EPIPHANY 5, YEAR C

February 9, 2025

Saints Matthew and Mark, Barrington, R. I.

(via Zoom)

 

Isaiah 6:1-8

I Corinthians 15:1-11

Luke 5:1-11

 

This season after the Epiphany calls our attention to the ways in which God makes himself known to human beings. The word Epiphany means revelation, manifestation, or showing forth.

 

All three of today’s readings describe individual experiences of God. These stories reflect a pattern that recurs throughout the Bible. From the Old Testament patriarchs and prophets, through the Blessed Virgin Mary and the New Testament apostles and martyrs, God’s self-communications usually follow a similar outline, even though they span a period of more than fourteen centuries.

 

As recorded in the scriptures, these human encounters with God generally comprise three parts. They don’t always happen in exactly the same order—sometimes they’re all mixed up—but all three elements are usually present in some form or another.

 

First, there’s a manifestation of the divine presence: God makes himself known. In the Old Testament reading, Isaiah receives a vision of worship in heaven, with the Lord God seated upon his throne, and six-winged seraphim flying to-and-fro and calling to one another, “Holy, holy, holy, is the Lord of Hosts!” In the epistle, Saint Paul recounts multiple appearances of the Risen Lord to the apostles and disciples, concluding with his own dramatic encounter on the Damascus road: “Last of all, as to one untimely born, he appeared also to me.” And in the Gospel, Jesus manifests his divine power through a miraculous catch of fish, so great that it threatens to sink the boats.

 

Notice that this initial revelation is completely at God’s initiative. We’re not talking about going into your room to practice meditation techniques in hope of experiencing a sense of the transcendent (valuable as such exercises undoubtedly may be). On the contrary, those who encounter God in the biblical stories often aren’t seeking any spiritual experience at all. They’re typically engaged in mundane activities, like fishing, or traveling from one city to another, and are thus taken completely by surprise when God reveals himself.

Not only that, but the encounter is always personal. The revelation is directed not just to anyone who happens to be passing by, but to a specific individual. So, the first element in the biblical pattern of encounter with God is a personally addressed revelation of the divine presence.

 

The second element is the human response, and then God’s response to that. This human response typically takes the form of fear, trembling, and most of all a sense of utter unworthiness to stand in the presence of the all-holy God. It’s not all warm fuzzies—at least not initially. In Latin this aspect of the divine encounter is called the mysterium tremendum fascinans – which means a mystery that simultaneously repels and attracts, that’s both terrifying and fascinating.

 

Thus, Isaiah exclaims, “Woe is me! I am lost, for I am a man of unclean lips, and I live among a people of unclean lips; yet my eyes have seen the King, the Lord of hosts!” Think for a moment what “unclean lips” might mean in this context. Many readers assume that Isaiah is speaking of profanity or even blasphemy. But unclean lips can also result from lying, gossip, libel, and slander, from hurtful and unkind speech. Notice also that in the vision, the seraphim have just been praising the sacred name of the Lord, which Isaiah immediately realizes that his own lips are unworthy to pronounce.

 

Again, following the miraculous catch of fish, Peter falls down at Jesus’ knees and implores him, “Go away from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man.” The reason for Peter’s fear is immediate and physical: they’re out in the deep, and the boats are foundering. Peter assumes that he cannot be in the presence of such holiness and live, so that the consequence of his sin must be his imminent drowning. And in the epistle reading, Paul reflects on his own deep sense of unworthiness that the risen Jesus should have appeared to him: “For I am the least of the apostles, unfit to be called an apostle, because I persecuted the Church of God.”

 

But then, in response to this overwhelming sense of fear and unworthiness, God always speaks a word of forgiveness and reassurance. One of the seraphim touches to Isaiah’s lips a burning coal taken with tongs from the altar and declares: “Now that this has touched your lips, your guilt has departed and your sin is blotted out.” Isaiah’s lips are purified to proclaim the Word of the Lord, which will be his calling as a prophet. And Jesus tells Peter not to worry if fishing just seems to have become too dangerous; henceforth he will be catching not fish but people.

