Third Sunday after Epiphany: Baptism of Connor Fall
Service Date:
24 January, 2010
Mark 10:13-16
There's nothing new about what I'm about to say. Margaret's reading says it all, really: I'm going to pass on to you now what I've heard and read from people who've been on our journey of faith before us. But though it's not new news, it's still good news. Let's hear what our church believes.
God loves us even before we come to love God ourselves. Though we can't understand such love, God invites us in baptism to accept it with the openness and trust of a child. Christ's journey from death to new life is the pattern of our lives, as we follow in his footsteps. Jesus himself was baptized by John in the Jordan. His baptism found fulfilment in the cross, where he gave his own life for the life of the world.
Like our reading says, that's a dark saying, one way beyond little Connor, way beyond any of us to understand. How could someone dying painfully become new life for everyone else? But this morning we've brought Connor for baptism because we believe it's true, and we don't want to keep that truth from him.
Isn't he a bit young for all this sort of thing, though? What does it say?
Whether we are children or adults, baptism marks the beginning of our lives as Christians and as members of the Church. In baptism we are called to take up the Cross and follow Christ in the company of all God's people from all times and places. Because we cannot do this on our own, at baptism we receive the gift of the Holy Spirit, to enable us to live as God's people and to serve God's purposes in the world.
That sort of language may seem a long way from our Gospel reading, where people are bringing little children to Jesus so he can bless them. Actually, where it says ‘people', I reckon it should really say ‘mothers'. Maybe there were New Men back in Jesus' time, dads looking after their kids, wanting to bring them to Jesus. But it's much more likely to have been a mother asking for Jesus' blessing for her child. Think how brave she must have been! To disturb the holy man and all his male followers talking about holy things, for the sake of her baby! No wonder Jesus' disciples frowned them down - just like women, interrupting men talking about important things to show off their ankle biters to Jesus, for heaven's sake. Have they no sense of what's important?
But Jesus, not for the first or last time, shows more sense than his friends. God's kingdom, he tells them, belongs to the little people: the people others look down on, or despise for breaking the rules, or just ignore because they're not important enough even to notice. And unless like a little child we can learn to lay down the game of I'm better than you are, and see everyone as God's gift to us, we've no chance of finding Jesus' new life and God's kingdom.
Connor's not old enough yet to start that game. But we are, all of us. That's why we baptised people are always in need of a new start with God and each other. And thanks to Jesus' self-sacrificial death for us and for all, thanks to God's Holy Spirit living in our hearts, that's what's always on offer.
It's not new news, but it's good news for us all. Especially for Connor, who's about to become a new member of our Christian family here at St Andrew's. So let's get on with welcoming him in through his baptism. Let's light a central candle, to symbolise Christ present among us, the light of the world.
There's nothing new about what I'm about to say. Margaret's reading says it all, really: I'm going to pass on to you now what I've heard and read from people who've been on our journey of faith before us. But though it's not new news, it's still good news. Let's hear what our church believes.
God loves us even before we come to love God ourselves. Though we can't understand such love, God invites us in baptism to accept it with the openness and trust of a child. Christ's journey from death to new life is the pattern of our lives, as we follow in his footsteps. Jesus himself was baptized by John in the Jordan. His baptism found fulfilment in the cross, where he gave his own life for the life of the world.
Like our reading says, that's a dark saying, one way beyond little Connor, way beyond any of us to understand. How could someone dying painfully become new life for everyone else? But this morning we've brought Connor for baptism because we believe it's true, and we don't want to keep that truth from him.
Isn't he a bit young for all this sort of thing, though? What does it say?
Whether we are children or adults, baptism marks the beginning of our lives as Christians and as members of the Church. In baptism we are called to take up the Cross and follow Christ in the company of all God's people from all times and places. Because we cannot do this on our own, at baptism we receive the gift of the Holy Spirit, to enable us to live as God's people and to serve God's purposes in the world.
