred in my soul. Because if you are not getting a blessing from your parents, it is difficult indeed to believe you are worthy of one.

This is not, I know, a unique experience. None of our parents are perfect, and we have all of us suffered some kind of wounding. And because our parents rarely change, because it is more likely that the Pope will convert to Mormonism in snow-driven Hell than it is our parents will ever sit down with us and say, “Hey, I screwed up and I’m sorry,” if we are going to heal, we have to take responsibility for ourselves.

And this is why I love being a catholic Christian. Too much of a non-sequitor? No problem, I’ll back up. Let’s look at Jesus in today’s reading from Luke. Jesus comes to be baptized, and this booming voice from the clouds rattles the countryside saying, “This is my beloved son, in whom I am well pleased.” How is THAT for parental blessing? And look for just a moment at where this happens in Jesus’ life. Does this occur after he has surrendered to bloody death? No. Does this happen after his resurrection? No. Does it happen after he has roamed the countryside healing innumerable people? No. Does it happen after he has become famous on the rabbinical speaker’s circuit? No. It happens before he does a blinkin’ thing. We know absolutely nothing about Jesus life between him being a twelve-year-old showoff at the temple and this very moment, when he goes to his cousin to get dunked. For all we know, he’s been a flannel-wearing slacker for the past twenty years.

We don’t know what he has been doing, but we do know that he has done nothing worthy of being reported by the gospel writers. And yet, what does the voice of God say? “This is my beloved son, in whom I am well pleased.”

We don’t know anything about the development of Jesus’ teaching. We don’t know if what he started out preaching is the same as what he ended up preaching, but I would not be surprised if the great Good News that Jesus promised had it’s origin here. Consider for just a moment if Jesus had been nothing but a slacker up to this point. Consider for a moment if Jesus had done absolutely nothing remarkable at this time. Imagine for a moment that Mary is fed up with him freeloading, and conspiring with her neighbors how to get him out of the house or—god willing—married. Consider how such a Jesus might feel about himself, his insecurity and paralysis. And now imagine the magnitude of the affirmation bestowed upon him at his baptism, and how that might transform him.

That kind of affirmation is transformative for any of us. It is the kind of affirmation we hunger for, and we rarely receive. Indeed, even when it is offered, it is difficult for us to receive it, because of all the negative self-messages we have internalized. What would it take to shake you out of your own self-loathing and paralysis? A voice booming from the heavens, declaring to the entire world, “I love you and I am proud of you?” Yeah, okay, that might do it.

Maybe that’s what it took for Jesus. I do know that whatever happened that day changed him forever. And it also shaped his teaching, because from then on out, he took this one message to everyone he met. “God loves you. God approves of you. God wants to be in relationship with you. It doesn’t matter what anyone else has ever told you. It doesn’t matter what you have done or what you are doing. It doesn’t matter how worthy you think you are or aren’t. God loves you. God approves of you. And God wants to be in relationship with you. How about it?”

Notice that it was through the ritual of baptism that Jesus received this revelation. And it is through the sacraments, through these silly rituals, that he extends this same transformation to us even today. The catechism says that through the sacraments, we receive sure and certain grace—God’s unmerited favor towards us. Now, I used to chafe at that definition of grace. “God’s unmerited favor towards us. As if I were worthless. As if I were unworthy of God’s grace. I understand it differently now. Now I understand that it isn’t about being worthy or unworthy. That’s the entire point. God’s grace, God’s favor, God’s good will, God’s love, God’s pleasure in you is not tied to anything you have done or not done. Whether you are worthy or unworthy is entirely beside the point. You are loved because you ARE.

And that is a very difficult thing for us to accept. Just as the “good son” in the story of the Prodigal Son discovered, it doesn’t seem fair that his father loved the reprobate brother just as much as he loved him. He, after all, had been worthy of his father’s love. But that didn’t seem to matter. Just so, in the parable of the workers, those who had been working all day and those who had been working five minutes before the whistle blew at the end of the day were all paid the same wages. How is this fair? How is this justice?

It isn’t. God isn’t fair. And God isn’t just. God doesn’t give a rat’s scaly nipple for justice or being fair. God just loves. And God loves EVERYONE, without exception.

Jesus is metonymous for all of us, I believe. When we are baptized, I wish we could all hear that booming voice crying aloud to all the earth, “This is my beloved child, in whom I am well pleased.” Because God is saying it, and if we had the ears to hear it, it might very well transform us as well.

Baptism is a one time event for most of us, but fortunately, God has given us another sacrament that affirms us week in and week out. When we come to this table for communion, we are given another gift of grace. In the bread of eucharist, we enact the sacred mystery of the incarnation, for in eating this bread and drinking this wine we proclaim that we are living members of the resurrected body of Christ. We didn’t earn this privilege, we cannot earn it. In consuming bread and wine we are ourselves subsumed into God, not because of what we have done or not done but because we are simply loved as we are. Because when we take one step towards God, God takes two steps towards us. Because when we say “yes” to God, God only asks how much love we can handle.

This is a self-regulating thing, of course. For most of us, receiving love is a very hard thing. In fact, we can only really receive it to the degree that we are able to love ourselves. But it does help to know that, in spite of our capacity to receive it, love is there, love is offered, love is waiting for us to reach out with open hands just exactly as we reach out for the eucharist.

These are all enacted symbols, and they are also real. Today, we will distrubute the eucharst with the words, “This is my beloved son or daughter, in whom I am well pleased.” I invite you to hear it. I invite you to believe it. I invite you let it transform you. Let us pray….;

Even if our parents will never affirm us in the way we need to be affirmed, even if we cannot affirm ourselves, let us allow God to affirm us.