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.