"Water, Spirit, & Fire" (Baptism of the Lord)

Luke 3:15-22

15 As the people were filled with expectation, and all were questioning in their hearts concerning John, whether he might be the Messiah, 16 John answered all of them by saying, "I baptize you with water; but one who is more powerful than I is coming; I am not worthy to untie the thong of his sandals. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire. 17 His winnowing fork is in his hand, to clear his threshing floor and to gather the wheat into his granary; but the chaff he will burn with unquenchable fire." 18 So, with many other exhortations, he proclaimed the good news to the people. 19 But Herod the ruler, who had been rebuked by him because of Herodias, his brother's wife, and because of all the evil things that Herod had done, 20 added to them all by shutting up John in prison. 21 Now when all the people were baptized, and when Jesus also had been baptized and was praying, the heaven was opened, 22 and the Holy 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."

              Dillon, his older brother Doug, and their mother Rhonda would show up at our little church every-so-often on a Sunday morning for worship. I first met Dillon and Doug when they came to our first Wednesday evening children and youth gathering. We didn’t do much, just played football in the church yard, ate a simple supper, and shared a Bible story and prayer, but those kids would come just about every week. It was always nice when we’d see them on a Sunday morning, especially if they brought a parent. It was more of a rare occurrence, however, to see them on Sunday, so it really caught me by surprise one Sunday when Rhonda and Dillon came to church and after the service Rhonda told me that Dillon wanted to be baptized.

              I spent a few minutes after church that morning in our little sanctuary talking to Dillon about baptism, what it means, why he wanted to do it, how, when, and where we’d do it. You see, we didn’t have a baptistry at Osage, but there was a creek at the bottom of the hill down the chert road right next to the church. We set a date for the baptism that week, and I met Rhonda out at the church to show her where we’d do the baptism. It had been a rainy season, so the creek was up and ran over the road just a bit. On the left side of the road, it looked as if God had made that spot just for baptism: the water was clear, and it looked as if there were limestone steps down into the deepest part. All we had to do was crawl under the barbed wire fence. On the right side of the road, however, the water ran off the road, about six feet down, falling into a small pool before it carried on down the creek. The water couldn’t have been more than a foot deep. Guess which side Rhonda asked if we could do the baptism…So, the Thursday before the Sunday we’d have the baptism, I threw a shovel in the back of my little S-10 and drove out to Osage, where I dug a hole about three feet deep where the water fell off the road, making a nice little baptismal pool with a waterfall in the background (you know, for pictures).

              The day came, and I was a bit nervous. You see, we hadn’t yet had the class on how to baptize in seminary. But I got up, put on a white shirt, and wore my swim trunks under my slacks (swim trunks that I christened my “baptism shorts” from that day forward). We had worship, and after the benediction, we left the sanctuary and headed down the road towards the creek. A few of us walked, while some drove. I was carrying a towel in my hand, as I prayed my crocs wouldn’t slip on the gravel on the road or the rocks as we climbed the five or six feet down off the road. Dillon was wearing some clothes that I’m sure his momma would have called “play clothes” as he climbed down and stood in the creek (shoes and all). We sang a stanza of some old hymn about baptism; I prayed; then, I held my hand up in the air, asked Dillon if he had accepted Christ as his savior, and after he answered, I said, “I now baptize you, my brother, in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.” It was a bit awkward getting Dillon all the way under the water of that creek in the hole I had dug, but he was immersed, and all of God’s people said, “Amen!” Then we slogged our way back up the road to the church, where I changed into some dry clothes and drove home thinking about how I had just done my first baptism.

              It was the last time we ever saw Dillon or his mom at church. I baptized him, and they seemed to have fallen off the face of the earth. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the last time that happened, and I’m not the only minister who can tell such a story.

              I remember being angry. At first, I was angry at Dillon and his mom. Why would they just quit coming to church after his baptism? Shouldn’t they have been more regular after that, not just every now and then when they didn’t have anything better to do? What were they doing now? Didn’t they know that getting baptized doesn’t “save” anybody (I know I made that perfectly clear)? I felt betrayed, used, like they were just using the church and me for some signpost in Dillon’s life, some cultural expectation to which they could always point when someone asked if he had been baptized.

              Then I remember being angry at myself. Had I done everything I could as a pastor to make sure they stayed at the church? What exactly was I supposed to do? What could I do? Was it too late to do anything? I had called, asked where they had been, if everything was alright, but after hearing the same old excuses, what more could I have done? It kept me up a night or two; it still does, because folks will just drop off the face of the earth without ever saying a word to their pastor.

              Then I remember being angry at members of our church. After they were gone for a while, I remember asking some of our folks about Dillon and his mom, and they’d say things like, “Oh yeah, I forgot about them,” or “Well, I could have told you that was going to happen,” or “That’s what some folks do, you know.” I felt like they weren’t even trying, as if they didn’t see their role in making sure people felt a part, felt included, felt like they were a part of our family of faith. If I’m honest with you, it still bothers me when it seems like a congregation thinks it’s always the clergy’s responsibility to ensure that folks feel a part, included, and welcomed. I’d wager a lot of folks slide out the back doors of many sanctuaries unnoticed because church folks ignore their calling to welcome others into the community of faith.

