Baptism and Resolutions

Luke 3:15-17, 21-22

As everyone was questioning in their hearts about John, whether he might be the Messiah, John answered them all by saying, “I baptize you with water. One who is more powerful than I is coming. I am not worthy to untie the thong of his sandal. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire. His winnowing fork is in his hand to clear his threshing floor and to gather the wheat into his granary; and the chaff he will burn with unquenchable fire.”

After all the people were baptized and after Jesus himself was baptized and praying, the heavens opened and the spirit descended upon him in bodily form, like a dove. And a voice came from heaven, “You are my Son, the beloved. With you I am well pleased.”

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Happy New Year. Which means it’s busy season for the diet and exercise industry as they take advantage of and market to all of our well-intentioned resolutions to turn over a new leaf for 2022.

And like some of you, I’ve been to the gym a few times this year already and the place has been busier than it was at the end of 2021. I’ve even avoided the gym a couple of times because I could tell from the overflowing parking lot I might have a hard time finding a treadmill.

And I hope it all works – for me, for the gym and for everyone who’s looking to be healthier with the help of it all. But, I’m skeptical. I wonder why I should expect 2022 to be any different than 2021, or 2020, or any other year for that matter. I suspect a great number of all those who will sweat it out in the next couple of weeks won’t be fighting for their spot at the gym by the time February or March roll around. I’m skeptical because I’ve dropped this ball more than once over the years.

And I worry that the same sort of thing threatens the Church – the Church in the world and the church here in our little corner of the Kingdom at Cross of Grace, too. First of all, I wonder if as many of us make resolutions about our faith the way we do about our weight or our diet or our exercise. I wonder do we resolve to pray more deliberately? So we commit to read our Bibles more often? Promise to get to worship more regularly? Set goals to give more generously?

And I wonder – and worry a bit about this some, I admit – because these pandemic days, have been a game-changer for churches, pastors and church leaders of all kinds. Something seems different – if not more difficult – or at least yet to be determined – about how our lives of faith together will look going forward.

I keep hearing about Sunday school attendance that’s down – for adults and for kids. (And I’ve noticed some of that here.)

I keep hearing about families who are staying away from worship to stay safe from the virus or staying away because worship online – under the covers or on the couch – isn’t so bad after all. (I tried it last week and I see some of the appeal, I’m not gonna lie.)

I keep hearing about how it seems increasingly more difficult to get volunteers for all sorts of ministries in the church.

And I keep hearing about worship trends in mainline Christian churches that are dropping slowly but steadily, all the time.

An Episcopal pastor I follow on Twitter tweeted this, just this week:

“This is probably the first time I’ve actually said this since the pandemic began: I’m not sure my church is going to recover from this. Oh, we’ll survive. We’ll still be here. But we’ll never be what we were. We won’t ‘go back’ to pre-pandemic attendance and involvement.”

And, as part of these conversations … this grief … this fear … this anxiety … in response to so much of what I read and hear about and see going on in churches out there in the world, many pastors and Church leaders are working really hard to come up with new plans and programs; different strategies and solutions; clever tricks and gimmicks, to get people connected and involved and engaged in a walk with God. They feel like new year’s resolutions to me – and I wonder if they will work or how long they will last.

And I’m not pointing fingers here. We’ve done our fair share of that, too; trying to revamp the GraceQuest program again; doing some new things with the High School kids; trying a new format for Faith Formation; I’m currently pouring over three different books, wondering which one will be the most interesting to as many of you as possible to engage in a study of some kind.

And I’m not complaining. Ministry has always been this way for me – always trying to find ways to make faith fun and engaging and relevant and attractive to as many people as possible; trying to convince people that this is worthwhile – for you, for us, and for the world. And I do it gladly (most of the time) because I’m ultimately hopeful about it all.

So, I don’t think God meant for there to be so much of the grief … the fear … the anxiety … that so many in the Church are feeling and fretting about these days. I think God made it a lot easier than all of that, if we can keep our perspective about what we’re up to.

And today is about perspective, because today, we commemorate, remember and celebrate the baptism of Jesus, so many years after his birth, which has captured our hearts and so much of our time over the last several weeks. And as we do that this morning, we’re meant not simply to reflect on the history of what happened to Jesus that day in the Jordan so many years ago. We’re meant to be filled up and inspired by what Jesus’ baptism means for those of us who’ve experienced it, and what it could mean for those of us who’ve yet to share in its promises, too.

Because in our service for baptism, after a person is washed with the water, “in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit,” there is more to be said and done. A prayer is prayed, thanking God for freeing us from sin and for raising us up to new life and asking God to pour out upon us a Holy Spirit of wisdom and understanding, a spirit of counsel and might, a spirit of knowledge and the fear of the Lord, a spirit of joy in God’s presence.

