Worship
Recent Sermons
Baptism of our Lord &
Anglican Communion Sunday
January 10, 2010
In the name of God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.
This past week I had various thoughts running through my head as I was thinking about what I might say on the Baptism of Jesus. I have certainly talked about baptism often in my time here—because, of course, we have had so many baptisms over the past year and a half. 15 of them at last count. So, I feel like I have said my peace on that score for a while. Though, of course, one could always say more. Baptism is one of those sacraments that many of us think is important, but we don’t always spend that much time actually working to understand. At the same time, when I was getting ready for this morning and the week ahead I noticed in my planning calendar that today we celebrate not only the baptism of Jesus, which is obviously a big deal, but also today is designated as “Anglican Communion Sunday.” I actually am not sure quite what that means, or how we are supposed to celebrate or observe it, but there it is, hanging out in the air around us. So, today’s sermon will touch on both subjects—baptism and the Anglican Communion, which certainly makes for an interesting combination of subject matter.
When a parish calls a new priest there will always be changes that are inevitable. You, of course, know this all too well, since you’ve had quite a few clergy over the years. This last week I attended the installation of the new rector at Parish of the Epiphany in Winchester. It was a grand affair, to be sure, and one of things I noticed is that Thomas Brown—their new priest—is just the tenth rector in their history. While here at Emmanuel, I am either the 19th or 20th rector in our parish (the number is not so clear because there was so much turn over during the early years of the parish in the 19th century). All of these clergy have brought changes with them. Changes in style, changes in theological perspective sometimes, and changes in policy.
Some changes are rather minor—like adding purple bows to the wreaths during Advent, as we did this year. Some are changes in style—for example, I almost always wear this outer vestment called a chasuble, while I know most of your previous clergy haven’t, except maybe on special occasions. But you know, it’s just what I do, and how I was trained. Keep in mind that while I went to seminary here in Massachusetts, I spent the five years before I arrived on your doorstep in Toronto, which is generally much higher church. I actually have a funny story about that. Several years ago, after I was first ordained, I was at a deanery clergy meeting in Toronto. And as I was getting some coffee, the rector of one of the other parishes approached me and said, “I don’t know you.” So, I introduced myself. And then he asked, “Where are you from?” I said, “The Diocese of Massachusetts.” And he replied, in a rather accusatory tone, “Well, that’s a very low church diocese.” I said, “Well, our bishop is a monk.” And he responded, “Yes, but your cathedral is very low church,” as if I had something to do with that. Anyway, after being there for five years, I became somewhat more high church.
Back to the changes, besides minor changes like purple bows and changes in style like wearing vestments, there are also some changes that are more substantive. Matters that we might call changes in policy. One of the changes I’ve made was related to whom we might consider for baptism within the life of our congregation. You might not be aware that this is a matter of some significant debate in the Episcopal Church today, and in the wider Anglican Communion. There are those who believe, and with very good foundation, that as a central sacrament of the church baptism should be treated with the utmost seriousness, and that because the congregation itself is called to make promises to uphold by prayer and example those who are baptized, only those who intend to really make a commitment to following Jesus and sharing deeply in the life of this congregation should be baptized here. I don’t want to speak for them, but I think that was the perspective of some my clergy predecessors here at Emmanuel, even during the interim period.
On the other hand, there are those who would argue that our calling as Christians is to always be about the work of inviting others in, embracing them, and offering hospitality. Baptism is not a sacrament that we “own” and the church is not a club of insiders and outsiders, but rather is an ever-expanding community, the literal Body of Christ right here on earth. And so it is not our place to decide who is in and who is out.
Both, I think, are strong positions. And both can be supported by scripture and by the long tradition of the church. But my preferred position, if I am made to choose, is the latter, the more inclusive view. Because I believe that what we do at baptism is not invite people to join an exclusive club—a Christian fraternity or sorority, if you will; rather, we initiate them into the life of Jesus, and in fact, into the life of God himself, which is so much bigger and broader and more expansive than the four walls of this or any church—whether a small one like ours here at Emmanuel or a much bigger one like Epiphany in Winchester. And in fact, that community, that life in God is bigger even than the Episcopal Church or the Anglican Communion. Because baptism, as I understand it, is really about the intention to live a life of grace, a life infused by the love of God, a life united to Christ, in its biggest and broadest way, however that may play itself out—whether by coming here to church every Sunday, or in some other way.
