January 07, 2007

The Baptism of the Lord

Remember

Luke 3:15-17, 21-22

The Reverend Richard E. Allen

 

“Remember your baptism,” this day invites us, “and be thankful.” Today, the Sunday after the Epiphany, we are called to remember “The Baptism of the Lord”; it is the day when the church recalls the Baptism of Jesus.  Every year on this special Sunday, we recall the baptism of Jesus, in part, to help us remember our own baptisms.  And we recall, as well, to help us make the connection between Jesus’ baptism and our own.  Remember.  Remember.

 

But remembering anything is imprecise, isn’t it, because memory itself is a bit tricky, isn’t it?  When you think back on your earliest recollections, what comes to mind?  I remember my first real teacher, Emily Clarkson:  she taught kindergarten at our church and second grade at my elementary school.  She taught us how to use words and numbers, I suppose, but I mostly recall that she infected us with her deep care for us, and her love for the outdoors.

 

I remember one of my first friends, Robert Wells, the only son of the Methodist preacher at our church.  Robert’s dad was sent by our Methodist Bishop, some nameless, soulless bureaucrat, to a different church, in a different town, when Robert and I were eight years old.  For each of us, it was as if he had moved to a foreign country, and we lost touch.  But I still remember my friend, and when I think about that transition, I still remember the loss I felt.

 

I remember high school, playing football and basketball and going on trips with the Boy Scouts.  When someone says, “Remember,” I think I begin there, with the formative memories of growing up.  I remember my first girlfriend, my first kiss, my first travel in an airplane, and my first sight of city lights from the air.

 

But I have no reference when asked to remember my baptism.  Like many of us, I was baptized as an infant, at a time before I can now recall.  I have no images, no sounds, and no smells to connect with that moment.  I just can’t remember.  So every baptism becomes, for me, a teaching moment, inviting me to reaffirm the truth of my baptism if not its sights or its sounds. As a child receives the blessing of a name, receives the promise of God’s acceptance, receives the affirmation of the gathered church, I’m invited to share that moment as instructive of the moment when I, too, was baptized as an infant.  In that sense, I, too, remember my baptism.

 

This I’ve noticed about any memory:  remembering is a kind of travel through time.  It’s a way to recall the meaning of a moment, certainly.  To remember is to reach back to the echo of an earlier event to bring to mind its meaning.  But remembering is also a way to unfold the meaning of an event that we did not fully understand at the time the event occurred.

 

I recall, for example, walking along a South Carolina beach at sunrise on Sunday morning, the first day of June in 1980.  As I watched the sun come up that day I thought about how I had seen my own son, Matthew, born earlier in that same morning.  I remember being excited and hopeful.  But from the vantage of 26 years with Matthew, that memory takes on new shades and depths of meaning.  Knowing now what I could not imagine then, I understand that moment differently – I remember it differently – than I ever could have as I left my footprints in the sand of that lightening shore.

 

Remembering our baptism has a similar quality for those of us with some experience in this family we call “church.”  There was a time, early on, when the word church had few associations:  the Christmas pageant, accepting a new pastor after my friend Robert’s dad was moved, sitting with my family in the pew, being in the kindergarten class with Emily Clarkson – maybe you remember that I mentioned her earlier. 

 

But so much has happened since those days, too.  Cookouts and youth meetings and dramas and trips and the merger of the church’s formerly racially divided political structures.  Those are just a few of the memories, and only the earliest ones at that. 

 

To remember a past event is also to reflect on it, to ponder its meaning over a lifetime. Therefore, to remember our baptism is to unfold the meaning of that moment over our lives. 

 

As you touch the water today, remember.  Remember the moment of your baptism, but recall as well the multitude of experiences that have opened to you by your being part of this family of Christ.

 

As he walked into this sanctuary last week, Bessie Cumming’s son, Ron, saw the space both as it is, and as it was.  Ron, though sporting a white beard, pointed to the side and said, “There’s where I sat when I was in the Junior Choir.  I’ll bet there were a hundred kids in that choir back then.”  Here and now, he was shaped by there, and then.  His experience is our own.

 

To remember our baptism is to remember that, by God’s uncontrollable grace, we have a place in this community called ‘church.’  To remember our baptism is to know that we and our friends and our teachers and even Jesus our Lord have the common experience of being born through this water.  We have all shared this experience, for all of us have come through these waters of baptism into this body of faith. 

 

To remember our baptism is to know that the Holy Spirit has come to each of us, claiming us as God’s own child, reminding us that we are, with Christ our brother, beloved by God.  In the story from Luke, we hear the words first heard by Jesus, “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.”  But here’s the thing about that story:  it applies to us, too, for we are heirs of Christ, brothers and sisters with Christ.  Each of us is an heir of Christ, a brother or sister to the Lord of life. 

 

To remember our baptism is to hear, with new ears, a word from God to each one of us:  “You are my child, beloved; with you I am well pleased.”  Think of it, God says to Jesus and to us:  “You are my child, and I love you.  You please me.”  To remember our baptism is to remember that we are loved with a love that does not let go.  Ever.

 

Finally, to remember our baptism is to know that nothing ever separates us from God’s love in Christ.  Nothing.  Ever.

 

Come to the table this day, and ponder anew that Christ invites you and me to share this day and this meal with God, with each other, and with a hungry world.  Come to the font today, touch the water, and remember.  Remember your baptism, and all the journey of faith before and since.  Remember your baptism today, and be thankful.   

 

Amen.