And then a promise is made: “…Child of God, you have been sealed by the Holy Spirit and marked with the cross of Christ forever.” And a command is given: “Let your light so shine before others that they may see your good works and glorify your Father in heaven.” And, even if you weren’t baptized in a traditional, Lutheran service, I suspect some very similar promises were made and some very similar commands were given.

And this is powerful, meaningful, holy stuff. And it’s good to be reminded about it every once in a while, because I think part of our collective problem as believers in the world doesn’t have so much to do with what we’re willing to fix about ourselves or our churches or our lives – policies and programs, I mean; strategies and solutions; well-intended resolutions to do more or to be better. I believe part of our problem is that we’ve neglected to see – or we forget too easily to celebrate – just what God has already done on our behalf.

And that’s what we’re called to celebrate today. When the heavens open and the spirit descends and a voice booms, “You are my son, the beloved, with you I am well pleased,” we’re meant to know that these words have been spoken on our behalf. It wasn’t just then and it wasn’t just Jesus. When we are baptized into Christ Jesus, we become partners in that promise. We are allowed to hear our own name in his place. We hear for every one of us, “You are my son… You are my daughter… You are my child… and with you I am well pleased.”

And what’s amazing about that in lots of ways is when you consider the point at which these words come to Jesus. He hadn’t done a thing yet. He hadn’t fed the 5,000. He hadn’t healed Jairus’ daughter. He hadn’t raised Lazarus from the dead, walked on water, or resisted the devil’s temptations. He hadn’t lost ten pounds or broken any records for worship attendance, either. But God loved him already and was pleased with him from the very start … not because of anything Jesus had done, but because of what God was promising to do for him and through him.

And we’re meant to hear the same promise and to receive the same command of Holy Baptism in precisely the same way. We’re meant to see this water of grace and to hear these words of love as daily invitations for our forgiveness, toward faithful service and from whatever it is that pulls us away from a closer walk with our creator.

As this new year gets underway, maybe you’re relieved that last year is over… Maybe you’re scared of what this year will hold… Maybe you can’t see past this morning or beyond next week, let alone the 356 days to come. Whatever the case, I hope you’ll remember your baptism this morning – or look forward to what it could mean for you, if you’ve never been. And I hope you see everything in your life and in this world in light of God’s grace because of it.

Don’t resolve to eat better or to exercise more or to lose weight (or anything else, for that matter) because you have to. Do it because God loves you even if you don’t and because you want to live long and well in response to that good news.

And don’t resolve to worship or learn or serve more – in this place or anywhere out there in the world – because you feel obligated by what God has invested in you.

No, let’s do everything we do as Children of God and as God’s Church in the world – resolution or not – with the sign of the cross clearly marked on your heads and in our collective heart of hearts. And let’s do it gratefully with the light of God’s grace shining through us – because our lives and the world we share will be different and better and blessed because of it.

Amen

Between the Highlights

Luke 2:41-52

Now every year his parents went to Jerusalem for the festival of the Passover. And when he was twelve years old, they went up as usual for the festival. When the festival was ended and they started to return, the boy Jesus stayed behind in Jerusalem, but his parents did not know it. Assuming that he was in the group of travelers, they went a day’s journey. Then they started to look for him among their relatives and friends. When they did not find him, they returned to Jerusalem to search for him. After three days they found him in the temple, sitting among the teachers, listening to them and asking them questions. And all who heard him were amazed at his understanding and his answers.

When his parents saw him they were astonished; and his mother said to him, “Child, why have you treated us like this? Look, your father and I have been searching for you in great anxiety.” He said to them, “Why were you searching for me? Did you not know that I must be in my Father’s house?” But they did not understand what he said to them. Then he went down with them and came to Nazareth, and was obedient to them. His mother treasured all these things in her heart. And Jesus increased in wisdom and in years, and in divine and human favor.

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How many of you all still send Christmas cards … in the mail … with a letter, maybe, and pictures of your family, grandkids, vacations, and stuff? Old fashioned Christmas cards seem to be a fading tradition these days, thanks to Facebook and e-mail. You can save a lot of time and money and paper by sending your holiday greetings electronically these days.

We still get plenty of good-old-fashioned cards, though, which I admit I like, especially if they include pictures I haven’t already seen on someone’s Instagram or Facebook feed. Every year, opening card after card, reading letter after letter, looking at picture after picture as they arrive in the mail, I’m amazed by how much changes for people in the days and months between Christmases.

Kids come and go and change. Careers come and go and change. Marriages come and go and change. People take exotic trips, relocate, get sick and get well again. Or sometimes they don’t.

Depending on when you were here for Christmas Eve worship, if you were, it’s been about 36 hours since we gathered around the manger, holding our candles, and singing our hearts out about the baby Jesus – the holy infant, so tender and mild – as it were. And all of a sudden he’s 12. A pre-pubescent know-it-all, worrying his parents by missing his ride home from the big family vacation.

