The Murky Waters of Baptism

 Luke 3:15-17, 21-22

I wish we knew what they all thought – all those people in the crowd.  I wish we knew what they thought when they saw Jesus line up with the rest of them and wait for his baptism.  Most of them probably had no idea what was happening.  To them, Jesus looked just like every other middle-aged man who was standing ankle deep in the water, waiting his turn.  He was dirty and dusty, just like the rest of them.  His face held a mixture of joy and apprehension, just like the rest of them. 

 If you did not know better, you would have completely overlooked Jesus.  He was just like the rest of them, standing in the hot and humid air, ankle-deep in the river, waiting to get to the front of the line so he too might go into the waters of baptism just like everybody else.  Waiting to feel that water cover his face and head, just as it would cover all of the other men and women who had made their way out into the wilderness in the hopes of being made clean somehow and maybe given a new start.  Jesus stood there, right in the middle of everyone else, and waited his turn for baptism. 

 It was a hot and humid early evening on the banks of a murky central Texas lake called Lake Whitney.  Lake Whitney is the playground of my childhood.  It is still the place to which we all return every July, when the temperatures hover around 100 degrees, no matter what time of day or night. Lake Whitney was where we spent our family time—fishing, boating, swimming, and laughing.  But on that particular early evening in June, 1987, we had all gathered for a different purpose.  We had come there for baptism.We all stood there on the banks of the lake, wearing our shorts and flip-flops—the baby’s father, Rusty and his mother, Tammy; Rusty’s brother Bob and his family; me, my mother and my sister Shalyn; and, a couple of elders from First Presbyterian Church in Waco.  My father stood in a white robe, his arms wrapped around a curious and active one year old baby boy named Colt. 

 Dad turned and faced the family.  “Rusty and Tammy, do you desire that Colt be baptized?”  “Yes we do,” they said.  “Relying on God’s grace, do you promise to live the Christian faith, and to teach that faith to your child?”  “Yes we do,” they responded again.  Their responses were quiet, almost lost in the sound of motorboats pulling in and out of the boat docks.  But even I as an adolescent understood why they spoke softly. 

 After all, we were standing on the banks of Lake Whitney, at the marina that brothers Bob and Rusty owned together.  And we were enough of a crowd that we had drawn a few onlookers who watched from a safe distance away.  And besides all that, neither Bob, nor Rusty, nor really anyone else in their family was very “church’y.”  Truth be told, they had been pretty wild in their past and still carried a few of those habits into their lives as family men.  Here in worship, we will just say they were rather “earthy.” 

 My father had spent years with them at that marina.  But for a long time, he did not tell them what he did for a living.  When Dad was at the lake, he just wanted to be a fisherman.  He did not want to be “the preacher.”  But eventually, Rusty and Bob found out what he did from one of Dad’s friends.  For a while after the discovery, they would apologize every time they cursed and would try to hide their beers when he walked into the tackle shop.  But, after a bit, they realized that Preacher Jimmie was still just Jimmie.  They figured out that Dad’s vocation did not require them to censor themselves.  Dad did not want them to be anyone other than who they were.  So, they relaxed about it and things got back to normal at the Marina.

 Well, sort of normal.  Rusty and Bob had gone to church when they were kids but neither of them was active as an adult.  The Marina was open 7 days a week, and besides, they said they were not really “church people.”  They might go into town for Christmas or Easter, but that was about it.  Church just made them nervous.  They were scared they did not know the rituals or have the clothes to fit in with the rest of the Sunday morning crowd. 

 But once they found out that Jimmie was Preacher Jimmie, they did start to ask some questions.  They asked a lot of questions about sin and forgiveness.  They spent some time in confession, telling Dad about their past as they stood near the live wells.  They talked about Jesus, and the Spirit, and what Dad thought happened when you died and how the end of time might come about.

 And my father spent a whole lot of time helping them get reacquainted with God.  Actually, he spent a whole lot of time helping them get past the God of their childhood—the one who smote you with lightning bolts, who frowned at your every move, who, like Santa, kept detailed lists of who was naughty and who was nice.  He helped them begin to say goodbye to that God they no longer believed in so they could get to know the God he saw in Christ Jesus—the God who knew them the best and yet loved them the most.  The God who had forgiven them again and again, setting them free, even if they did not know it or realize it.  The God who was 100% committed to being their God, even though they would never be 100% committed to being disciples.

 And after many months of conversation and questions, confession and assurance, beer and fishing, they grew to be close friends.  Bob, Rusty and Preacher Jimmie.  And Dad became not just their buddy, but also their pastor.  He got to know and love the whole family, including the kids.  When he was not in the boat or at the dock, he was up at the store visiting.  The family even joined Dad’s church, though they seldom attended.  And so, when baby Colt was born several years later, it was natural for Rusty and Tammy to ask Dad about baptism.