That sort of language may seem a long way from our Gospel reading, where people are bringing little children to Jesus so he can bless them. Actually, where it says ‘people', I reckon it should really say ‘mothers'. Maybe there were New Men back in Jesus' time, dads looking after their kids, wanting to bring them to Jesus. But it's much more likely to have been a mother asking for Jesus' blessing for her child. Think how brave she must have been! To disturb the holy man and all his male followers talking about holy things, for the sake of her baby! No wonder Jesus' disciples frowned them down - just like women, interrupting men talking about important things to show off their ankle biters to Jesus, for heaven's sake. Have they no sense of what's important?
But Jesus, not for the first or last time, shows more sense than his friends. God's kingdom, he tells them, belongs to the little people: the people others look down on, or despise for breaking the rules, or just ignore because they're not important enough even to notice. And unless like a little child we can learn to lay down the game of I'm better than you are, and see everyone as God's gift to us, we've no chance of finding Jesus' new life and God's kingdom.
Connor's not old enough yet to start that game. But we are, all of us. That's why we baptised people are always in need of a new start with God and each other. And thanks to Jesus' self-sacrificial death for us and for all, thanks to God's Holy Spirit living in our hearts, that's what's always on offer.
It's not new news, but it's good news for us all. Especially for Connor, who's about to become a new member of our Christian family here at St Andrew's. So let's get on with welcoming him in through his baptism. Let's light a central candle, to symbolise Christ present among us, the light of the world.
Hymns:
R&S 74 was originally written in German in the sixteenth century by Joachim Neander, and translated into English by Catherine Winkworth two centuries later. The tune Lobe den Herren was originally set to the words of a love-song beginning ‘Dearest, have you quite concealed your face?'R&S 549 comes from the twentieth century, written by Sydney Carter for boys in Southwark Cathedral School about to change school, but it is suitable for any of us when our lives change. The tune is called Southcote, a misspelling of the name of Ernest Southcott, Provost of Southwark Cathedral at the time.
R&S 425 is also a modern hymn, written by Fred Kaan, a URC minister who died quite recently. He wrote it for his congregation at Pilgrim Congregational Church in Plymouth. The tune Herongate is an English traditional folktune collected by Ralph Vaughan Williams, eavesdropping on a maid working at Ingrave Rectory who was singing at her work. Herongate was a hamlet close to Ingrave.
R&S 319 was written for an anniversary of the British and Foreign Bible Society by R.T. Brooks. The tune Regent Square, written by Henry Smart, comes from the church in London where the editor of the book which first published it was the minister.
Sermon:
Nehemiah 8:1-3, 5-6, 8-10; Psalm 78:1-6; Mark 10:13-16; Luke 4:14-21At first glance, our reading from Nehemiah this morning sounds just the sort of thing to give the Bible a bad name for inducing terminal boredom in its hearers. What's newsworthy, or inspiring, in a story that's basically about someone standing up and reading the Bible out loud to lots of people? Big deal - don't we do that every Sunday morning in church? Granted, this reading goes on from early morning till noon, which is a bit longer than we normally get in church, but wouldn't that just be even more boring?
What's a bit more unusual is the reaction the reader, who happens to be Ezra the scribe, gets to his reading: when they hear it, everyone begins to weep. Why? That sort of reaction usually means that something important's been said, something that cuts to the heart, whether out of sorrow or joy. A little earlier on, when Ishbel, Connor's godmother, read out Margaret and Martha's prayer for him, I'd not be surprised if a few tears appeared at the corner of a few eyes, out of joy and thankfulness at his health and strength, after all the trouble he's lived through in his short life so far. So what was it about this reading of the Bible that made the people who heard it start to cry?
To begin with, what exactly was it that was read out to them? It was the book of the law of Moses: the Torah or first five books of the Bible, which for the Jewish people are the most important and holiest parts of all: telling where their people came from, telling of their people's story with God - telling them who they were. For years, during their exile abroad, the people had not gathered to hear their story told. Now they were back in their own land, among their own people. God's Temple had been rebuilt. Yet so much could never be replaced. When the aid agencies finally pull out of Haiti, their work done, maybe there will be a similar feeling among the people there: so much damage done, so many lives lost; how will we ever pluck up the courage to start living again? Yet even in the midst of sorrow, as Ezra reminded his hearers, the stories of the Torah spoke to them of God: present in their ancestors' joys and sorrows; present in their own. Even in discouragement and fatigue, the joy of the Lord was their strength.