Of course, there’s all kinds of high-minded theological stuff we could muse about: how wise Jesus was or became; how Jesus, the “Boy Wonder,” amazed the crowds with his teachings; or about what it meant that he was found “in his fathers’ house.” But that’s being done in lots of other places this morning, I’m sure.

I always appreciate that this is one of the few inklings we have about Jesus’ life between the Christmas story and his adult ministry; between the baby in the manger and his life of teaching and preaching and performing miracles. The Gospel writers never give us anything about the many years during the childhood of Jesus where he grew and changed before becoming the man we meet, suddenly, at his baptism in the Jordan River.

This morning’s story from Luke is as close as we get to any of that. Like the pictures and cards and holiday updates we receive year after year, this story about Jesus reminds us that for Mary, Joseph and Jesus, life was going on behind the scenes and before and between the highlights that have become the stories of our faith.

Even though we sometimes forget it, Jesus learned and got lost and got into trouble and argued with his parents and had to grow up just like the rest of us. When I look at all of the pictures that come with my Christmas cards so carefully posed before Christmas trees and finely decorated fireplaces, I know there have been haircuts to fight about and clothes that don’t fit anymore and times when not everyone was smiling perfectly, or when the dog wouldn’t look at the camera.

And when I read the letters people write, I know there have been long, hard days at work that are part of every promotion. There have been tough days at school that are part of every academic accolade. I know there have been bills to pay and finances to manage before any extravagant vacation is possible. And, I know there have been disagreements and family fights and embarrassing moments that don’t usually make it into every holiday, year-end review.

Even though the good stuff is what we capture on camera or write down to send in our Christmas letters – or post on our social media where most people are concerned – we know there is an awful lot that goes on between the good stuff.

I thought about this Friday night, after our Christmas Eve worship extravaganza. So much time and energy goes into preparing for and planning those services, and I’m always amazed by all it takes to make it happen.

Friday, after midnight, when it was all said and done, and I was last in the building after Jeannie and Stephen Jordan and the Kuffners had turned out the lights, blown out the candles, and locked the doors, I felt that strange, holy feeling I get often after such an occasion: to have been so busied and filled up by all the people and all of that music; all those candles and lights and then to be so suddenly surrounded by so much stillness and silence is an experience. I don’t hate it, I have to say. It’s kind of a beautiful time to be in the church.

But, the highlight was over – captured in all of those hearts and minds I hope – but turned off and moved out and gone as far as anyone would ever be able to tell.

It took a lot to get there – so much planning and practice and preparation – and it was awesome. But how quickly we get back to the business of living and learning and growing until the next highlight worth remembering comes along.

And again, that’s what we find in this morning’s Gospel story – this moment between Mary, Joseph, and Jesus – this everyday, nothing-special, living, breathing, eating and sleeping busy-ness of life in the world. It’s as plain and powerful as a quiet church after Christmas Eve, because that’s where I feel like we find ourselves now: just back to life again – just back to normal – just back to business as usual.

And it happens in the same ways for you and me, doesn’t it? I talked to the Mike Long and the girls at the 11 o’clock service Christmas Eve about how Stephanie got called into work in the ER that night, after she had worshiped with us earlier. Merry Christmas! I know Elaine Thorsteinson’s Christmas Eve plans got de-railed altogether by a stay in the hospital of her own. I got my COVID-19 test results via text just after Christmas Eve worship, too. The results were negative, thank goodness, but a rude reminder, nonetheless, about the persistence of the pandemic that still plagues us. Bah humbug.

One thing these days after Christmas remind me of more and more every year is that the highlights are great and that we need them for inspiration and for the celebration they offer. But, in these days after Christmas – as things get back to normal, as the carols grow quiet, as the family and friends leave town, as we wait again for the next big thing – these are the days when we need Jesus as much as ever.

It’s in these days between the highlights when life happens. It’s in these days following the festivals when we risk losing one another – like you might lose a child at the mall if you’re not paying attention. And, it’s in the days between the highlights when we can get lost ourselves.

But it’s also in these days between the highlights when we find Jesus where we don’t always remember he’ll be, too – not just in the temple when it’s packed with people and poinsettias – but in our homes and in our hearts, in our classrooms and offices, too. We find Jesus between the highlights, not just in the picture perfect holiday poses, but in the day-to-day living that it takes to get there, too. And we find Jesus between the highlights, not just in the grand healings or the mighty miracles, but in the struggles and the stresses and the small victories of life and death, just the same.

What I hope and pray for on top of all of our well-deserved holiday hoopla, is that what we offer here – and what we know for ourselves – is the presence of Christ that lives not just on Christmas Eve or during the holidays or even just on Sunday mornings in worship – but that the story we share and the Savior we proclaim is the one who finds people every day, between the highlights that are sure to come, when we rest assured in the hope and grace that are ours, always, as children of God.

Amen