The Baptism of Our Lord (A) – Isaiah 42:1-9
One of my favorite novels is Christopher Moore’s Lamb. It’s a tongue-in-cheek look at the story of Jesus, as told, the book says, by his childhood friend, Biff. It’s mostly a work of pure fiction, and it’s at times inappropriate, and can even be downright blasphemous. But occasionally inspires real insight into the Gospels, and I can’t help but delight in the author’s sense of humor.
The scene of Jesus’ Baptism is one of those more memorable bits in the book. It happens this way: Jesus is plunged down into the water by John the Baptist, and just as in the Gospel, a voice booms across the plain for all to hear: “This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.”
And then, John lets go, and Jesus comes up out of the water, and looks around. It’s clear from everyone’s faces that *something* happened. But Jesus doesn’t know. Throughout the entire novel, Jesus always kind of suspects he’s the Messiah, but he never knows for sure. Like the rest of us, he’s forced to resort to faith. And like the rest of us who would really like clear answers from God once in a while, Jesus occasionally gets really angry about it.
It’s a fair thing to wonder, though. Jesus is given a lot of different names in the Bible, and people throughout the centuries have argued about who he really is. Of course, Christians have always believed that Jesus is God’s son, the second person of the Trinity, part of who God Himself is. But how do we know?
* * *
Of course, if we read the Gospels, it’s pretty clear who they believe this Jesus is. He’s called Immanuel, “God with us,” even before his birth. Demons call him the Holy One, his apostles realize he is the Messiah, and witnesses at the cross proclaim that he is truly God’s own son. When Jesus is raised from the dead, it becomes clear that he’s not just some messenger from God, but is God Himself, God’s Word made flesh, God become incarnate to walk among us. But how do we know that? How do we know who Jesus is?
We can look at his story, at what he does during his earthly life. Jesus’ vocation, we’re told, is to be a teacher and healer. He travels from place to place curing illnesses that nobody else can. A man who is lame gets up from his bed and walks. A woman whose bleeding has lasted for decades is healed. A girl is raised from the dead, and the servant of a centurion is prevented from dying. The creator God, who spreads out the earth and gives breath to the people upon it, is reflected in Jesus’ healing of creation.
Isaiah’s prophecy insists that the true servant of the Lord will bring forth justice, though, and will keep striving for it until it has come. And Jesus’ work for justice is more important than his healing. After all, we see wonderful healing professionals all the time. Most of us, though, don’t follow our doctors, nurses, and technicians from town to town. Jesus attracted crowds and followers wherever he went. His proclamation of a way of life typified by the idea that people’s value doesn’t come from their wealth or wisdom but from God—from God’s law and God’s love—set people free from their oppression.
God says that his servant is given to the nations to bring prisoners from the dungeon, and from the prison those who sit in darkness. That is how we know the Lord, and that is exactly what Jesus does. And it all begins on that day by the river Jordan, when the heavens open, and the Spirit of the Lord descends, and God proclaims that Jesus is indeed His very own Son.
* *
Of course, the idea that Jesus is God wouldn’t matter that much if Jesus just was a historical figure. But as Christians, we say that the story doesn’t end with Jesus’ death and resurrection. Christ remains with us, an active part of our lives even today. We belong not to ourselves, but to God, and so God’s presence through Jesus Christ makes a difference for us today. But how do we know that? How do we know whose we are?
I think most of the time I operate in a way that is pretty open and authentic. I don’t spend much of my time hiding behind a facade, pretending to be something that I’m not. I don’t “let it all hang out” in ways that are inappropriate, I hope, but I do try to be honest about who I am with just about everybody, warts and all. That wasn’t always true, though. I can remember being a teenager. (It wasn’t *too* long ago, young thing that I still am.) High school can be a harsh and brutal place. And I wasn’t exactly what you’d call “popular.” I spent a lot of time and energy trying hard not to stick out too much, not too look too different. I was bullied, and it was easier to try to deflect that bullying than to face it head-on. The reality is, I set up a prison around myself. I was trapped by what I thought I needed to do just to survive from day to day in that system, and life was awful.
We all have our own prisons. Ways of living that we lock ourselves into, things that aren’t healthy, that break us down, that prevent us from being the wonderful children of God that we are made to be. The world locks us into patterns of prejudice, racism and sexism, ageism and classism. We lock ourselves into patterns of perfectionism or self-deprecation, cynicism or self-numbing. We all carry our prisons around with us.
It was when I was eighteen and had finished up my first year of college that I finally figured out how unhealthy it was to hide in that prison. And I made the smart decision to share it with God. The message I got in my prayer life was that God loved me, my authentic self, the person that He made. “God doesn’t make junk,” the saying goes, and who I am is worthwhile, just by virtue of being God’s creation. I was set free from the prison I’d put myself in. Jesus continues to live up to Isaiah’s promise that prisoners would be set free.
That’s how we know we belong to Christ. Because even as we work to construct prisons around ourselves, Jesus works to dismantle them. Jesus sets us free again and again, no matter what binds us. He’s always done so, ever since He claimed us in our Baptism as His own. When we had water poured over us, when we were called beloved children of God, that’s when God first set us free.
* * *
Of course, the knowledge that God remains with us, active in our lives, healing our brokenness, giving us new life, should do something to the way we live. We believe that God calls us into a mission to work for the healing of the world. Our salvation isn’t just for ourselves, but it pushes us out beyond ourselves, to love our neighbor, to love our enemy, to love the stranger and the broken and the unloveable. We have become people with a mission. But how do we know that? How do we know who we are?
We can look at our story, the story of our life together as a community in Christ. Once we are set free, we can’t keep it to ourselves. Somehow, we find ourselves almost helpless to do anything other than help other people discover their value, their freedom too. How many people have learned at the John Street soup kitchen that they matter, that God will not just let them starve? [I: How many have learned at Dismas Farm that they are defined not by their past incarceration but their creation as part of God’s beloved humanity?] [C: How many have learned at the West Boylston Food Pantry that they deserve to provide for their families with dignity, just because of their humanity?] How many people, how many ways do we share God’s love in our schools and workplaces, in our homes, in our sports teams or art organizations, in our communities, in our world?
That’s how we know that our identity is wrapped up in Christ. It always has been, since the day we were marked with the cross of Christ in our Baptism, the Baptism we share with Jesus Himself. And just as Jesus’ Baptism began his ministry, sent him out into the world to proclaim the Good News of His coming, so too our Baptism sends us out, to free the captives from their prisons, to faithfully bring forth justice, to be the true servants of the Lord, the body of Christ.
Jesus is God, and we belong to him. And we know this by the ways he brings freedom to and through us in our world. Amen.