Vows of the Peacock and Baptismal Variety

Matthew 3:13-17

Then Jesus came from Galilee to John at the Jordan, to be baptized by him.

John would have prevented him, saying, ‘I need to be baptized by you, and do you come to me?’

But Jesus answered him, ‘Let it be so now; for it is proper for us in this way to fulfil all righteousness.’ Then he consented.

And when Jesus had been baptized, just as he came up from the water, suddenly the heavens were opened to him and he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove and alighting on him.

And a voice from heaven said, ‘This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.’

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We don’t like resolutions anymore. In fact, most of us probably didn’t make a single one this year.

Pew Research Center found that about 70 percent of Americans skipped resolutions altogether. When asked why, more than half simply said, “We don’t like them.” And honestly, I’m with them. Most of our resolutions have become predictable, boring, and very inward-focused. Just listen to the top five resolutions according to a survey done by You Gov.

• Exercising more

• Being happy

• Eating healthier

• Saving more money

• Losing weight

You probably could’ve guessed them. But these days self-improvement isn’t just the focus of our resolutions: it’s the focus of our whole society. We’re surrounded by a culture that tells us we are always one habit, one purchase, one routine away from becoming a better version of ourselves.

Social media feeds us an endless stream of trends, all built on the same promise: if you work harder, focus more, and optimize your time, you will finally be okay.

Nearly all of it tells us to cut out distractions — like the people in our lives — so we can walk with a weighted vest and drink mushroom coffee till we are entirely better people, physically and mentally.

Who has time for New Year’s resolutions when the pressure to improve is nonstop? But resolutions weren’t always this way. In fact, for most of their long history, they were almost the opposite of what we know today.

The practice goes back thousands of years. In ancient Babylon and Rome, people made vows at religious festivals that were meant to strengthen the whole community: praying together, settling debts, promising to live well with their neighbors and their gods. Even as recently as the 1940s, resolutions were still mostly about how to be a better person with other people.

A Gallup poll from 1947 found the top three resolutions were to improve my disposition, be more understanding, and control my temper. That’s a very different vision of change than losing weight, getting rich, or optimizing yourself.

My favorite legend about New Year’s resolutions is the Vow of the Peacock, told of medieval knights.

They would gather for a grand feast, and at the center of it all was a peacock: roasted, re-dressed in its dazzling feathers, and carried through the hall. One by one, knights would rise and make their vows upon the bird, speaking promises of chivalry before everyone present. These were not modest intentions, but aspirational, even risky commitments: to courage, loyalty, and love.

The Vow of the Peacock, more legend than ledger, shows us what people once believed promises were supposed to be: public, costly, witnessed, and binding; not private acts of self-improvement, but commitments made for the sake of others.

And that turns out to be exactly the kind of vow Jesus steps into at the Jordan River.

Because when Jesus comes to be baptized, he is not trying to become a better version of himself.

He is stepping into a shared, public act: one that binds him to sinners, to repentance, and to the people he has come to save.

That’s why we get baptism so wrong when we treat it like a spiritual achievement, something you earn once you’ve spiritually improved enough to be worthy. That’s not what’s happening at the Jordan at all.In fact, at this point in Jesus’ life, he had done nothing. No miracles. No healings. No teachings. And yet God says to everyone gathered, “This is my Son, my Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.”

God doesn’t say, “This is my Son, who kept all his resolutions, who eats the right amount of protein, and walks on water.” There is none of that. No self-improvement, no spiritual résumé, but still called beloved.So if this baptism isn’t about self-improvement or earning anything, what is Jesus doing in the water?

First, he is doing this for us and with us. By stepping into the Jordan, Jesus is saying, “I am in this with you — all of you who repent, all who need forgiveness, everyone trying to turn toward God.” He does not stand above us, but with us. That’s why Jesus tells John, “It is proper for us to fulfill all righteousness.” He chooses not to go it alone. He includes John in the work God is doing. This baptism is a radical act of solidarity, showing us how Jesus will bring about the kingdom of heaven, by working in, with, and through people.

And that righteousness doesn’t stay with Jesus. The righteousness he fulfills in those waters is given to us in ours. In baptism, our sins are forgiven and we are set back into right relationship with God and with creation. That’s why, at every baptism, and every time you remember your own, you should hear God’s voice echoing over you:

“This is my child, my beloved, with whom I am well pleased.”

With you. God is well pleased.

We don’t need resolutions to be worthy of anything, no matter what the trends and ads tell us.

