Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY
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It is always tempting to conflate narratives—whether Gospel narratives or a story or chain of events from our own lives—into one smooth harmonious account or version. And that is understandable, since we like things to fit together without hiccups. It makes it easier for us to remember and relate the story. And sometimes things do fit together perfectly. But other times—perhaps most of the times—there are gaps, or lacunae as scholars often call them, which we fill in imaginatively, creatively, stubbornly so that the story hangs together. Academicians and preachers often tell us to beware of this or at least become aware of it. A few weeks ago, Brother Adam reminded us that the four gospels have widely differing birth narratives. Mark has, in fact, none. Matthew and Luke are rich in imagery, though different ones that are almost always mashed up together: angels, shepherds, no room at the inn, wise men, flights into Egypt, dreams. And John, of course, has his cosmic origin story for Jesus as the One who is from before time and through whom and for whom all things exist. We hold all this together in our hearts, if not always in our heads.
The same thing might be said of the stories of the baptism of Jesus. Each of the gospel writers has a slightly different take on what was going on, which is not surprising since not one of them was there, and each was writing for a different audience decades after the event. Matthew has Jesus coming explicitly to be baptized by John; they have a little give and take about whether it's appropriate for John to baptize Jesus; John consents; Jesus is baptized. And as soon as he comes up from the waters the heavens open, the dove descends, and words are heard, apparently in the sight and hearing of everyone. Mark’s gospel is a lot more concise and almost blunt. It simply says Jesus came was baptized and the heavens opened, and the voice came, though it appears that it was only Jesus who heard the voice or saw the heavens open and the Spirit descending. And then there's Luke gospel account that we hear today. What's interesting about his account is that it places Jesus firmly as part of the people. All the people were coming to be baptized. As Eugene Peterson puts it in his paraphrase: “Crowds of people came out for baptism because it was the popular thing to do.” And there's Jesus, right in the middle of them. Strangely, not much happens for Luke at the baptism. It's only later, when Jesus is praying, that the heavens are opened and in visible form a dove comes and a voice is heard: “You are my son, the beloved; With you I am well pleased.” But heard by whom? by Jesus? by the crowd? Luke doesn’t say. And just to be different, John's gospel doesn't have any baptism narrative at all but simply the Baptist’s witness that Jesus is indeed special. It is apparently he alone who sees Spirit come down on Jesus like a dove. And that’s it.
Having said this, we might ask what is the message that Luke offers us in his story of the baptism of our Lord? There are two lessons that I take from this. The first is that in considering any transformative or life changing experience, it's seldom if ever possible to pin it down exactly. But patterns or shapes emerge in all these gospel stories, patterns which reflect the movement of our own lives. In the case of our Lord’s baptism, it is the story of the movement from some sort of sign, whether a casual perception (let’s say a bird flies by and hovers over you) or a dramatic, even traumatic event which must be put into words, either by ourselves or by another, and from which the change beings. Movements in our own lives which parallel the story of Jesus are frequently through some kind of metaphorical desert and into a new ministry or identity, which is to say, into things, often insignificant in themselves, which re-shape our lives and our person. I think each of us here has at least one such story.
The second message that Luke offers us in his relating of our Lord’s baptism concerns Jesus’ solidarity. And it is solidarity not with a crowd or a collective or a mob, but with a people, a society, a community. Jesus doesn’t come to John as a stand-alone figure but as a part of a Judean people waiting, longing, looking for deliverance. As Dean Andrew McGowan puts it in his weekly commentary:
“Jesus was baptized, according to Luke, with “all the people”…because he is one of these people, this community of Israel.
“This implies two things: first it makes Jesus’s baptism itself—as opposed to the following revelation—mostly an act of solidarity and community, rather than something highly individual. He is baptized because all the people were coming out to listen to John and prepare for God's reign, and Jesus is taking his place among them. Second, it underlines that John's mission was not one of an individual altar call but a collective rallying-cry for the renewal and preparation of Israel as a polity of people.”
And because John and the people (including Jesus) are filled with expectation, they are ripe for a revolution, a change of heart, a move forward into something new and unprecedented.
It is this deep solidarity with the people of his day and with us in our own day that I take away this morning. It's not that Jesus is so radically different from us—though he is different—but that he is so much one of us and is with us and in us and will remain so until the end. And that we move toward him and his New Order together. I never grow weary of quoting St. Benedict’s Rule (Chapter 72) where he says of monks and of everyone: “Let them prefer nothing whatever to Christ, and may he bring us all together to everlasting life.” All together. That’s how it was at Jesus’ baptism. And that’s how it is for us, whether or not we recognize it. We are together in these waters that we call life. And we sink or swim, not as individuals but as a people, a church, a nation, a world. Our destinies are bundled up with those of everybody, everything, everywhere. Together.
I close on
an obscure liturgical note. The feast of the Baptism of Our Lord is hardly
ancient, though Jesus’ baptism remains central to the Eastern Church’s celebration
of Epiphany. But for us in the West, Epiphany has become all about the wise men
(Magi) and the manifestation of Jesus to the Gentiles. Perhaps as a corrective, Pope Pius XII in 1955
instituted a feast of the Baptism of Our Lord for the 13th of January, and then
around 1970 it moved to the Sunday after Epiphany. And almost all mainline churches
have followed this pattern. I wonder: Why
did we need this feast? Why do we need this feast now? What does it mean today for
Jesus to be in solidarity with us…and for us to be baptized in solidarity with other
Christians and with people everywhere who practice some form of baptismal
action, even if it's only washing their face in the morning or taking a bath or
shower? There's something deeply universal in all this, something life giving and potentially life
changing. Is the work of our baptism pretty much finished…or has it only just
begun…new every morning, every day? Maybe that’s why we need this feast, this
celebration, this reminder.
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