 

Notice what God does not say in response to these professions of unworthiness. He doesn’t take the therapeutic approach of building self-esteem: “There, there, it’s all right, you mustn’t be so hard on yourself, you’re not really all that bad.” Isaiah really was a man of unclean lips; Peter really was the sinful man he professed himself to be; Paul really was unfit to be an apostle. The good news is that God called each of them anyway, and then made each of them worthy of their calling.

 

This brings us to the third element in the pattern: a calling, a commissioning, and a sending. For in this biblical pattern the reason for God’s self-revelation is never simply the spiritual enrichment of the individual concerned but rather the calling of that individual to a specific role, task, or mission in God’s service. God commissions Isaiah to be a Prophet to Israel; Jesus calls Peter to be a fisher of people; the risen Lord commissions Paul to be Apostle to the Gentiles.

 

So, to recapitulate, the characteristic structure of the biblical encounter with God consists of three elements: first, a manifestation of God’s presence and power addressed to a specific individual; second, an immediate human reaction of fear and trembling, guilt and unworthiness, to which God responds in turn with words of forgiveness and reassurance; and third, a commissioning to some task or calling to fulfill God’s purposes in the world.

 

When I was in seminary, one of my Old Testament professors, Frank Vandevelder, suggested in a memorable lecture that this threefold pattern repeats itself in so many biblical stories over such a long period that it cannot be accidental. And, he pointed out, it’s thoroughly Trinitarian: God the Father manifests his holiness and power; God the Son forgives us and makes us worthy; God the Holy Spirit empowers and equips us for mission in God’s Name.

 

This threefold pattern reflects the way in which God engages his people not only in the ancient biblical stories but in all times and places, including today. Our challenge, then, is to be ready to recognize and respond to such encounters in our own lives. For we’re no more and no less unworthy than any of these biblical characters. And with them we have the assurance that God’s grace towards us is never in vain; and that is grounds for rejoicing indeed.

 

THE PRESENTATION

Sunday, February 2, 2025

Saints Matthew and Mark, Barrington, R. I.

 

St. Luke 2:22-40

 

The Presentation of our Lord in the Temple, also known as the Purification of Saint Mary the Virgin, or Candlemas, concludes the annual Christmas cycle of holy days. This Christmas cycle begins on March 25th, with the Annunciation, nine months before Christ’s birth; and it concludes today, February 2nd, forty days after his birth. Along the way, we celebrate the Visitation of Mary to Elizabeth on May 31st, the birth of John the Baptist on June 24th, the Nativity on December 25th, and the Epiphany on January 6th. 

 

Each of these days highlights a different aspect of the mystery of the Incarnation. At the heart of the Christian faith is the good news that “the Word became flesh and dwelt among us”—that is, that God the Son came down from heaven and took our flesh to share in our human life, so that we in turn might come to share in his divine life.

 

At the Lord’s Presentation in the Temple, two figures stand out as representing Israel’s hopes and longings for the coming Messiah: Simeon and Anna. Simeon has received the promise that he shall see the Lord’s Anointed before he dies. When Mary and Joseph bring the infant Jesus into the Temple, Simeon immediately recognizes by divine inspiration that this is the one.

 

In response to this revelation, Simeon sings the song we know as the Nunc Dimittis: “Master, now you are dismissing your servant in peace, according to your word, for my eyes have seen your salvation …” (I must admit how much I prefer the old translation: “Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace, according to thy word, for mine eyes have seen thy salvation.”) In any case, Simeon proclaims that Jesus is the glory of God’s people Israel and God’s light to lighten the nations. These words give today’s celebration its essential character as a celebration of divine light and glory.

 

But there’s a dark side to what Simeon says next: “This child is destined for the falling and the rising of many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be opposed so that the inner thoughts of many will be revealed …” Some translations render “a sign that will be opposed” as “a sign of contradiction.” Either way, Christ’s coming into the world is not all sweetness and light.

