Pastor Bev Piro + January 12, 2025
The Baptism of Our Lord
The baptism of Jesus marks the beginning of a ministry that defied expectations and dismantled the status quo. The heavens torn apart reveal a God who enters into the messiness of life, offering a new way of being rooted in love, compassion, and justice. Baptism calls us to this same path—not an easy one, but a life filled with purpose and the promise of God's abiding presence. What does it mean to walk the way of Christ in our world today?
Sermon Transcript
From automatically generated captions, and lightly edited for readability by AI chatbots
The liturgical calendar of the church marks time in such a way that linear time is suspended, and instead, we keep Cosmic time. So here we are, three Sundays after Christmas, when Jesus was born.
Last Sunday, the Feast of the Epiphany marked the end of the wise ones’ journey to the home of the toddler Jesus, guided by the star that signaled the advent of a great ruler. And now, the following Sunday, we jump into the stories of Jesus as an adult at the River Jordan, being baptized by John. Well, kids grow up fast—but really, liturgically speaking, the Sunday after Epiphany, this Sunday, is designated for the baptism of Jesus, which marks the beginning of his ministry.
It’s a common day on which to celebrate baptisms, but due to a little miscommunication, we had the joy of witnessing and joining in the baptisms of Phoebe and Freya last Sunday. All that to say, today’s message is sort of a midrash on the baptisms that happened last week.
Plus, on a personal note, baptismal theology is central to my own understanding of what it means to be Christian in the world, so I tend to get a little excited about it. Fair warning.
The gospel stories of Jesus’s baptism in Matthew, Mark, and Luke are very similar. John, as you know, is described as kind of a wild guy who lives in the wilderness with unusual dress and dietary habits. He has a following of disciples and preaches about the long-awaited Messiah, who has not yet appeared on the scene. John baptizes with water in the River Jordan.
Eventually, Jesus comes, and after a discussion about who should be baptizing whom, John baptizes Jesus. Now, I want you to step back a moment and recall one particular part of the Christmas story: the part where the heavens broke open and spilled forth angels who sang the praises of the universe when Jesus was born. “Do not be afraid! We bring you good news of great joy, for unto you is born a savior,” was the message of the angels.
Now, many years later, as he rose from the River Jordan at the hands of his cousin John, the heavens broke open again, and a voice again declared Jesus to be the Beloved One, the Son of God.
The Gospel of Mark uses a very specific word to describe what happened to the heavens. He says that the heavens were torn apart, not merely opened as in Matthew and Luke, but torn apart. The Greek word for this is a form of the verb schizo—as in schism or schizophrenia. It’s not the same word as open.
You can open a door and close a door, and the door remains the same. But something that is torn apart is not easily closed again. The ragged edges never go back exactly the way they were.
So why does that nuanced word matter? Because it is through a torn place that God comes to us, and wherever that is, it will never be the same again—or close as neatly as before.
From the day the heavens were torn apart at his baptism, the ministry of Jesus began. He tore apart the idea of who and what the Messiah was supposed to be.
Now, folks in first-century BCE already had an idea of what a messiah was. The Roman emperors were considered to be of divine origin and saviors of their citizens. But these messiahs fell short over and over again. The lust for power, then as now, had only one goal: to maintain power by keeping the structure of society unequal and uneven.
As long as one person, or one faction, or one house of government can hold others captive to their will, stave off change, or stymie the will of the people with empty promises that have no hope of ever being fulfilled—then power serves at least some of the people.
But from his rising from the River Jordan, Jesus would be a threat to emperors and rulers. Never did he aspire to take their place in the palace or on the throne. But he did, again and again, challenge the structure of society and the established norms by tearing apart the ideas of who and what the Messiah was supposed to be.
Breaking all expectations, this Messiah would tear apart the social fabric that separated rich from poor, break through hardness of heart to bring forth compassion, change rituals and rules that had grown rigid or routine, challenge authorities arrogant with power and control, heal the sick through the forgiveness of sin, and render a new notion of what it means to be God’s Beloved Child.
The heavens would never close so tightly again, for God Emmanuel was truly with us.
Now, I have never seen the heavens torn open at a baptism or heard a voice coming from a crack in the sky. But I do know this: whether three weeks old or 93 years old, in the washing of the water, in the dying with Christ and rising again to new life, something new is begun. Like heavens that have been torn apart, nothing will ever go back to the way it was before.
Washed with water, marked with oil, blanketed with the promises of Christ and community, and claimed as God’s Own Child, the baptized are empowered by the Holy Spirit to follow the way of Christ.
Now, the way of Christ calls us to work for justice and peace among all people, regardless of place, race, or class; to bring compassion to those whom society would rather ignore. The baptized must, by the example of Christ, heal the sick and suffering, bring forgiveness to those under the burden of sinfulness, and challenge authority when power becomes intoxicating.
With great joy, we welcome infants and children into a church family. But instead of wrapping them in lovely heirloom christening gowns—which we love to do, and that’s just fine—we really should be giving them crash helmets and survival suits.
Because following the way of Christ can be a lonely and unpopular path that requires strength and courage, wisdom and understanding. Not many people want to walk that walk anymore. They fail to understand that being a Christian is not about judgment—either God’s judgment on us or our judgment of others on God’s behalf.
Baptism is not an insurance policy to keep little children from being sent to hell. Baptism is an initiation rite into a life and a way of being that follows the way of Jesus. It’s about living a life in contrast to society’s norms that would keep power in the hands of a few at the cost of disempowering many.
It’s not a one-and-done deal. True, the washing and anointing is done once. But to live out as a baptized child of God each and every day, we need the support of daily remembrance that we are followers of Jesus.
For many people, this means a conscious remembrance each morning that we choose to live the day as a child of God.
It’s no accident that in the baptismal rite, the whole people of God are called upon to promise to nurture the baptized, support them and their parents, protect them, and call out the gifts they have been given for the fulfillment of God’s Kingdom on Earth.
It is because of the difficult path that Christ lays before us that we come together week after week to be fortified again with the Word of God and Holy Communion, so that as Christ becomes incarnate in us, we can be the very presence of Christ in the world.
We have been claimed by God just as Jesus was claimed by God as God’s Beloved One. Because of baptism, we are called to live and walk and even die with Christ in a raggedy, torn-apart, and not-easily-put-back-together way.
But in all of this, we know one thing for sure: that God Emmanuel is truly with us.
Amen.
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