What we do need, believe it or not, are peacock vows. I know that sounds strange. We don’t need to swear chivalry on a bird. But we do need public promises made for the good of our neighbors: the kind that say, out loud and together, “I’m not just here to improve my own life. I’m here for yours.”

The good news is we don’t need to be medieval knights or stage a ceremony with a roasted bird — even though that does sound fun. What we already have are our baptismal vows: promises made to God, to one another, and for the sake of the world.

In the Lutheran tradition, many of us were baptized as infants, when others made those promises on our behalf. But at some point — at confirmation, or later in life — we take those vows as our own:

to live among God’s faithful people,

to hear God’s Word and share in communion,

to proclaim the good news of Christ in word and deed,

to serve all people as Jesus does,

and to strive for justice and peace in all the earth.

Yes, keeping these promises will shape you. But their real purpose is to bless others: just like Jesus’ baptism, and even those old peacock vows. And we know that resolutions made with others and for others are the ones that last.

So here is what I’m asking of you this year: instead of self-improvement resolutions, tend to your baptismal vows. Not for you, but for God and for this world God so loves. Because what this world needs right now is not one more upper-middle-class person chasing a wellness trend or a bigger bank account.

In a world that is lonely and anxious, it needs people who will live among and beside their neighbors.

In a world flooded with bad news, it needs people who hear and carry the good news of God.

In a world that is bitterly divided, it needs people who serve all, especially the scared and the oppressed.

And in a world marked by violence and injustice, it needs people who strive for justice and peace — in their hearts, their homes, their streets, and their nation.

So now I invite you to rise. Today, on this Baptism of Our Lord Sunday, I’m going to ask you to affirm the covenant God made with you in Holy Baptism. After each promise, if it is your intent, please respond, “Yes, and I ask God to help me.”

Will you live among God’s faithful people…

Will you hear the word of God and share in the Lord’s supper…

Will you proclaim the good news of God in Christ through word and deed…

Will you serve all people, following the example of Jesus…

And will you strive for Justice and peace in all the earth?...

Siblings in Christ, these are not modest intentions, but aspirational, even risky, commitments to community, justice, and grace. When we fail, come back to the water. Remember your baptism. Hear God’s promise again: You are my child. With you I am well pleased.

And if you have not yet been baptized, come talk with me. Because we need you. The world needs you. And Jesus has bound himself to you. Together, we will fulfill all righteousness.

Amen.

Holiday Hangover

John 1:10-18

 He was in the world, and the world came into being through him; yet the world did not know him. He came to what was his own, and his own people did not accept him. But to all who received him, who believed in his name, he gave power to become children of God, who were born, not of blood or of the will of the flesh or of the will of man, but of God.

And the Word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father’s only son, full of grace and truth. (John testified to him and cried out, “This was he of whom I said, ‘He who comes after me ranks ahead of me because he was before me.’”)

From his fullness we have all received, grace upon grace. The law indeed was given through Moses; grace and truth came through Jesus Christ. No one has ever seen God. It is God the only Son, who is close to the Father’s heart, who has made him known.

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We did something two days ago, on Friday, January 1st, that doesn’t usually happen at the Havel house. We started packing up and putting away Christmas. The nativity sets and the stockings, the Christmas candles, the Santa Claus tchotchkes, and the other holiday trinkets are all packed up, put away, stored again, in the garage, for another year. Bah humbug. I know.

We usually wait at least until Epiphany, January 6th, for all of that. But the next couple of weeks are going to be rough and busy at our place with my wife, Christa’s, surgery scheduled for Tuesday morning. So if we didn’t do it sooner, it wasn’t going to happen until much, much later.

And I’m always amazed – and a little bit judgmental I admit – about the speed with which so many in the world clean up Christmas and pack it away, so I felt a little guilty about getting in on that game this time around. It seems to be gone in a fraction of the time it took us to get ready for it – almost like we can’t wait to get it over with, or that we can’t wait to move on from it, or like we weren’t all that invested in it in the first place, or something.

And, when it’s all said and done; when the parties are over; when the Christmas trees are packed away or kicked to the curb; when the classes begin again and when whatever it is that makes the Holiday Season the Holiday Season has ended, it’s very easy for us to slip into a post-season funk – a sort of Holiday Hangover, if you will. Maybe you know that feeling.

And, unless you ascribe to the “hair of the dog theory,” the shape of things out there in the world so far in 2021 isn’t exactly a cure for this hangover. No matter how much we were ready to kick 2020 to the curb, it’s easy to see that not much has changed just because that New Year’s Eve ball dropped and we can say we’ve completed another trip around the sun. No, most of our struggles followed us inot January and the same dangers lurk and the same fears loom, as ever.