Calling to mind the past through reading the Bible in the present crops up again in the Gospel reading set for this morning. Jesus, fresh from his own baptism and from his desert temptations, is dropping in on his home synagogue, at Nazareth. Like a visiting preacher, he's asked to read the set passage from the Bible and to reflect on it for his hearers' benefit. So he finds the right place in the scroll of Isaiah the prophet, reads it out - without benefit of sound system - and sits down again. And as everyone starts to look at him, he gives the shortest sermon on record: ‘Today is the day this prophecy has come true in your hearing.' Sensation! What does he mean?
Again, let's look at the story. God's Spirit has chosen someone, said Isaiah, centuries before, to give good news to the poor, release to prisoners, sight to those who can't see, freedom to slaves and the return of land to those who've lost it through debt. And Jesus is saying: D'you know who God has chosen, here and now, to do all those things? It's me.
Now, this may sound a stupid question, but is this good news or bad news? On the face of it, to me it sounds like good news, but were the people then glad or sorry to hear him speak that way?
From what we've already heard in Nehemiah we might expect a mixed reaction; and we'd be right. To start with, his hearers can't praise Jesus highly enough. But then he starts talking about God helping foreigners, not Israelite widows; God healing an enemy general, not Israelite lepers - and suddenly the whole mood changes. Now the headline in the Nazareth Times is no longer ‘local prophet makes good', but ‘enemy-lover run out of town'. Why this sudden violent change of mind? Maybe because the good news he brings is just too good; it's not only good for those who are sitting there listening to him, but for everyone else too: for all the people who don't go to our synagogue, who don't follow our rules. And if some people are going to get back what they've lost - freedom, job satisfaction, land to live on - then others are suddenly going to find they have less than they'd counted on.
But what's all this got to do with Connor? He's rich in the support of family and friends; he's currently imprisoned by a buggy, but look out once he starts walking; his mum's his slave; and till he goes to college, at least, he isn't in debt.
So how does what Jesus says here relate to him, newly welcomed into our church family?
To start with, both Jesus and Ezra the scribe show Connor something important: he needs to know his family history. Not just from his family by blood, but his family by love too, his church family: the stories passed down from Jews and Christians, our relations by blood or by love, that ended up in the Bible. For stories of our ancestors help us to find out who we are and who we want to become. When we're in trouble, we can look back and see how God has helped those who went before us; that gives us hope that God will help us. When we're feeling successful and important, we can look back and remember how Jesus is interested in the little people, so we should be on their side.
Even now, Connor is no blank book to be written on. He is an individual with his own likes and dislikes, his own personality. But the stories we pass on to him, and just as importantly, the stories we tell him by how we behave when we don't think he's looking, will influence him, for good or for ill, as he grows up in our midst. Do we really mean what we believe and say about God? Does it show up in the way we live? A child's among us taking notes; let's make sure what he hears and sees speaks to him of the God who heals us when we are hurting; the God who challenges us to grow and change and become more loving when we become too comfortable as we are.
It's a big and eventful family we're welcoming Connor into today. With Adam and Eve, he's been made in God's image. With Noah and all the animals, he's survived the flood. With Abraham, Hagar and Sarah, he's left home and wandered as far as God's promised land. With Moses, Miriam and Aaron he's been given God's laws in the desert. With Jeremiah he's been defeated and driven from his country. With Jonah he's been spat out of a great fish so he can tell his enemies God forgives them. With Ezra and Nehemiah he's come back home and started to rebuild. And with Jesus he's died and risen from death.
He's still got a long, long way to go on his journey, but we'll be praying for you every step of the way. And in time, he too, with us, will be able to pass on good news to the next generation: God rescues us, forgives us and frees us to love.
