The Presentation 2001 | Luke 2:21-32

*Preached at Grace North Church February 4th, 2001.*

A couple of years ago I was asked by two families in the area to do a baptism for their boys, since they couldn't get their Roman Catholic priest to cooperate with them. The little boys were about two, and were cousins. The baptism took place at the lovely Interfaith Chapel in San Francisco, and was a joyous affair indeed. So I was delighted when only a couple of months ago I got another call from these two families, asking for a repeat performance. And I do mean repeat: they had each had another baby boy. It was deja vu all the way.

The service was going well, until the actual baptism part. Now a baptism service can be a lovely thing, but trying to hold a squirming, scared toddler over the font is often not pretty. True to form, the first of the boys was welcomed into God's Kingdom kicking and screaming all the way. Just as his head was over the font he lashed out with all his fury, and his foot kicked his father's pager right into the baptismal water. Everyone laughed, the pager was fished out, and the service continued. But a light had gone on in my head, and I said to myself, "This is the word of the Lord." I doubt that anyone there caught the symbolic import of such an accident, but in me it reverberated for days.

I typically try to meet with the parents of a child to be baptized first in order to ascertain their understanding of what baptism means. Once we dispense with the silliness about washing away original sin, I get down to the serious business of this ritual. I tell them it's a "welcome to earth" ritual; but it is more than that. In the simple splashing of water, a life is consecrated to God, and not only that life, but all of those who are touched by and responsible for that life.

The evangelical tradition names this act with less obfuscation than liturgical traditions. They call it a baby dedication, the child is dedicated to God and the parents dedicate themselves, to make God as much a part of family life as the new child, for the sake of the child's spiritual life. The Jews, not surprisingly, had a similar rite. In Jewish tradition the first-born son was considered God's rightful property. The parents took a dove to the temple to sacrifice in the child's place. The child was then free to go home, but he would always belong to God.

This is the scene in our reading from Luke this morning. Jesus is being presented in the temple soon after his birth to be purchased back from God, and to receive the blessing of the clergy.

But Simeon, like any good priest, does not simply perform the ritual, but recognizes the profound import of this moment, and tries to impress this upon his parents.

Now, we assume that Simeon gives his famous speech because Jesus is some special uber-child; but I'd like you to consider the possibility that Simeon is simply being his normal priestly self; perhaps he gave that spiel to all the children. How wonderful it would be for this elderly priest to declare every child "the salvation which God hast prepared in the presence of all peoples, a light to lighten the Gentiles: and to be the glory to thy people Israel."

Regardless of whether this was a special revelation or simply talented priesting, Mary went away pondering these things in her heart.

Simeon's words, the Bible implies, haunted her long after the ritual was over. The implications of the ritual spilled out beyond the Sabbath and touched every aspect of their life together as a family. Mary's commitment of Jesus to God began the process by which her heart would be broken, and Jesus' life taken.

This ritual was not a one-time event. It was an event which spilled over and drenched every aspect of daily life with import.

How many of us are conscious of the profound impact of such rituals upon us? I think for too many of us Baptism or baby dedication is just something you do at church; like taking communion or helping out on a church work-day. You do it, it's over, life goes on.

But it isn't like that. Much as we like to compartmentalize our lives these days, God does not respect our compartments. God does not stay safely confined to Sunday mornings. Quite simply God is a rude miscreant who does not respect our boundaries. Poor us.

Or "rich us." God's non-cooperation in this area is, as annoying as it might seem to us, a great gift. For God regularly holds before us the lie that there is a difference between the secular and the sacred.

One of my favorite stories, and one that I've told many times here, is the one in which my first wife Cherrisa and I are watching some cop show on TV. I launched into a theological explication of the plotline, and Cherrisa exploded at me, "Damn it, John, everything is not about God."

"Well," I told her, "I think you're wrong. Everything IS about God."

Everything is about God, but it is simply too painful for us to be aware of this all the time. For if we truly lived our lives conscious of God's active presence, it would be difficult for us to pass a homeless person on the street without stopping to inquire about their lives. We would not be able to watch the news without righteous indignation striking us to change this screwed-up political world. We would not be able to countenance the apathy with which we pad our lives and make them comfortable. Every day our heart would be stricken as badly as Mary's was, since every soul being crucified out on the street is somebody's beloved child.

The pager fell into the baptismal waters, and in truth, this man's entire life, his business dealings, his appointment calendar, his affection for his wife, his recreation, all the aspects of his life to which that pager connected him fell into that water, too. He may not have been aware of it, but it happened nonetheless.

I remember one time at the reception of a wedding I had performed, I was enjoying a glass of wine. One of the guests, seeing the glass in my hand, became indignant and asked how I, a holy man, could possibly indulge in such sins of the flesh as alcohol.

First, of course, I set him straight about the holy man business. After I finished laughing in his face about that one, I pointed out that I was a Catholic, not a Puritan. The word "catholic" means universal, or comprehensive. "We don't deny ourselves our vices," I told him, "We simply baptize them."

The Christian life includes the whole gamut of human living: the light and the darkness, the healthy and the neurotic, the easy and the hard.

God does not respect the boundaries we erect around our lives. He invades every facet of living, like it or not, want it or not, know it or not. We have only two choices by way of response: we can ignore him or we can acknowledge his presence. The sacred flames out into every hidden corner of life. What will be our response? God says "I am here." Will you say "Go away" or "welcome"?

Brother Lawrence was a medieval monk, with the high station of dishwasher at his abbey. He did not let his menial post discourage him. In the midst of his dishwashing, he practiced noticing God in every moment. He found it got easier as he practiced it, and eventually he wrote a classic book called, fittingly, THE PRACTICE OF THE PRESENCE OF GOD. Today, he is the only monk at that monastery that we remember, not because he was a person of great power, but because he was fortunate enough to notice and cultivate the great power shining all around him.

In the Jewish tradition, believers cultivate this awareness of God's constant presence by the practice of mitzvahs, or holy duties. Very simply, they utter a prayer for even the most ordinary tasks. There is a prayer for coming home, a prayer for turning on the lights, a prayer for cleaning up after a meal, a prayer for everything you can think of. I have even seen a prayer for urinary elimination, which I at one time framed and hung at eye-level on the wall above the toilet!

This discipline of remembrance keeps one conscious that all of life is holy, every moment is lived in the loving embrace of the Holy One.

Be careful next time you go to a baptism, for you are witnessing an act of cosmic proportions. It reveals the truth which, once grasped, will seize your heart and haunt you forever. All of life goes into that water, and it is all changed: joys, sorrows, loves, heartaches, addictions, dysfunctions, emotions, dreams, hatreds, fears, and even our intermittent courageousness.

We are not alone on this rock. The water attests to the truth. We are drenched in God. We can sink, we can swim, or we can bathe. As for me, I say "praise the Lord, and pass the rubber ducky." Amen.

Instead of a meditational prayer, I would like to perform the ritual of asperges.

Dear friends,
this water will be used to remind us of our origins,
of the waters of the womb from which we were born,
and of the waters of the Earth that refresh and sustain all beings.
May God bless me as I perform this service.
With the Earth's hallowed waters do I consecrate
this holy altar and sanctuary.
And bless also this people who gather to
celebrate an astounding love.