 

To understand what Simeon is saying, we can do no better than turn to the twentieth-century Swiss theologian Karl Barth. In his Commentary on Romans, published in 1919, Barth set forth what became known as the theology of crisis, and, more broadly, as neo-orthodoxy. Over and against the optimism of nineteenth-century liberal Protestantism, which cheerfully affirmed an innate human capacity to build the kingdom of God on earth by means of progress in education, medicine, science, and technology, Barth and his associates uttered an emphatic “No!” (In German, “Nein!”)

 

Following the devastation and slaughter of the First World War, Barth insisted on God’s utter remoteness from a fallen world, estranged by sin and rebellion. This infinite chasm between God and fallen humanity could never be bridged from the human side. But the good news was that God himself had bridged this unbridgeable gap by his Word, his Self-Revelation, given first in the Law and the Prophets, and then finally and definitively in Jesus Christ, the Word-made-flesh.

 

Confronted with the light of God’s Word, however, human beings are apt to experience a profound crisis. For God’s word initially seems a word of judgment and condemnation. This encounter with the Word exposes our sin, wickedness, and rebellion so that we’re forced to decide whether to come to the light by confessing our sins, or to retreat further into the darkness by insisting on our own worthiness and self-sufficiency.

 

When we confess our sins and cast ourselves on God’s mercy, however, his word of judgment is miraculously transformed into a word of mercy, forgiveness, and affirmation. The paradox is that the more we insist on our own inherent worthiness, the deeper we dig ourselves into the mire and separate ourselves from God; but when we confess our unworthiness and cast ourselves on God’s mercy, God himself makes us worthy, and welcomes us home.

 

So, to return to Simeon in today’s Gospel, many are unable to bear the divine light that Jesus brings into the world. The Incarnate Word stands as a sign of contradiction set for the falling and rising of many. Those who prefer the darkness reject the light which exposes the world’s sins. His Word thus confronts each of us with the choice whether to accept the truth about God and ourselves. In so deciding, we become our own judges, laying bare the secret thoughts of our inmost hearts.

 

Even more disturbing are Simeon’s words to Mary, “A sword will pierce your own soul too.” This saying anticipates the sorrow and anguish that Mary will undergo as she witnesses her son dying on the cross as the result of the human rejection of the light. The light and glory that Jesus brings into the world comes at a price: one that he himself pays in his own blood, and one in which the Blessed Virgin Mary shares by her sorrow and desolation at the foot of the cross. It’s fitting that Candlemas comes a few weeks before Ash Wednesday and Lent. Even as we recapitulate the joy and light of Christ’s Nativity, we glance ahead along the road towards Calvary.

 

So, as we join in today’s joyful celebration, we remember the price Jesus pays to bring us his light and glory. His coming into the world confronts each of us with a decision. Simeon and Anna exemplify those who recognize and welcome him as the world’s salvation. We do well to pray for the grace likewise to receive him joyfully, in repentance and faith, as the light who lightens the nations and the glory of God’s people Israel.

EPIPHANY 3, YEAR C

Sunday 26 January 2025

Saints Matthew and Mark, Barrington, R. I.

 

Luke 4:14-21

 

“Today this Scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.”

 

In the past seventy-five years or so, certain linguistic philosophers have made a distinction between two types of human utterance that are sometimes called “descriptive speech” and “performative speech.”

 

We all know what descriptive speech is and how it works. A statement either conforms to a pre-existing reality in a verifiable way, in which case it’s true, or it does not, in which case it’s false. For example, the statement “John has three apples” is either true or false, depending on whether it accurately corresponds to the reality it purports to describe.

 

By contrast, certain types of speech are not descriptive but performative in the sense that they don’t describe existing realities but instead bring new realities into being. Of course, we need to be careful. One sign of either delusional thinking or, worse, unscrupulous manipulation is the idea that merely saying something makes it true.