 Their childhood churches had preached that only believer baptism counted so the idea of infant baptism was very new to them.  But they were curious.  They were intrigued by what Dad told them about his understanding, the Reformed Presbyterian understanding, of why we baptize.  “Baptism is first and foremost about God choosing us in Jesus Christ,” he said.  It is not about our choosing of God.  Now that does not mean that our response is not important.  Our response is very important because when we are living in the light of our baptism, it changes everything about how we live our lives.  But the meaning of baptism rests first and foremost in who God is and in God’s decision to claim us as God’s own through Jesus.  It is less about your sin and much more about God’s grace.”

My father could have pointed to today’s Gospel lesson to help illustrate his point.  John the Baptist had been passionately preaching baptism for the forgiveness of sins.  He was very passionately emphasizing the fact that our baptism signals a turning from sin and a turning to God.  The fact that our baptism is an act of new birth, of new creation, of beginning again.  All important components to this mysterious watery sacrament. 

 But then, here comes Jesus.  Jesus, the Messiah, the one for whom John was preparing.  Jesus, the Messiah, the one who John said would arrive with the winnowing fork and the Spirit and fire.  Jesus, the Messiah, the one who had no need of repentance, or turning, or beginning again.  This Jesus came and he stood in line with all of the others.  He did not make a big deal of it.  He did not preach as he waited.  He did not call any attention to himself. He just stood there, waiting.  And then, after it happened, he just stood there, praying.

 But why?  Why was Jesus there?  Perhaps he stood there in line, ankle-deep in river water, because he knew that the fulfilling of righteousness was not something we could do for ourselves.  Perhaps he was starting to realize that making things right was his call to live into.  Or, maybe he lined up there with everybody else because frankly, this is what incarnation is all about in the first place:  The proclamation that God in Jesus is taking our side, not content to be separate from us, but desiring to join us, to be one with us in all that we are and in all that we do.  

 Perhaps that identification is the primary function of Jesus’ baptism—so that we would know at our own baptisms, at the baptisms that we witness, that Jesus himself has also done this.  Jesus himself stood in line, shoulder to shoulder with sinners like you and me.  Jesus himself has gone down into the murky waters to signal cleansing and forgiveness and new creation.  I believe Jesus was baptized that day so he would be all of who we are, in order that we might become more like who he is. 

 Those are the kinds of things Dad told Rusty and Tammy as they talked about whether or not to baptize Colt.  “You would be the ones to make promises on Colt’s behalf,” he said, “until Colt gets big enough to claim those promises for himself.  Plus,” Dad continued, “remember that baptism is not the end of Colt’s journey.  It is just the beginning.  Every time you give Colt a bath, you can remind him of his baptism.  Every time someone at school tries to tell him who he is and what he can or cannot do with his life, you can remind him of his baptism.  You can remind him that he is first and foremost a child of God, brought into the body of Christ, claimed and sealed forever.  If you feel called to have Colt baptized as a baby, you are deciding that you want him nurtured in the faith from his very beginning, a nurturing and a growing that will continue as long as he lives—until his baptism is complete in his death.” 

 Rusty and Tammy decided that was exactly what they wanted to do.  They decided to trust that God really was as merciful and gracious as Jesus said.  They decided to trust that baptism really was more about God’s decision for us rather than our puny decisions for God.  They decided to make sure Colt knew from the very beginning of his memories that he was God’s beloved child.  And so Dad received permission from the Session of FPC to administer the sacrament and two elders volunteered to represent the congregation on the banks of Lake Whitney.

 Sweat was beginning to drip down my back that humid summer evening at the marina.  After asking Rusty and Tammy about their intentions, Dad then turned to all of us.  “Do you, representing the whole body of Christ, promise to guide and nurture Colt by word and deed, with love and prayer, encouraging him to know and follow Christ and to be a faithful member of his Church?”  “We do!” we said enthusiastically, our voices carrying out over the water.  Dad then asked Tammy and Rusty to profess their faith, which they did, this time with a little more self-confidence in their voices.  

 Dad invited Rusty and Tammy to wade into the water as he carried Colt out into the gentle lapping of the lake’s waves.  He got deep enough to where he could reach down and scoop up the water with his big hands.  “Colt,” he proclaimed, pouring the lake water onto that baby’s head, “I baptize you in the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit.”  Colt’s eyes were wide as Dad made the sign of the cross on his forehead, declaring, “Colt, child of the covenant, you have been sealed by the Holy Spirit in baptism and marked as Christ’s own forever.” 

 And with those words, tough old Rusty began to cry.  And Colt saw his daddy crying, a sight he had never seen before, and he started to cry too.  And then, above the baby’s wails, standing out in the murky waters of Lake Whitney, Rusty and Tammy began to laugh.  And so did my father.  And so did the bystanders watching from their safe distance.  And so did the rest of us. 

 And at that moment, don’t you just know that God was joyful too.  Surely the heavens resounded with the affirmation, “This is my Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.”  A voice that surely has been sealed into Colt’s soul forever.

 And after everyone was dried off, we went up to the store for more laughter, more stories and ice cream—our rag-tag piece of the Body of Christ, formed by the murky and mysterious waters of baptism.