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01/13/2013 - First Sunday after the Epiphany - The Baptism of Our Lord

Pastor Andrés Albertsen at St. John’s Lutheran Church in Northfield, MN.

SERMON ON LUKE 3:15-17, 21-22.

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ.

As soon as President Barack Obama heard about the awful school massacre in Newtown, Connecticut, not yet one month ago, he reacted like I can imagine any president would have reacted: he spoke with the governor and promised him every single resource that he would need to investigate the crime, care for the victims, and counsel their families. But the president also did something else. He made a public statement at the White House where he didn’t speak as a president, but as a parent. He said:

I know there’s not a parent in America who doesn’t feel the same overwhelming grief that I do. The majority of those who died today were children. They had their entire lives ahead of them — birthdays, graduations, weddings, kids of their own. Among the fallen were also teachers — men and women who devoted their lives to helping our children fulfill their dreams. So our hearts are broken today — for the parents and grandparents, sisters and brothers of these little children, and for the families of the adults who were lost. Our hearts are broken for the parents of the survivors as well, for as blessed as they are to have their children home tonight, they know that their children’s innocence has been torn away from them too early, and there are no words that will ease their pain.

And a little later he continued:

This evening, Michelle and I will do what I know every parent in America will do, which is hug our children a little tighter and we’ll tell them that we love them, and we’ll remind each other how deeply we love one another. But there are families in Connecticut who cannot do that tonight. And they need all of us right now. Because while nothing can fill the space of a lost child or loved one, all of us can extend a hand to those in need — to remind them that we are there for 2

them, that we are praying for them, that the love they felt for those they lost endures not just in their memories but also in ours.

As he spoke, the president could not hide his tears and he had to struggle to maintain composure, and he repeated similar words two days later when he visited Newtown and spoke at a memorial service for the victims: "I can only hope that it helps for you to know," he said, "that you are not alone in your grief." Even being perhaps the strongest man in this world, the most effective help that the president could offer all these afflicted people was to tell them that they were not alone in their grief. And of course, he could not stay with them in Newtown. He had to return to Washington DC.

Let me, therefore, refer to a historical event further back in time: the Civil Rights Movement in the American South in the 50s and 60s. Those who struggled for justice and equal rights faced intense opposition and danger and needed a lot of support and sympathy. But there is, however, a quantum difference between those who offered such support at a distance, and those courageous and committed people who went to the South –only to be denounced as “outside agitators” –to share in the struggle and participate in the demonstrations. This is particularly true for those who gave up positions of privilege and power to live in poverty and share in the danger. Although people who sacrifice in this way for their ideals inspire admiration in all of us, it is natural for those who are suffering to feel a special love and gratitude for those who have shown their solidarity by becoming part of their world.1

And once more let me refer to the Newtown massacre: the parents of the kids who survived the tragedy will forever feel love and gratitude for the teachers and staff at the school who reacted with astonishing courage to the unthinkable and terrifying intrusion of a man intent on murdering them and their students. With no thought of their own safety, they defended their children. Six of them died protecting the children and one of them literally put herself in the line of fire, between the kids and the gunman’s bullets.

The discussion about how to offer support and sympathy in the right way is fascinating. Can we really transcend self-interest? Should we imagine placing ourselves

1 Evans, C. Stephen. Exploring Kenotic Christology: The Self-Emptying of God (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006), 6. 3 in the other’s situation, enter, as it were, into his or her body, and become in some measure the same person with him or her? Or should we substitute others for ourselves, their interests for our own and then take the same kind of pleasure in their prosperity, and sorrow in their distress, as we have from reflection upon our own pleasure and sorrow? It is one thing to attempt to feel what I would feel if I were in the other’s place and something different is to attempt to feel what the other feels. And if what is important is the attempt to feel what I would feel if I were in the other’s place, how can I avoid the danger of assimilation with the other? And if what is important is the attempt to feel what the other feels, how can I avoid the danger of annihilation of myself? Is there a way of identifying with another that does not try to achieve an identity with the other (and thereby either reduce the other to oneself or totally abandon oneself), a way that is able to appreciate the other’s differences from me, and that succeeds in going beyond the attempt to imagine how I would feel in his or her objective condition?2

