Baptism of Our Lord
I’m not gonna lie. Christmas this year was… Well, it was a little rough. A little extra.
It started on the 23rd, when we found out that my mom had had a light stroke. It was nothing too serious, and she was discharged on the 26th already. But she’s 84 years old. So, honestly, there’s almost no such thing as a “minor” medical emergency anymore.
And then of course there’s all the last-minute rushing around to get things ready. Wrapping presents. Running to the store to get the things I forgot the last time I’d gone to the store. Planning in my mind for everything I wanted to get done on Christmas Eve morning, which included not just the meal for Christmas Eve, but also a quadruple recipe of chili crisp intended for Christmas gifts for extended family (if you don’t know what it is, you need to check it out!), and getting the house ready for the kids and their respective partners to spend the evening. Planning for the drive up to Pennsylvania on Christmas day. Planning for the festivities here, and worrying about last minute plans, substitutions, etc.
And then, finally, Christmas Eve. Aaaah… time to relax… Except in the middle of getting Christmas Eve dinner ready I, of course, sliced the side of my thumb open. I did manage to finish prepping the Irish stew I was making, literally single-handedly, holding up my injured thumb, wrapped in a paper towel, hoping to stop the bleeding. And I got said stew into the crockpot before going to the local urgent care center. I got to urgent care at noon, but it was almost 1:30 before I actually saw an actual care provider. I started getting antsy about the fact that I had a 3:00 PM service. I finally pulled the pastor card: I don’t mean to rush anyone, but I’m a pastor and I’ve got a Christmas eve service at 3:00 today”. But the person providing care seemed competent and self-assured and she told me confidently that they would have me out by 2:00 PM. “OK,” I thought to myself, “this will be alright.” And then she tried to cauterize my thumb without giving me any local anesthesia. “Let me know if this hurts too much,” she said. I let her know. So, she finally numbs it up, after which I suggest, “Maybe now you can try cauterizing it.” “Oh, that’s a good idea!” She gets everything taken care of, I run home, get changed, get out here 20 minutes before the service, and you all saw me with my giant Mickey Mouse thumb on Christmas eve. After the 5:00 service I went home, had some delicious Irish stew with the kids, came back here for the final service, and then finally home again. We spent a lovely and relaxed Christmas Eve together.
Christmas day, we drove up to Pennsylvania. Again, a lovely time spent with family. My siblings, their kids, their kids’ kids.
The next morning, my younger sister tested positive for Covid. We drove home, passing on the opportunity to visit with my Mom and Dad in their nursing home. A wise decision, as it turns out, because then I tested positive for Covid on the 29th. My brother-in-law tested positive. One of my other sisters tested positive. Anke tested positive…
Oh, and the one sister who didn’t test get Covid? She managed to slide down her steps and break her ankle. It was a decidedly rough end to what has been a decidedly challenging year.
“2 When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you; when you walk through fire you shall not be burned, and the flame shall not consume you.” Yeah. Right… OK. I’m not really that jaded. And I need to remind myself of what precedes those words: “Do not fear…” “Do not fear for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine.” This was one of those times when I needed to hear that again. That I needed to be reminded of that again. And it’s important to notice what Isaiah doesn’t say, in speaking for God. Isaiah does not say, “You shall never pass through the waters, so don’t worry about it; and never think about the rivers, they can’t even touch you.” Isaiah doesn’t say, “You’ll never have to walk through fire so throw away your aloe vera, and your flame-retardant underwear.”
Granted, the stress that we had over the past couple of weeks doesn’t compare to what others in worse-off parts of the world are facing. I haven’t had to contend with aerial bombardment, drone attacks, civil war, or famine. Nobody ended up maimed for life, or anything like that. But it was stressful nonetheless and these words were, indeed, something I needed to hear. A not-so gentle reminder that there’s more to life than just this life. A nudge in the direction of realizing that there are bigger things going on not just in my life, or in this world, but in the world to come, as well. That there is, in fact, a new world coming into being, even as we sit here, gathered together.
But it also got me to thinking… There are currently 8.5 billion people in the world. Of those, 31.6% are Christian, 25.8% are Muslim, 15.1% are Hindu, and 7% are Buddhist. Then, of course, there are smaller traditional folk religions that are practiced, but even taking them into account, 14.4% of the world's population is unaffiliated with any faith tradition. That means there are 1,190,000,000 who have no faith tradition. That’s a lot. That’s a pretty overwhelming number.
OK. So, the population of the United States is 334,900,000. 28% of U.S. adults have no religious affiliation. That’s 93,772,000. 17% of those identify as atheists, that is people who do not believe in God. 20% identify as agnostic, that is people who believe that the existence of God is unknowable or unknown. But 63%, or 59, 076,360 people describe their religion as “nothing in particular”. That’s still a lot of people.