But still, there are some forms of speech where merely saying something really does make it true: “I christen this ship the Queen Elizabeth;” “This court is now in session;” “This meeting is now adjourned;” “I sentence you to three years in prison.” In all these instances, the spoken words become in effect deeds that create new situations, that bring new realities into being.

 

As Christians, we know all about performative speech.  We profess faith in a God whom the Bible describes as creating the world by speaking: “‘Let there be light.’ And there was light.” Jesus, the incarnate Word, performs many of his mighty works in the Gospels simply by speaking them: “Your sins are forgiven.” “Rise, take up your pallet, and walk.”

 

In the Church’s sacraments, moreover, the spoken word (combined with the prescribed actions) creates whole new worlds of spiritual meaning: “I baptize you in the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.” “I absolve you of all your sins.” “This is my Body … This is my Blood …”

 

Today’s Gospel records a wonderful instance of performative utterance. Having returned to his hometown for the first time since his fame has begun to spread, Jesus is invited to read and comment on the Scriptures during worship in the synagogue. This privilege could be extended to any Jewish adult male, so it was entirely fitting for the synagogue elders to honor Jesus in this way. The reader would first read the Torah passage appointed for the day—that is, a reading from one of the first five books of the Hebrew Scriptures: Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, and Deuteronomy—and then he’d read a second passage of his own choosing from the Prophets. Finally, he’d offer a brief spoken commentary relating the two readings to each other and to the life of the congregation.

 

Luke doesn’t tell us what the appointed Torah passage was, but he does recount Jesus opening the scroll, and reading verses from Isaiah describing the servant of the Lord anointed by the Spirit to proclaim good news to the poor, release to the captives, sight to the blind, liberation to the oppressed, the year of the Lord’s favor. After Jesus hands the scroll back to the attendant, all fix their eyes upon him to hear what comment he will make. Assuming the posture of a teacher, he sits and announces to the congregation, “Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.”

 

The meaning is clear. Jesus is identifying himself as the Lord’s servant, anointed by the Spirit, in Isaiah’s prophecy. In Hebrew, the word for “the anointed one” is Messiah; in Greek it’s Christ. So, here Jesus is identifying himself as none other than the Messiah or Christ of Jewish expectation. In Luke’s Greek, his words read literally, “Today, this Scripture has been fulfilled in your ears.”

 

And this dynamic interaction of speaking and hearing creates a whole new world of possibilities. Jesus is inviting the congregation to receive the forgiveness, healing, enlightenment, and liberation that he has come to bring. Simultaneously, he’s calling them to join him in proclaiming the good news of the year of the Lord’s favor to their neighbors and to the wider world.

 

Notice that his focus is on the present. God has done great things in the past, to be sure, and will do even greater things in the future. But Our Lord’s emphasis in the synagogue of Nazareth is on what God is doing here and now, in this congregation’s very midst. “Today this Scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.”

 

This interpretation of today’s Gospel has at least three implications for our life together as a parish community.

 

First, we need to be mindful of the power of speech to build up or tear down. Negative talk, grumbling, and complaining are always destructive and demoralizing. By contrast, positive talk, words of appreciation and blessing, are creative and life-giving. Counselors and therapists often point out that in addition to identifying and naming what’s wrong with our lives and relationships, it’s even more important to be able to identify and name what’s right—for that gives us a positive foundation of hope to build on for the future. So, the question is how we can learn to accentuate the positive in ways that bring blessing to one another and our community.

 

Second, God wants us to focus on the present. In just about every parish that I’ve served in the past twenty years or so, I’ve encountered some degree of anxiety about the parish’s future, combined with what might be called nostalgia for a bygone golden age. From time to time, I still hear lamentations for the good old days, when the church was packed for multiple services, and the Sunday school was thriving with dozens and dozens of children. But I think it’s safe to say that Jesus is telling us to let go of both nostalgia for the past and anxiety for the future, and to concentrate on taking advantage of the opportunities that he’s setting before us in the present. As Saint Paul puts it, “Behold, now is the acceptable time; behold, now is the day of salvation” (II Corinthians 6:2).

