The Baptism of our Lord, Year B, January 7, 2018; The Rev. Pamela L. Werntz

O God, manifest in us the strength, the wisdom and the courage to seek always and everywhere after truth, come when it may, and cost what it will.

What a treasure trove of scripture readings have been given to us by wise men (and wise women) to celebrate a new calendar year, the beginning of the season of Epiphany, and the feast of The Baptism of our Lord! Today is about resolutions, revelations, and realizations. I have so many things I want to say to you! Where to start? How about in the beginning? The last two Sundays we heard the Gospel of John’s jazz variation on the prologue to the book of Genesis. Now we hear the original.

I wonder if you noticed that this creation account is not a story about before there was anything at all. There was darkness and there was water and there was wind. (It could have been Boston.) There was something for the wind or breath or spirit of God to be blowing over. The earth was there, but it was a formless void. Actually, in Hebrew, it says that the earth was all “tohu wabohu” –nonsense syllables like topsy turvy. The Jewish Publication Society translates the first word as “when God began to create.” Divine shaping or creating, according to our Bible, is ongoing and incomplete. When God first began shaping, the earth was topsy turvy. God began to get things in order, making meaning, making sense of nonsense. I wonder if you noticed that this story doesn’t tell of God eliminating chaos or night or the frightening abyss of the sea; God began creating some order, some distinctions, setting some limits. And what God began to make was all good.

All good, not according to a scientific or historical or even logical account of the beginning of time — this is a mystical account. Light and evening and morning are being created before the sun or other stars exist. This is a story about Divine morality and spirituality, about goodness and blessing in creating, in shaping. This is an attempt to convey some wisdom about the “Holy-One-Who-Dwells-in-This-World” [1] making coherence out of chaos, seeing good in what is otherwise just a mess. It is set in contrast to Babylonian creation stories which featured gods who caused chaos. It is even set in contrast to the other incompatible creation story in Genesis which is older by several hundred years, and which follows this one in chapter 2.

This creation story is one of the newest stories written of the ancient Biblical texts – written late and inserted as prologue or introduction. This story is the answer to Pharaoh’s question to Moses: “Who is the Lord God that I should obey his voice and let the people go free?” (Answer: The creator Who delights in the goodness of creation.) Just like the Gospel of John, written very late compared with other Second Testament books is the answer to the question, “Who is the Lord Jesus?” (Answer: The very Word of the Author made flesh.)

One might guess our reading from Acts of the Apostles is part of the answer to “Who is the Holy Spirit?” But in context it’s more about answering the question “Who is Paul?” [2] If you read ahead a few verses to verse 11, Acts says, “And God, through Paul’s hands, performed extraordinary deeds of power.” This story is just so funny to me. Paul finds some disciples (“about twelve of them”) in Ephesus and asks, “Did you receive a holy spirit when you became believers (or more literally, when you came to faith)?” What made him ask that? Did he detect a lack of inspiration or enthusiasm for the work of discipleship? Earlier in Acts, new followers are described as having “only been baptized in the name of the Lord Jesus,” until Peter and John laid hands on them to deliver the holy spirit. Reception of a holy spirit and baptism in the name of John or of Jesus, happened in a variety of ways, not usually simultaneously, and not in any particular order according to our Second Testament. I like the theological elbow room that offers.

They replied, “No, we have not even heard that there is a holy spirit.” The translation choices of capitalizing the words holy and spirit, usually get my back up, but in this case, they just add to the comedy when the disciples say: “Nobody told us that there is a Holy Spirit.” Clearly messaging and organization were significant challenges even in the earliest days of the church. One of the things I like to say when someone tells me they don’t like organized religion is, “we’re really not that organized.” (And that is true unless there’s an emergency, and then people of faith can mobilize and respond like nobody’s business and nobody’s government.)

The Gospel of Mark begins the account of the good news of Jesus Christ with a quote from the prophets Malachi and Isaiah about preparing the way for the Divine. “See, I am sending my angel before your face, who will prepare your path; a voice of one crying out in the wilderness: ‘Prepare the Lord’s way, make his paths right away.'” (It will not surprise you to know that I prefer translating the word as “right away” or “immediately” instead of straight.)

