Sermon for January 10, 2021 - The First Sunday after the Epiphany - Baptism of the Lord - The Rev. Elise A. Feyerherm

Genesis 1:1-5                           

Psalm 29                           

Acts 19:1-7                           

Mark 1:4-11

Thirteen days after I came into this world, I was baptized. My parents took me to Martin Luther Chapel in Pennsauken, New Jersey and gave me over to God in baptism. I died and was reborn, washed in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.

I have no memory of this event, of course, but that it occurred, and that it marked me forever, I have no doubt. This plate, given to my parents, is marked with my name, the dates of my birth and baptism. It is one of the tangible reminders of the reality of that sacrament.

It is handmade, of terracotta clay, with a white glaze and the design carved out of the glaze to show the reddish-brown clay underneath. The painted flower design in the middle is reminiscent of Pennsylvania Dutch culture, known to us as the Amish, whose lives revolve around the promises they make at baptism to be steadfast and faithful to God no matter how odd they may look to the outside world.

Around the perimeter of the plate are carved my name, the dates of my birth and baptism and the town in which, through water and the Holy Spirit, I died to self and was reborn in Jesus Christ. A verse from the gospel of Mark serves as the interpretive key – “He that believeth and is baptized shall be saved.” Sexist language notwithstanding, the point is clear – new life in Christ changes everything.

If you get close enough, you will also see that the plate has been broken in many pieces and repaired. The plate fell to the floor and shattered one day when my brother was throwing a ball around in my room. But my father, handy in all things, lovingly glued it back together. He was not schooled in the Japanese art of kintsugi, in which flaws and fractures are intentionally and painstakingly marked with gold as a way of honoring the imperfection. Instead of gold, the cracks shine with my father’s love and care. That is enough for me.

Over the years it has served as a sign for me of what it means to be baptized. I have come not just to accept, but to be grateful for the cracks. They tell me everything I need to know.

What I need to know right now – always, but now in a particular and painful way – is, what does it mean to be baptized people in this world? What does it mean, when all that is around us and within us seems to be falling to pieces? Our collect for this day, as we commemorate the baptism of our Lord Jesus in the river Jordan, asks this of God: “Grant that all who are baptized into his Name may keep the covenant they have made.” Friends, what is the nature of the covenant we have made? 

Presiding Bishop Michael Curry, in an address to the Church on January 8, asked us to consider this: “In the moment of a national crisis, a moment of great danger, … a people must decide, ‘Who shall we be?’” Who shall we be? What has baptism made us, and what will baptism call us to be?

The answer to these questions is found first and foremost in God – in how God has created the world, and in what God intends for us and for our communities. We see this in the opening verses of the book of Genesis. This great creation hymn was composed in direct opposition to the Babylonian creation narrative which described the physical universe being formed from the assaulted and broken body of a deity. In contrast, the Hebrew story shows us that creation is formed not from violence and brute force, but from the benediction and blessing of a loving God. 

This is the world God intends – this is what the psalmist means, in part, by the “beauty of holiness.” A world whose shape and pattern are designed for flourishing, not for destruction; for the flourishing not only of human beings but of all creatures, seas and streams and mountains and fields. The covenant of baptism is a covenant to be faithful to the order and beauty and justice of what God has intended from the moment of creation and before.

Like Genesis, my baptismal plate, broken and repaired, though still visibly cracked, also helps me understand this. What my father did, picking up the pieces and gently putting them back together, was a sign of this covenant – a sign of the grace given to us in baptism. Repairing the breach – a simple but profound act, not unlike a member of congress picking up debris from the floor of a desecrated Capitol building.       

The covenant we have made – not just as individuals but as a Church – has to do with working to repair what has been shattered, and keeping the pattern strong. Our guide is the holy pattern God has shown us, lovingly, peacefully, and insistently in creation. So we have the model, the image, the vision of what the restoration should look like.

But the question of “who shall we be?” has to do not only with where we’re headed. It has to do with how we get there, and who we are as we are going along. Bishop Curry has urged us, in the wake of the violence perpetrated on the Capitol this past week, to recommit ourselves to the work of blessing – those we disagree with, those we agree with, and everyone in between – and he is right.  

But calls to bless and to love, as important as they are, are not enough. Being faithful to our baptismal covenant means acquiring a certain kind of proficiency as followers of Jesus, and this means acquiring very particular skills.

I’m talking about skills of prayer, knowledge of the bible and of our tradition, for sure. But I have come to believe that the time has come for us, as individuals and as churches, to commit ourselves to the kind of training in non-violent action that was the backbone of the work of Dr. King and others over a half a century ago. Repairing the fractures in our society will not come out of a naïve and untrained desire to “be loving.” For too long we have resorted to vague exhortations to love, to peace, to reconciliation. But if we are going to go out into the chaos and violence that is erupting in our midst, we had better school ourselves in holy non-violent resistance. Otherwise we will only add to what Bishop Curry named “the abyss of anarchy, of chaos, of hatred, of bigotry, [and] of violence.” If we are not schooled in non-violent life and action, there will be no peace, only fatal compromise that kills the lowly and the outcast. Without training in Christian resistance, we, and all who have no one to speak for them, will be at the mercy of those who would storm the walls of justice.

John the Baptist, and Jesus himself modeled this training for us. John trained in humility and speaking truth to power, putting God’s justice first, and actually practicing the fine art of peaceful transition of power. After Jesus’ baptism, he surrendered to the Spirit, who drove him into the wilderness for intensive and very specific training in the nonviolent – but very active – resisting of evil. We should not fool ourselves into believing we can do without the training that even Jesus knew he needed.

My baptismal plate is deeply fractured – nevertheless it continues to bear eloquent witness to the beauty of God’s holiness, and to the possibility, with God’s grace, of repairing the breach. It bears witness as well to our need to be trained in the practices of healing. If all my father had were love and good intentions, this plate would now be in a landfill. 

We have work to do, mandated by our call to love as Christ loves us. But the way has been clearly laid out for us by those who have gone before – by Mahatma Gandhi, by Dr. King, by Archbishop Tutu, and many others. 

So let the training begin. And as always, we begin our work by praying:

Almighty God, who created us in your own image: Grant us grace fearlessly to contend 

against evil and to make no peace with oppression; and, that we may reverently use our 

freedom, help us to employ it in the maintenance of justice in our communities and among the 

nations, to the glory of your holy Name; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever. Amen. (BCP 260).

O God, you call us to live into the covenant we have made: 

drown our vague and cowardly selves 

in the renewing waters of baptism, 

and raise us to the new life of grace. 

Unite us to your Son in his sacrifice, 

that we may be schooled in resisting evil 

and learn those holy skills 

which can topple the powers of hatred and violence. 

Anoint and sustain us in your Holy Spirit, 

that we may not be conquered by fear or despair.

We ask all this through Jesus Christ, 

who with you and the Holy Spirit lives and reigns, 

one God, now and to ages of ages. Amen.