 

And third, the most important question we can ever ask about the life of our parish is not what we are doing or failing to do, but rather what God is doing in our midst. This way of thinking may be unfamiliar and perhaps a bit difficult, but it’s crucial. It requires prayer. It begins with identifying, proclaiming, and celebrating the ways in which God is blessing us here and now. How is God fulfilling the Scriptures in our hearing? For what do we want to give thanks to God in our life together? These are crucial questions to be asking ourselves as we prepare for our Annual Meeting next week, and beyond that, for moving forward into God’s future together. 

SECOND SUNDAY AFTER THE EPIPHANY, YEAR C

January 19, 2025

Saints Matthew and Mark, Barrington, R. I.

 

John 2:1-11

 

Jesus did this, the first of his signs, in Cana of Galilee, and revealed his glory; and his disciples believed in him.

 

The opening address in The Book of Common Prayer’s wedding service remarks that “Our Lord Jesus Christ adorned [married life] by his presence and first miracle at a wedding in Cana of Galilee.” In John’s Gospel, changing the water into wine has the distinction of being Our Lord’s first miracle—or as John puts it, “the first of his signs”—not only in the sense of being first in sequence but perhaps also in the sense of being the model and pattern for his subsequent signs and wonders.

 

With that in mind, I want to focus on the Blessed Virgin Mary’s role in this story. The Mother of Jesus doesn’t figure into any of the other Gospel miracles in quite the way she figures into this one. So, it’s especially informative to observe how Mary and Jesus interact with each other when the wine gives out at the wedding in Cana.

 

John’s account begins: “[There] was a wedding in Cana of Galilee, and the mother of Jesus was there. Jesus and his disciples had also been invited to the wedding.”  Notice how at the beginning Mary is the pre-eminent figure in the scene: John tells us first that the mother of Jesus was at the marriage and only then mentions that Jesus was also invited with his disciples. John thus prepares us for Mary’s central role in what follows.

 

When Mary points out to Jesus that the wine has given out, he responds with one of his more problematic and difficult sayings: "Woman, what concern is that to you and to me? My hour has not yet come." He seems to be brushing her off – even to the point of being disrespectful and rude.

 

What are we to make of these words? Well, first of all, the idiom “what concern is that to you and to me” is notoriously difficult to translate. In the original Greek, it literally reads, “What to me and to you?” Some translators render it, “What concern is this of ours?” Others: “Why are you involving me in this?” And others: “How is this concern of yours my concern?” However we translate it, the import is clear: Jesus is keeping the problem at arm’s length. Such immediate practical needs, pressing as they may be, fall short of the ultimate purpose for which he’s come into the world. So, he adds: “My hour has not yet come—the hour, that is, when he will fulfill his true mission to redeem and save a fallen creation.

 

Furthermore, his remark that his hour is not yet come implies that whatever sign he may or may not perform now must inevitably fall short of the greatest sign of all: namely, his death, resurrection, and ascension. The present marriage celebration in Cana can never be more than an anticipation and foretaste of that cosmic wedding feast when Christ and his Church, indeed heaven and earth, are joined as bridegroom and bride in the Kingdom of God.

 

And then there’s the form of address: “O woman.” In English, addressing a woman in this way comes across as discourteous and disrespectful, but not so in the Aramaic that Jesus spoke, nor in the Greek of John’s Gospel. There, it might better be translated, “Madam,” “Ma’am,” or even “My Lady.” Nonetheless, in New Testament times, it was an unusually formal way for a son to address his mother. The more common form of address would have been simply, “Mother,” or “My mother.”

 

But here, it’s critical to recall that in John’s Gospel there’s another place where Jesus addresses Mary as “Woman”—from the cross when he entrusts her to the safekeeping of John, the Beloved Disciple: “Woman, behold, your son!” And to the disciple: “Behold, your mother!”