There is another new, but far too familiar worry about trouble in the Middle East again.

There is ever more political anxiety and animosity and uncertainty afoot, right here at home.

The Coronavirus pandemic didn’t disappear at midnight on Thursday – and could very well be getting worse.

In 30 minutes of watching the local news you will learn that Indianapolis set records for criminal homicides in 2020, that a 10-year-old girl is missing in Muncie, that another white woman has gone viral for publicly, falsely, shamefully accusing another young black man of stealing her phone. So the hits keep coming. Not much in the world seems to point to the fact that there is anything any more “merry” or “happy” or “new” about 2021, so far.

And, as usual, it’s not just about what’s going on “in the news” or “over there” or even on the other side of town somewhere. There is plenty going on in our own homes and in our own lives and in our own families that has already threatened to suck the “happy” right out of this three-day-old new year.

So, maybe we show up or log on for worship searching for some kind of answer, possibly expecting to hear a promise of hope in the face of it all – and we get this Pastor who seems bent on reminding us of the doom and gloom that surrounds us. And we get this passage from John’s Gospel that is anything but the silent night, holy night, feel-good storybook stuff of last week’s shepherds, stars, wise men, and miracles. Like, even John has packed up Christmas and is pushing us to move on from it all.

Because the first Chapter of John’s Gospel is a version of the Christmas story that’s very different from the one we’ve been hearing over the last couple of weeks. John tells a story about Jesus’ coming into the world and having always been a part of the world. (Okay...) John talks about Jesus showing up, but being rejected by those he came to love and redeem in the first place. (Talk about “bah humbug.”) John talks about the Word becoming flesh and living among us and about God’s only son being close to the father’s heart and making God known because of it. (Again, okay…) It can sound like a puzzle, if you’re hearing it for the first time.

It’s a mind boggling sort of thing, this version of Christmas. It’s the stuff of philosophy and theology I wonder and stew about even though, a lot of the time, it all seems beyond my grasp. And, with the angels and the shepherds and the baby in a manger all packed up and put away, John’s version of Christmas is nowhere near as warm and fuzzy and romantic as it felt a week and a half ago.

And I wonder if that’s John’s point. Maybe John told his version of Christmas without the romance and without the warm fuzzies because he knew that’s where people were living too much of the time. As we’ve already been reminded, our world is anything but warm and fuzzy.

Again, maybe that’s why John has cleaned up and packed away the stuff of Christmas – the angels, the shepherds, the magi, and more. Even as he leaves a light on for us, you might say, just the same – something more for us to chew on above and beyond the characters in the creche.

See, at our house, we didn’t pack away everything from our Christmas celebration, just yet. The tree is still up and decorated. The Advent wreath still sits on the table. And the lights still shine on the outside of the house. 

Because I don’t know about you, but I’m gonna need some more time and some more reminders in the coming days and weeks, in particular, about why and for whom God showed up in Jesus. And John’s version of the story gives me something different to chew on – like a cure for my holiday hangover and encouragement for whatever’s on the way:

Like the good news and reminder that Word and Spirit of God (“logos” is the word John uses, that means the building blocks of creation, the nature of God was born in the flesh, so that we could see what that looked like. The stuff of mercy and love and forgiveness and hope were embodied in Jesus so that we might embody them, too.

The good news that in God’s ultimate act of humility and sacrifice – being burdened by a body, by suffering, by death, even – you and I are made brothers and sisters with Jesus and children, loved by the most high God.

And the good news that the fullness of that same God’s grace has been poured out for your sake – and for mine – even when it’s hard to buy it or believe it or put it into words.

I guess what I’m saying and feeling right about now is that my faith on this side of Christmas isn’t fueled so much by the shepherds and stars and silent nights of a week or so ago. My faith is in the Word that remains above and beyond all of that, in the promise of the deep, abiding, unending love to which all of that points. Maybe not a lot/enough changed with the turning of the New Year, but neither has the persistent, powerful, ever-present love of our God, about which John’s gospel speaks:

…the fullness of grace and truth that has lived and moved and breathed in the world, since the dawn of creation.

…the fullness of grace and truth that lived and moved and breathed in Jesus, too;

…and the fullness of grace and truth that lives and moves and breathes, still – even when the darkness threatens, precisely because the darkness still threatens, so that we will trust in and receive grace upon grace, when we need it most – no matter what the calendar says – and so we can be that kind of grace upon grace for each other, and for a world that needs it, still.

Amen. Merry Christmas. Happy New Year.