              I was angry, at Dillon and his mom, myself, and our church, but the truth is, I was probably more disappointed with the whole way we think about baptism than I was angry at anyone. See, this Sunday on the liturgical calendar is referred to as Baptism of the Lord Sunday, the first Sunday after Epiphany in which we reflect on the baptism of Jesus and our own baptisms. As I’ve reflected on Christ’s baptism (particularly from the passage before us from Luke), my own baptism nearly seventeen years ago, and on the many baptisms of which I’ve been a part over the last thirteen years, something occurred to me: I think we’ve got it all backwards, and this backwards way of thinking about baptism just may be contributing to this phenomenon of folks who vanish after their hair dries.

              See, when I was baptized, I remember there was this whole semi-systematized thing I had to go through. A deacon in our church asked if I had accepted Christ, had I thought about being baptized. When I said yes, I had to meet with our (interim) pastor, who told me that I’d have to pray “the sinner’s prayer” (and really mean it, of course), then I’d have to walk the aisle of the church at the end of a service during the “invitation” (I was told this was an unavoidable and necessary step even though I sat way in the back with the youth, and I didn’t really want to have everyone in the church looking at me while I walked to the front of the church), then after the church said, “Amen,” we’d pick a date, I’d come to church and be dunked under the water all the way, and (in his words) “that’s it.”

              “That’s it.” That’s it? Now, granted, I know what he meant, but still, for a lot of folks (for a lot of us if we’re honest) that is it. Baptism is a sort of end, a goal, a divine destination that marks a sort of end to our personal spiritual pursuits. I mean, I’ve heard people actually say, “Well, I haven’t seen so-and-so in years, but he was baptized here…” As if they’re alumni of some university, and upon graduation, never set foot on campus again. We’ve taught ourselves to think of baptism as an end. I mean, how many times haver you heard a preacher say something like, “Before you get baptized, you need to know that you know that you know?” I can tell you I’ve sat in so many conversations, especially with parents and their children when they want to be baptized, and the finality of it all is stressed so much I even start wondering if maybe I need to re-up!

              This seeing baptism as an end is all wrong; it’s backwards and inside-out. I think it’s why it seems like a lot of people’s faith doesn’t seem to mature past their baptism, why so many are afraid of the hard questions that come with maturity, the struggle that comes with the passage of time and age. If we can just preserve the faith we had when we were baptized, when Sunday School answers were the best answers, because they were the only answers we had, when the stories of the Bible didn’t bear the weight of reality and history, but were just nice stories about little boys fighting giants, boats full of animals, and Jesus feeding five thousand people with a little boy’s lunch—if we can just freeze our faith right there, then we can tether ourselves to it when it eases the confusion of life and the complexity that comes with it. But baptism isn’t the goal of our faith; no one needs to, ought to, or ever really does have it all figured out when they touch the water.

              You see, baptism isn’t the end goal. If anything, it’s the beginning, the beginning of a journey, the beginning of life truly lived, the beginning of maturity, growth, the beginning of good news. I mean, think about it, which gospel is it in which Jesus is crucified, dead, buried, resurrected, and then baptized? Is it in John where he’s on the shore cooking fish for the disciples when he looks at Peter and says, “Peter, feed my sheep…then I’m going to need you to baptize me now that this is all over?” Or was it in Matthew’s gospel, right after that passage we call the Great Commission: “Go therefore and make disciples of all nations...but before you do, I need to be baptized so you’ll know it’s the end?” Is that what happens, off-screen, in Mark’s gospel, after the women flee, terrified, form the empty tomb, Jesus is baptized in some creek close to the Mount of Olives? Is that where Jesus was coming from while he was walking on the road to Emmaus at the end of Luke’s gospel, from the water after being baptized? Of course not!

All four gospels begin the ministry of Jesus where? At the Jordan, with John, with baptism. It is the moment pregnant with potential, the event filled with expectation, the instant in which life breaks open and our identity as a child of God becomes more and more real as we set out on the journey to live into that identity. It’s the beginning! Are you still stuck there, at the waters of your own baptism, believing it was the end? Get up! Come on! Jesus is calling you on, calling you to move, to grow, to live! Maybe you’re waiting for your own baptism and don’t realize it yet. You’re just dragging your feet, because you believe baptism marks an end, an end to life outside of religion, an end to whatever your holding onto because you believe it’s the bet there is. Quit that way of thinking! It’s time to set out! Christ is calling you to jump in, to get wet, to set out on this great journey of life, faith, and love, to realize that baptism is just the beginning of a life lived in the fullness of God’s presence, in the fullness of God’s spirit, in the wholeness that comes with following Christ in a life lived towards and for others. Christ calls you through the waters now, and into a full life of growth, depth, and love. Amen.