So this is the Gospel lead-in to our portion for today. The thing that really caught my attention this year was the description of the places from which the people were coming to John to be immersed, or repeatedly dipped (which is what baptism means) for the forgiveness of sins (which is to say, cancelling relational indebtedness). They were coming from the Judean countryside, from Jerusalem, and Jesus came from Nazareth. We don’t know exactly where along the Jordan River John was baptizing, and he may have traveled around. I drew a map that’s on the last page of your bulletin. One likely spot is in the territory called Perea east of the Jordan River, under Herod Antipas’ rule, about five miles north of the Dead Sea. From Jerusalem, it’s at least eight hours solid hours of walking through mountainous terrain. The Judean countryside would be further away. It’s interesting to me that Jesus traveled the furthest, according to Mark. Nazareth is about 30 hours of walking distance. That’s a long way to go for the forgiveness of sins. (I mean, it wasn’t as far as the 200 miles Johann Sebastian Bach walked to hear Dietrich Buxtehude, but I think the 17^th century roads weren’t as treacherous.)

Perhaps we can forgive the hyperbole of “all the people of Jerusalem were going out” to John the Baptist to confess their sins, and imagine that this means he was drawing significant crowds out of the city and towns into the wilderness over a period of time. People who were experiencing forgiveness were spreading the word to others, “You’ve got to experience this! It’s worth the trip! It’s hard to get there, but the way back is easier when you’re not carrying all the extra baggage of your sins!”

Why go so far for the forgiveness of sins? I think the answer is simple – there wasn’t anything closer available to them and they were desperate to shed the weight of the wrongs they had done to themselves, to one another, and to the Holy One. They were desperate to amend their lives. I think they were in urgent need of restoration to right relationship with themselves, with their communities, and with the Divine. I know something about this in my own life – about needing forgiveness and of being willing to go to great distances in the hope of experiencing restoration.

Some of you know that I attended a Roman Catholic elementary school from 3^rd to 6^th grade. My brother, Rob, and I were the only Protestant kids in a K-8 school. We attended catechism and daily Mass, but we did not participate in the sacraments. In religious education, we learned that every time we sinned, a mark was made on our soul. The way to get the marks erased was to go to weekly confession, but I had to sit on the bench while my classmates got their souls wiped clean. At home, our UCC minister dad told us that was nonsense. In the 3^rd grade, I believed him, but by the time I was an adolescent, I’d started doubting the inerrancy of his teachings. The accumulation of the marks on my soul became a burden that I had no way to alleviate. I can draw a line on my internal map between that time and my desire to make the sacraments completely available as a priest. (And I can assure you, I went the long way.)

For many who have come to Emmanuel Church, it’s been a long, long way, and the communal confession and absolution that we say in our worship service are enough for their hearts’ transformation, which is another way to translate repentance. [3] For many, the invitation to receive communion and the exhortation to go back out to shine the light of Christ are enough for their hearts’ transformation. When these are not enough, our religious tradition also provides a separate private rite of reconciliation in our Book of Common Prayer. My own confessor, a wise person, taught me the Anglican wisdom saying about partaking in this sacramental rite: “all may; none must; and some should.” However you get there, forgiveness doesn’t change the past, forgiveness changes the future. According to Reinhold Niebuhr, “forgiveness is the final form of love.” Ask for it and be assured that the Holy One is already giving it.

You know, I wasn’t just kidding when I mentioned Bach’s 200 mile journey to hear Buxtehude. Johann Sebastian Bach is the mascot of the long way. As you listen to our cantata today reflecting on the power of Jesus’ sweet name, I invite you – I implore you — to resolve anew to cooperate in Divine meaning making, to cooperate in creating coherence in the chaos and seeing goodness. Resolve anew to notice the revelations of Divine goodness in all kinds of surprising places this Epiphany-tide. Resolve anew to realize the power of a holy spirit. Resolve anew to be immersed in the amendment of life that forgiveness offers.

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