So, how is it with Maryland? With a population of 6.18 million and 23% identifying as “unaffiliated” that works out to 1,421,400 people. The estimated population within a 10-mile radius of Mount Airy in 2025 is 124,000 to 136,000 people. Let’s low-ball that. That comes out to 28,520 with no faith connection of any kind. That’s a lot of people. That’s a lot of suffering. That’s a lot of people without the spiritual resources that so many of us draw upon when the going gets tough.
And I’ve heard your stories. I’ve experienced your stories with you. I know how important your faith is to you. I know how important the expression of your faith are to you. The comfort you draw from scripture. The help that you’ve had from this community; The way they support you. They way they lift you up. The way they make you feel loved and cared for. I’ve experienced that, too.
And the thing is that many of those people don’t even know what they’re missing, because they’ve never even been exposed to faith. They don’t know the stories. The season of Epiphany and the festival of the Baptism of Jesus don’t mean anything to them, because they’ve never even really heard the story of Jesus. But this is not a new phenomenon. This is not a recent development. I know I’ve mentioned this statistic before, but the first generation to grow up less religious than their parents wasn’t the Millenials, it wasn’t Gen-Z, it wasn’t Gen-X. It was the Baby Boomers. This is a trend that started 80 years ago. That’s four generations.
So, why bring any of this up? Well, guess who Isaiah was writing to. Yes, he was writing to the exiles in Babylon. But he’s not addressing the first generation of exiles, those who were physically removed from their homes in Israel and were transported to a foreign country. He’s addressing the children, the grandchildren, maybe even the great-grandchildren of that first generation. People who were at the very least raised in exile, if, in fact, they weren’t born into exile. So, Isaiah uses this strong passionate language, this language of the heart, to help remind the people who’ve been without a home for so long, of what it is that God has promised them and, more importantly, what exactly that promise means. “3 For I am the Lord your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Savior… 4 … you are precious in my sight, and honored, and I love you, 5 Do not fear, for I am with you; I will bring your offspring from the east, and from the west I will gather you; 6 I will say to the north, “Give them up,” and to the south, “Do not withhold; bring my sons from far away and my daughters from the end of the earth— 7 everyone who is called by my name, whom I created for my glory, whom I formed and made.”
Yes, it’s a promise to the people of Israel. And yes, it’s a promise to us. That’s why I found these words so comforting after the events of that last week in December. But more importantly, it’s a promise to the 28,520 people within a 10-mile radius of Mt. Airy who may not have ever even heard about this kind of promise. Whose only ideas of God or religion are the often cartoonish, 1 dimensional caricatures that are presented by the media. They don’t know about the love and compassion that we’ve experienced here. They don’t know about care, concern, and support that comes from being part of a community like this one. They don’t know what it means to do Bible study together, to pray together, to sing together, to celebrate the sacraments together, to journey through life together as the beloved people of God.
Do not fear. You are precious. I love you. Who do we know who needs to hear those words. When the writer Lindsey Crittenden was a little girl, she was practicing that magic trick that is the stuff of childhood — floating on your back in the swimming pool. Mrs. Ursuala, her swim teacher told her that, “When you flap and flail, you’ll sink, but if you just relax, the water will hold you." Mrs. Ursula's calm and confident encouragement stuck, and became the title for Crittenden's memoir: The Water Will Hold You; A Skeptic Learns to Pray (2007).
In his baptism, Jesus identified with "the whole Judean countryside and all the people of Jerusalem." He allied himself with the faults and failures, the pains and the problems, and with all the broken and hurting people who had flocked to the Jordan River. By wading into the waters with them he took his place beside us and among us. In doing that, Jesus embodies and makes real the promises expressed so beautifully by Isaiah. Our call is to share that good news with those who need it most. Our call is to share the story of Jesus with those who don’t know it.
There are malignant forces try to name and claim us. Baptism reminds us that first and foremost, above and beyond all other claims — however legitimate or oppressive — we belong to God. God knows and calls us by name. We don't belong to our boss or the bank. We don't belong to an abusive spouse or our addictive impulses. We're not defined by sickness, success or failure. We don't belong to the political propagandists or the advertising industry. We're not the sum total of our poor choices, painful memories, or bad dreams.
And when we see those around us being suppressed by these kinds of forces; When they come to us seeking support and comfort. That, my dear siblings in Christ, is the time to speak. “I hear you. I understand what you’re feeling. I’ve been there, too. Let me tell you what has helped me. Better yet, let me show you. Why don’t you come sit with me this Sunday.” And don’t worry. God is with you. God loves you. And the water will hold you. AMEN