Here we are again -- back at the Jordan River.  When we left John the Baptizer, a month or so ago in Advent, he was yelling, “Clear a path, remove the obstacles between us and the Holy One.”  And the report was that folks were coming from all over saying “yes, I want to do that. I want the Holy One to have an easier time getting through to us.”  They were wading into the water of the Jordan, the river that figures so prominently in the history of the Hebrew people –- a strong natural line of defense militarily, the last obstacle for Moses and company before they reached the promised land. By Elijah’s time, the Jordan River was believed to have healing powers.  But do you know what it looks like?  The water is brown and turbid, heavy with dirt.  It has swift currents, some rapids and whirlpools.  No parts are navigable.  It’s troubled water.  When you wade into this water, it’s easy to lose your footing and you’ll likely come out dirtier than when you went in.

I wonder how many of you remember your own baptisms?  Was anyone baptized in a muddy river or lake?  Conjure up, for a moment, your mental picture of baptism.  Being baptized in a river or a lake is not common practice in the Episcopal Church, or part of my experience.  In my family, babies for four generations have been baptized wearing the same exquisite, handmade christening gown with white on white embroidered lace, about three times the length of the infant who wears it – and I guarantee you that it’s never gotten dirty!  But my wife Joy remembers many baptisms in the denomination of her childhood where baptismal candidates were led into troubled water, got dunked (backwards) by the baptizer, and came up sputtering and choking, bits of debris on their heads, white clothes now brown, white shoes muddy. 

Baptism in a muddy river is one of the showings, one of the revelations, of the season of Epiphany.  Since Christmas, our theological light has been on.  Why?  Perhaps for clarity of vision, for the possibility of clear-eyed vision.  In the light of Epiphany, we see Jesus come to John at the Jordan River to get baptized.  John expressed his feeling of utter unworthiness –- inadequate, unqualified, insufficient for even the role of servant.  The Gospel of Mark doesn’t tell us what Jesus said or did to convince John that he had what it took, but the next thing we know, Jesus was coming up out of the water, having been baptized by John.  And Mark says it was as if the heavens opened up and the Spirit descended, and it was as if a voice from heaven said, “You are particularly and uniquely mine, my beloved, in you I take such delight.”  Picture Jesus, muddy and beaming, positively radiant all at the same time.   I want to add that, although the text is often  rendered, “You are my only beloved Son,” the sense in the Greek is more like “particular, unique or even peculiar!”  That, of course can be said about Jesus, and as important, can be said about each one of us. 

I wonder why Mark is telling this story of Jesus’ baptism.  The story that Jesus went into the water to get closer to God was an embarrassment as the early church matured.  (Why after all, would Jesus need to get closer to God when Jesus WAS divine, they asked.) Why?  Perhaps for clarity of vision, for the possibility of clear-eyed vision.  Perhaps to help Mark’s hearers to envision the consequences of their own baptisms.  I wonder if Mark is inviting those who have been baptized to imagine that when we were baptized, whether we were aware of it or not, it was also as if the heavens opened up and the Spirit descended.  It was as if a voice from heaven said, “You are particularly, uniquely, peculiarly mine, my beloved, in you I take such delight.”  Now because this is Emmanuel Church, I want to be clear that I don’t think for a moment that divine delight is somehow reserved for folks who are baptized.  Baptism is just one of those peculiarly delightful times.  Think of it now, whether or not you can remember your baptism, whether or not you ARE baptized – you are God’s, Love’s own beloved, delightfully so.  Imagine that.  How does that feel?  How do you want to respond?

Perhaps like John the Baptist, with a sense of utter unworthiness.  “But,” you think, “I’m not adequate, unqualified, not enough, insufficient.”  You don’t have to know very much of the Bible to know that that answer never deters the Holy One.  So what’s your second choice?  How are you going to respond to God’s delight in you? 

Maybe you want to respond by saying, “but I don’t believe in God.”  That is perfectly fine.  The point I’m trying to make is, let’s say that God believes in you.  What is there for us to lose by imagining that?  Let’s imagine that we, gathered in this parish, are particularly, uniquely, peculiarly God’s, God’s beloved, in us –- in us as a parish, God takes such delight.  Imagine that.  How do we want to respond to God’s joy?  How about by sharing it?  How about by spreading it around?  God knows there’s plenty of need for more delight.

As a parish, we have some formal discernment work to do over the course of my time with you as Priest in Charge around our vision for the future.  We are standing on the threshold of all kinds of possibilities for growth.  We did some great foundational work together toward charting a course on Friday and yesterday at our All In parish conference.  We’re beginning again to imagine how a particular and unique (peculiar) and beloved parish like Emmanuel Church will respond to our sense of call to work together in the years to come.  Turns out that as a parish, we have a fantastic history of new beginnings, going way back to 1860, with amazing results.  It’s a new beginning, and we’ll take it step by step remembering our past and being as clear-eyed as we can about our present challenges.  And maybe responding to God’s joy will be just as contagious and inspiring and energizing as it always is.  I can’t think of a better time to begin discernment work than Epiphany, using the growing light of this season for vision, for clarity.