Grace, and peace to you from God our heavenly Father and our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ.
There is a lot throughout the entire lectionary lessons for today – in Lamentations we heard the prophet’s anguish at the exile of Judah, in a series of verse that often mimic the same shame and suffering that churches experience in their own stresses, when they imagine that God is testing them, too.
In the second lesson we find Paul’s words of encouragement to the young pastor Timothy, reminding him that faith is both a gift, and a heritage.
But in the gospel lesson for today, we hear hard words from Jesus – not the kind of ‘feel-good’ words that we like to hear, with a lot of encouragement and kind words, but instead a simple statement of expectation: we have done only what we ought to have done.
In the midst of this today we also celebrate the sacraments of the church: the baptism of Morgan Ruth Macintyre, and we gather at the table of the Lord where Christ himself is both host, and food. Both of those sacraments centre around death, and new life.
And it makes me wonder, sometimes, when we’re so busy, how we take the time to develop our understanding of how what we read in the bible relates to these visual elements of worship.
Today I feel a little bit divided – on one hand, I’m the proud father of a baby girl who’s going to be baptized today, on the eve of the 29th anniversary of my own baptism. She’ll be washed, cleansed, and brought to new life through the water and God’s redeeming Word.
On the other hand, I’m the pastor who’s going to kill her. Not just figuratively, because if the death of a sinful self is merely figurative in baptism, then there’s no point. Then it’s just an empty ritual. But I will literally pour the water over her head that will kill her old self, her primal sinful nature, and Christ will raise her again.
And all these things that are placed around the font signify just that. The water by which God’s Word will accomplish its task. The little white cloth that looks so cute when drying off her head is, in fact, a burial garment. It is linen to wrap a dead body in.
And the Christ candle is lit today. The apostle John wrote in his gospel, “in Jesus was life, and the life was the light of all people…the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.” The Christ candle is a visible reminder to all of us today of our baptismal day. It’s lit specifically for Morgan today, and the only other time that it is lit just for her is a day that I hope and pray that I will never see – because that will be the day of her funeral. The light shines in the darkness.
And here today, like Paul commends to Timothy, are her mother and her grandmother. Like I said, I feel divided today, because of my dual role here, but her grandmother is her baptismal sponsor, and I feel confident that if Diana and I were to shirk our responsibilities to the vows we make as her parents, her grandmother would see to it they were fulfilled. After all, she did a fairly good job with her own children, and she is also Diana’s baptismal sponsor.
Paul writes: I am reminded of your sincere faith, a faith that lived first in your grandmother Lois and your mother Eunice, and now, I am sure, lives in you.
That’s a pretty monumental statement to make, because it completely cuts out of the role of Sunday School, catechism class, or for that matter the sermon, in helping your faith. Because what Paul is saying is that faith is caught, not taught. The opposite of faith is not, in fact, doubt – but rather certainty. You cannot have faith in what you know for certain; but faith exists to give us the conviction of truth in things that we cannot see. So, it’s both gift and heritage; it’s caught, not taught.
Think of the person who was the most formational in your faith. It may in fact be a pastor, but more than likely it’s a family member or a friend who showed you, by example, what it meant to be Christian. And you know what? Chances are, they didn’t do it because they felt they had do, but rather because they believed that sharing faith simply ought to be done. Not for rewards or accolades in heaven, but simply because it’s what you do.
When we talk of baptism – and I encourage each of you to turn in your hymnals to page 1165, just to see – we teach the death of the old self, and new birth through Jesus Christ. But that doesn’t make us naturally any better. There’s an old wives’ tale that suggested that child needed to cry at their baptism because that way you’d know the devil was being driven out. That’s wrong. No devil is driven out. But in a way, faith is driven in.
After Morgan is baptized I will anoint her with oil, and mark on her forehead the sign of the Cross of Jesus Christ with the words, “Child of God, you are sealed with the Holy Spirit and marked with the cross of Christ forever.” Our Lutheran understanding of the role of the Holy Spirit is that it is the Spirit that brings faith. Look at the Small Catechism’s explanation of the 3rd Article of the Apostle’s Creed.
For Morgan, faith will come as a gift, without even knowing it’s been given. Because of that, it becomes very easy for us to ignore or neglect our own faith, and instead trust ‘professionals’ to do the job in Sunday School or at confirmation.
But the truth is, Morgan will not get taught faith from me as her pastor. I’m not a particularly gifted teacher. But, like every other Christian parent who bears the same responsibilities, she will learn faith – catch it – from me as her father, and from her mother, from her grandparents, and from you. Not by accident, but by intent. Because it is simply what ought to be done.
The markings of that ‘sinful nature’ that is destroyed in baptism will never fully leave us alone. Martin Luther (from whom the Lutheran tradition takes it name) once described original sin – or if you prefer, the dominant sin – using a word that simply meant “inward-curving”.
Basically, we can never keep the first commandment – you will have no other gods before me – because we want to be god in God’s place. Our own selfish desires will almost always take first place in our lives, until we relax and let the gospel work in our lives as it ought to.
A lot of pastors and theologians who have never been parents don’t like original sin because they prefer the idea that babies like Morgan are innocent. But let me put it this way: if Morgan were innocent, she would simply trust that all her needs are going to be filled for her, that she will be fed, clothed, changed, and loved. She would never cry, because she would live by absolute trust. She would know for certain that her needs would be met; she would have no need for faith.
But instead, she is blessed with a nasty little suspicious mind. She is convinced that we don’t love her, or even know she’s there unless she yells at us. Our lives are controlled by a 8-pound, 6-ounce tyrant. And we’re fine with that.
Because, in the same way that our heavenly Father forgives us, nurtures us, and looks after us, we forgive, nurture, and care for Morgan. Not because we have to do it but because it’s what is to be done. It’s a responsibility that we welcome gladly and accept joyfully.
Grace is poured out upon all of us at our baptism; it is renewed daily when we rise in the morning, and made visible through the sacraments of the church. Tradition and superstition make them into much, much, more than they actually are.
Today, through plain water and the Word of God, Morgan will be reborn a child of God. It’s not holy water; it’s from the tap. It’s the Word spoken with it that makes it a baptism.
Today, through bread and wine, you will receive the forgiveness of your sins. There are only two things to remember when you come to table: that this is the forgiveness of what you’ve done wrong, and secondly, that it is for you. The youngest children understand that. As we become adults and expect rites of passage and stern requirements, it’s easy to lose that – in fact, the church lost that for a number of centuries. But it is a meal for all who hunger for the bread of life, and thirst for the cup of salvation. You learned that through watching your own parents, your elders, partake in the meal.
As you come for communion today, I encourage you to dip your fingers in the water in the font, and connect yourself back to your own baptism. Trace the sign of the cross on your forehead, and give thanks that your baptism connects you to this table, not because you are worthy, or work hard enough, but because God adores you.
For we will see today that Christ loves Morgan Ruth so much that he died for her to bring her to new life. To find her, redeem her, and make her holy. As she is united with Christ in a death like his, she will one day be united with him in resurrection.
You are baptized. You are fed. You are adored. The faith that you have is both gift, and heritage – always remember this: you are the blessings your ancestors prayed for. You have only done what you ought to have done – you have lived your faith.
Amen.