 

Both these instances of Jesus addressing Mary as “Woman” hark back to the third chapter of Genesis, where God says to the serpent who’s tempted Adam and Eve to sin: “I will put enmity between you and the woman, and between your seed and her seed; he shall bruise your head, and you shall bruise his heel.”

 

So, the suggestion is that both at Cana and from the cross Jesus is implicitly identifying Mary as the new Eve, the new mother of all living, just as he himself is the new Adam. (In Hebrew, incidentally, the name “Adam” simply means “man.”) Together, then, Mary and Jesus are the prototypes of a new humanity in which the effects of our first parents’ disobedience are canceled and reversed. Mary is the new Woman, and Jesus is the new Man, in whom the whole human race receives a fresh start and a new beginning.

 

 “When the wine gave out, the mother of Jesus said to him, ‘They have no wine.’” Here Mary takes on the role of intercessor. She perceives a problem or need. Then she takes that need to her Son. Notice, however, that she doesn’t tell him what to do. She just makes the need known. Some Christian spiritual writers commend that technique when we bring our needs to God in prayer. God does want us to share our concerns with him. But he doesn’t necessarily need us to tell him what to do if we trust that in his infinite wisdom he knows what’s best for us and will take care of us no matter what.

 

So, having brought the problem to Jesus, Mary simply leaves it with him, and instructs the servants, “Do whatever he tells you.” At this point, Jesus takes over, telling the servants to fill with water the six stone jars standing there, thus setting the scene for the miraculous transformation to follow.

 

Mary’s intercession with her Son in this dialogue offers us a model and pattern for our own prayers of intercession. We notice a need in the world around us, perhaps among our families, friends, or neighbors. We bring that need to Jesus in prayer, preferably without telling him what to do. Then, we leave that need with Jesus—and we stand ready to do whatever he tells us.

 

And we can always ask Mary to bring our needs to her Son. Just as we pray for one another here on earth, so she and all the Saints pray for us in heaven. So, it’s entirely legitimate to ask Mary for her prayers. Contrary to the objection that devotion to the Blessed Mother detracts from the worship of her Son, Mary always points us toward Jesus. When we bring our needs to her, she in turn brings those needs to Jesus, and then she lovingly exhorts us: “Do whatever he tells you.”

FIRST SUNDAY AFTER THE EPIPHANY, YEAR C

The Baptism of Christ

January 12, 2025

Church of the Ascension, Chicago

 

Luke 3:15-16, 21-22

 

“Thou art my beloved Son; with thee I am well pleased.”

The Epiphany and the Sundays following reflect on the revelation of Christ as the Son of God at various points in his earthly life, beginning with the star that brings the wise men from the East to worship him and offer their gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh; through his baptism in the Jordan River, which we celebrate today; through the wedding feast at Cana where he changes water into wine; and culminating in his Transfiguration on the mountaintop, where he shines with the light of the divine glory.

 

The word Epiphany means revelation, manifestation, or showing forth. We appropriately use this word to describe some profound new insight. In more colloquial language, the penny drops, the lightbulb switches on, and, for a brief but potentially life-changing moment, we see things as they really are.

 

At the most basic level of meaning, Our Lord’s baptism in the River Jordan is an Epiphany or revelation of his identity as the Son of God. It marks the end of what is sometimes called his hidden life—including his childhood and upbringing in the household of Mary and Joseph—and the beginning of his public ministry of preaching, teaching, healing, performing miracles, and gathering disciples.

 

Not only that, but also, in the language of Eastern Christianity, the Lord’s baptism is a Theophany: a revelation of God the Holy Trinity. All three divine Persons are revealed as present and active. The Son is immersed in the waters; the Holy Spirit descends in the form of a dove; the Father’s voice is heard from heaven.