Søren Kierkegaard enters this discussion when dealing with the issue of mercy. Kierkegaard believes that mercy requires a sensitive awareness of how others might be harmed or helped,3 and therefore he stresses that mercifulness can be shown even if it can give nothing and is able to do nothing. It follows of itself, says Kierkegaard, that if the merciful person has something to give he should give it more than willingly. But the problem is that if we have, for instance, money to give, then we can hide our lack of concern for others behind public displays of financial generosity that are gratifying to our egos and make the other who receives the money into the pitiable object of a misunderstood mercifulness, who has no choice but to bow and thank because the rich person is so kind as to give him some money. Kierkegaard gives an example inspired by the famous parable of the good Samaritan: “Suppose,” Kierkegaard says,

that it was not one man who traveled from Jericho to Jerusalem, but there were two, and both of them were assaulted by robbers and maimed, and no traveler passed by. Suppose, then, that one of them did nothing but moan, while the other forgot and surmounted his own suffering in order to speak comforting, friendly

2 Ferreira, M. Jamie. Love's Grateful Striving: A Commentary on Kierkegaard's Works of Love (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001), 197. 3 Ibid, 198. 4

words or, what involved great pain, dragged himself to some water in order to fetch the other a refreshing drink. Or suppose that they were both bereft of speech, but one of them in his silent prayer sighed to God also for the other, was he then not merciful?4

Of course he was merciful.

Jesus received John the Baptist’s baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins precisely to identify himself with all the people, with the sinners.5 The way in which the gospels narrate the baptism of Jesus reflects the uneasiness that many of his later followers exhibited about his having been baptized as though he needed to repent.6 But we must take into account that confession of sin in ancient Israel meant recalling God’s gracious deeds for an ungrateful Israel, a humble admission that one was a member of this sinful people, a recounting of the infidelities and apostasies of Israel from early on down to one’s own day, and a final resolve to change and be different from one’s ancestors. Thus, without having to speculate about Jesus’ personal state of mind, we can conclude that Jesus did indeed participate in John’s baptism of repentance. Jesus was acknowledging Israel’s sin and need to turn around, and he was committing himself to do what he could to bring this about.7

Moreover, it seems that Jesus himself was not worried about being mistaken for a sinner. There is a close connection between Jesus’ baptism with sinners, his crossing of taboos in order to associate with sinners, and his death on the cross in the manner of those who are cursed.8 And it is entirely plausible that Jesus, while he was praying after his baptism, experienced a prophetic call-vision which included the spirit anointing and the announcement of his divine sonship.9

4 Kierkegaard, Søren, Howard V. Hong, and Edna H. Hong. Works of love (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1995), 322-24. 5 Byars, Ronald P. The Sacraments in Biblical Perspective (Louisville, Ky: Westminster John Knox Press, 2011), 39. 6 Ibid., 40. 7 Robert L. Webb, “Jesus’ Baptism by John: Its Historicity and Significance,” in Bock, Darrell L., and Robert L. Webb. Key Events in the Life of the Historical Jesus: A Collaborative Exploration of Context and Coherence (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2009), 134-35. 8 Byars, Op. Cit., 40. 9 Webb, Op. Cit., 142. 5

Jesus is not a superhero who can perform an extraordinary action; he is not an opportunist who shows false generosity; he is not a bureaucrat who gives us his impersonal assistance, he is not a know-it-all who can explain why death so often separates us from our beloved; he is not a guy jealous of others who offer us support and who are willing to risk their lives for us. No. Jesus is somebody determined not to keep a distance from us, who comes to us as a human being who knows exactly how to identify with us and how to show us his mercifulness without humiliating us and who, with the patience of a friend, offers us strength and courage to repair our lives and relationships.10 And it is for all these reasons that we also can confess that Jesus truly is the Son of God anointed by the Holy Spirit.

Today, we remember that you and I have also been baptized. I invite you to turn this memory into a celebration of our vulnerable human condition. Like Jesus, we were not baptized to be protected and separated from the impurity of the world and its inhabitants, but to be made an integral part of humanity. We are certainly naked and needy,11 and we miss those loved ones whom death has separated us from, but Jesus decided in his own baptism to involve himself in our condition, and therefore he draws near to us to show us his mercifulness and to enable us precisely as naked, needy and afflicted, to be merciful to others. Amen.

10 Byars, Op. Cit., 40. 11 Lathrop, Gordon. Holy People: A Liturgical Ecclesiology (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 1999), 182.