The Baptism of Jesus, by He Qi, © He Qi, used by permission.
To watch this liturgy with Holy Baptism, click here. You can find the sermon at minute 25:00.
One of my earliest memories is the day when I finally managed to inch my way across the edge of a swimming pool, anxiously gripping the rounded and tiled rim of the pool, cautiously releasing one hand and gripping the edge again a few inches further along, and then releasing the other hand, and so on, until finally I traversed the width of the pool. I did this with the gentle guidance of my mother, who floated next to and around me, holding me up. I might have been two years old. Maybe three. I remember my mother encouraging me.
In the following years I explored that pool more confidently, until that awe-inspiring day when I plunged downward in the deep end and touched my toe on the bottom, nine feet below the surface. Nine feet: for a kid who was seven or eight years old, that was an astonishing depth. The deep end felt almost oceanic, for all I knew, growing up some 1200 miles from the nearest ocean, on the high plains of the Midwest.
We humans step into pools of water, sometimes anxiously, other times confidently, and we confront there our weaknesses along with our strengths, our fears along with our hopes. Pools of water remind us of the salt in our veins, our ancient origins among the creatures of the sea. And they remind us of our membership among the living beings who call this watery planet their home. Even if mammals like us are landlubbers, at least by comparison to actual creatures of the sea, there’s something primal, something resonant, about our immersion in water.
We’re mostly made of water, and we know what it’s like to be in and around water. And so if we want to speak of God the Creator; if we want to say something worth saying about the Spirit of God; and if we want to understand how God is incarnate in this good world, we would do well to step into water. Buffeted by the waves of even something as mild as a swimming pool, we can more readily say our prayers, ask our questions, and make sense of our place in the universe. You want to know who God is, what God does, and what might happen next? Come into the water. Let it flow around you. Let it threaten to drown you! Let the water tell you what you need to know.
All of this is obvious to our youngest theologian-in-residence at St. Paul’s, Eleanor Joyce Bickford. Her parents and godparents are bringing her to the font this morning for the sacrament of Holy Baptism, but they have already been bringing her to that font, Sunday by Sunday, and Eleanor has already begun exploring those waters. In fact I think the roles have slowly reversed: Eleanor is fascinated by the water, and often leads her parents there.
And she insists on standing in that water. She even chose special shoes for it!
We have two pools of water at our singular Baptismal font, one large pool in which a full-grown adult can be completely immersed, and a smaller pool that receives the cascading water that falls from above. This is Eleanor’s pool, the smaller one that receives the living water: this is where she wants to stand. And so she shall, as we gather around her this morning and baptize her in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Like Jesus himself, who stepped confidently into the Jordan River, Eleanor will stand in the water today. She will be sealed by the Holy Spirit and marked as Christ’s own forever.
When I first heard that Eleanor wanted to stand in the water, I had a basic, concrete, practical reaction: she will be soaking wet, I thought; how will we manage this? Will there be time to change her clothes? And I admit I still worry a little about that. But this concern is misplaced. The answer is yes, she will be soaking wet, and it will cause an inconvenience, and this is just as it should be. Baptism is messy, and more than a little overwhelming. Eleanor isn’t just playing around today: she is stepping into a new identity, a new calling, a new world of action and contemplation, a new community, a new life.
She is going to get wet.
And I need to heed Eleanor’s own teaching: when she steps so confidently and fearlessly into the water, allowing it to get her soaking wet, she shows us how all of this is done. She is an example for us. In Holy Baptism we are called to get wet: to walk confidently into the fray, into the mess, into the flowing and sometimes treacherous waters of life in human community.
As Eleanor grows, she will be soaked by the challenges and crises of life: the conflicts and even catastrophes that smack us like waves, sometimes as strong as tsunamis. That’s not overstating it! Just consider all that’s been going on for the last three years: warfare along the ancient battle lines of eastern Europe; global plague; political chaos; countless refugees fleeing political oppression; literal ocean waves posing existential threats to coastal cities and island nations. And Baptism in Christ — as Eleanor already seems to have discerned, stepping so confidently into the water — Baptism in Christ sends us into all this mess, not out of it.
Holy Baptism is not a tidy spiritual cleansing, readying us for a happy heaven where everyone is warm and dry. Holy Baptism is not a setting apart of the faithful beyond the reach of the world’s cares and crises. Holy Baptism is not a dainty christening, a sweet little charm that’s sung over our heads, with just a few drops of holy water to adorn us in happy serenity.
No. Holy Baptism is a plunge into water; it is a wading into the muddy Jordan; it is a perilous adventure on the high seas; it is us standing bravely at the shore as the wave rises up and crashes over us. Eleanor is going to get wet. No, Eleanor is going to get soaking wet. And I am delighted to imagine that she wouldn’t have it any other way. If I am understanding her correctly — if I truly have been listening to her so far (and we only met a couple of weeks ago, so I’m sure I have more to learn), I have already heard her teaching, and can share it confidently with you. Eleanor teaches us to be brave.
So: be brave. Be encouraged. As the prophet Isaiah sings to us, “Be strong; do not fear! Here is your God.” And again, in today’s verses, we hear Isaiah sing this to us, a message from God:
God says, “I am the Lord, I have called you in righteousness, I have taken you by the hand and kept you; I have given you as a covenant to the people, a light to the nations, to open the eyes that are blind, to bring out the prisoners from the dungeon, from the prison those who sit in darkness.”
This is not a mild call, or a gentle suggestion. This is a rallying cry, a shout of triumph, a trumpet call on the wings of the morning: we are sent into the water, into the crashing waves, into the labor of self-giving love, and we are sent together, all the baptized, sent to open eyes and break the chains of oppression, sent to proclaim to all who despair that God has come to dwell with us, and to save us.
If you are unsure, or if you are afraid, or if for any reason you still resist this call, let yourself fall into line behind Eleanor, who steps so confidently into the water. Let her show you the way. And know that in all of this, no matter how treacherous the wave might be as it rises up to break upon us, we are here together, the Body of Christ, and our arms are linked, strong and fast, as we all get soaking wet.
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Preached on the First Sunday after the Epiphany, the Baptism of Our Lord Jesus Christ (Year A), January 8, 2023, at St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, Seattle, Washington.
Isaiah 42:1-9
Psalm 29
Acts 10:34-43
Matthew 3:13-17