 

Today, I want to focus on the content of the heavenly proclamation: “Thou art my beloved Son; with thee I am well pleased.” These same words are repeated almost verbatim at the Transfiguration in the presence of disciples Peter, James, and John. When a cloud overshadows the mountain, Jesus radiates dazzling light, and a voice sounds from the cloud, “This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased; listen to him.” 

In both instances, the Father names Jesus not just his Son but his beloved Son. This appellation reflects love as the essence of the relationship between the Father and the Son, and indeed among all three divine Persons. Love is intrinsic to the inner life of the Godhead. The deepest meaning of the Theophany at the Jordan can be summed up in a single sentence that appears not once but twice in the First Letter of John, namely: “God is love.”

New Testament scholars point out that Christ’s Baptism was certainly an historical event because the early Church would never have made it up. For Jesus to be baptized by John was somewhat embarrassing to the early Christians. John’s baptism was a call to repentance and conversion, but according to traditional Christian teaching Jesus had no need of either. John was administering a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins; but Jesus was sinless. The person administering baptism would normally have been of a higher religious or spiritual rank than the one receiving it; yet great as John was, Jesus is infinitely greater. So, down through the centuries, Christian thinkers have debated the question: Why did Jesus submit to a baptism of which he had no apparent need?

 

The best answer is the traditional one. He did so to express his solidarity with the fallen humanity he came to save. At his baptism he identifies with us in our sinfulness, so that at our baptism we might be identified with him in his sinlessness. For this reason, our celebration of the Feast of the Baptism of Christ furnishes an appropriate occasion for us to give thanks for our own baptism, and to recommit ourselves to our baptismal promises.

At our baptism we were incorporated into the same divine life of love made manifest at the baptism of Jesus. The Holy Spirit descended upon Jesus in the visible form of a dove. In the course of my priestly vocation so far, I’ve lost count of the number of baptisms I've administered, and I can reliably testify that I’ve never seen a dove descending on the newly baptized. (There's always a first time; maybe today?) Nonetheless, the Holy Spirit descends upon each of us at our baptism just as surely as upon Jesus at his baptism. A voice from heaven proclaimed Jesus his beloved Son, in whom he was well pleased. Again, I’ve never heard such a voice from heaven at any of the baptisms I’ve administered, at least not audibly in any physical sense. Nonetheless, there’s a sense in which God always speaks these words to the newly baptized: “You are my beloved son – you are my beloved daughter – in you I am well pleased.”

 

Another way of putting it is that at our baptism we enter into the very same filial relationship that Jesus enjoys with his heavenly Father from all eternity. What he is by nature, we become by adoption and grace: God’s own sons and daughters, indwelt and empowered by the Holy Spirit. Just as the Lord’s Baptism marked the beginning of his public life and ministry, so our Baptism marks the beginning of our life as members of Christ’s Body the Church, continuing in the world his mission of forgiveness, healing, reconciliation, and love.

 

But that love has a cost. Being God’s beloved Son did not protect Jesus from suffering and death. Indeed, one ancient tradition holds that the steps Jesus took into the River Jordan were his first steps towards Calvary. A related tradition depicts Christ’s descent into the waters of the Jordan as prefiguring his death on the cross and descent into hell on our behalf. Still, the revelation of divine love in the voice from heaven is what makes it possible to undertake such a journey and offer such a sacrifice. Christ bears suffering, death, and the grave for our sakes, so that enfolded in the love of the Holy Trinity we may bear anything for his sake. Our baptism prefigures not only our dying with Christ in a death like his, but also our rising to new and eternal life with him in a resurrection like his.

 

At the heart of the baptized life, then, is the mystery of divine love. As we celebrate the Baptism of Christ (and administer the Sacrament of Holy Baptism), we may dare to imagine God the Father speaking to us the same words that he spoke to Jesus. Whenever we get discouraged or life’s challenges threaten to get us down, it can be enormously helpful to call our baptism to mind, and hear again God saying to us: “You are my beloved son – you are my beloved daughter – in you I am well pleased.”