To return to Toronto for a minute, my last year there I was serving in a wonderful parish called Christ Church Deer Park. It’s actually about the size and style of Epiphany in Winchester; although, it’s more urban. And the rector there held this inclusive position on baptism. It was a different one than was customary in most of the churches I had been associated with before. In fact, prior to coming to Christ Church Deer Park, I was in a very suburban church where we had lots and lots of baptisms—as many as 4 each month—and because of that the parish felt the need to put some boundaries around how we administered baptism, or else it would be all we ever did. And as it happened, I was the priest in charge of the baptismal preparation program. It was quite involved—there were three class sessions that parents had to attend on Sunday mornings during the 9:15 service, for about 45 minutes, then they’d join the congregation for communion at the time of the peace. Because it was a growing church in a growing suburban area, about 30 miles north of Toronto, we usually had at least three or four families doing the class at any one time.
So, when I came to Christ Church Deer Park I was surprised that they had a rather loose baptismal understanding. Until the rector—the Rev. Canon Judy Rois—explained it to me. She said that she’s fully aware that many of the people who are baptized there will not become active members of that church. However, she said that she also believes in the power of the sacrament to transform a person from the inside out. So, while that church community may not be the place that most benefits from any particular baptism administered there, she still believes, fully and strongly, that God is at work in that person’s life. And that, really, is the most important thing. And then she added, that “you never know.” Maybe one day that family will actually need the church, and they will remember that Christ Church Deer Park was welcoming to them, that they didn’t put up a lot of barriers, and they will be welcomed back again, with open arms.
As I thought about what Judy said, I realized that this is exactly what the church should be. This kind of open and inclusive community is precisely what we are called to, as disciples of Jesus who lived in the very same kind of way: always welcoming, encouraging, hoping, but never coercing or giving rules priority over and above relationship and the love of God. So, that is the policy I brought with me when I came to Emmanuel, along with my chasubles and the purple bows. It’s not more right than the other view. It’s just the one that makes the best sense to me.
And you know, to turn to the other topic of the day, that’s really the beauty of the Episcopal Church and the Anglican Communion, of which we are a part. We have in this faith tradition of ours the freedom to disagree. When we are at our best, we give greater priority to our relationships with each other in Christ than to the human-made rules we may set up to govern our life together. When we live up to the best of the Anglican heritage, we allow diverse points of view. We may disagree with each other (and sometimes we do, very strongly), yet in spite of that disagreement, we come to share communion at the same altar rail, we are baptized in the same font, and we see in each other’s faces a reflection of the God in whose image we are made.
That, of course, is when we are at our best. When we are at our worst, as it often seems these days, which you will know about if you take the time to read at all about the recent Episcopalian and Anglican family feuds—over women, and gay people, and the Bible, and authority—you’d think we really were in completely different churches. And if you were someone from outside our tradition you’d probably wonder why we can’t get ourselves figured out. I, for one, worry anytime the Episcopal Church is mentioned in the news, because I figure that it will be a story about another fight, or another parish or diocese deciding to leave.
This state of things is obviously very sad. And in my view—which is by no means infallible--there are some in the Episcopal Church and in the wider Anglican world who struggle to really understand who we have always been, and how, from as long ago as the Reformation era, Anglicans have understood that disagreement, while not always comfortable, is okay and perhaps even to be expected, and that differences in terms of liturgy, practice, and even belief are acceptable, because that’s who we are, because we believe that we are all created in God’s image, and because we all share in the gifts of Baptism and Holy Communion that unite us to God and to each other in a unity that is deeper and stronger than simply believing most of the same things. If anything, that’s been the strength and the unique characteristic of our Anglican faith tradition, perhaps more so than anything else—the ability to transcend our differences so that we might see the deeper and truer unity we share in Christ, a unity which we did not, do not, and cannot create, because such unity is really and truly a gift given to us by God.
And now, to return back to the other topic of the day, Baptism (and Holy Communion as well), are the sacramental signs of that gift of grace and unity. They are the manifestation of the love and care that God has for us, and that we must have for each other, as God’s beloved and blessed people. These sacraments remind us of how much God loves us, of how God desires not that we should separate ourselves into smaller and smaller groups of like-minded people, but that we would be united as his Body, as his sons and daughters in the world.
In this morning’s gospel Luke writes: “Now when all the people were baptized, and when Jesus also had been baptized and was praying, the heaven was opened, and the Holy Spirit descended upon him in bodily form like a dove. And a voice came from heaven, ‘You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased’.”
God’s voice speaks the very same words to each and everyone of us when we are baptized, claiming us all as sons and daughters, as God’s beloved, not because of what we believe or don’t believe, not because of how perfect our lives are, not because we are Episcopalians or Anglicans or Catholics or Baptists or anything like that. Not because we are gay or straight or women or men. But simply, because. Simply because God loves us all. Simply because, as Isaiah says in our first reading, God has called us by name, and we are his.
To whom be the glory: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.
© The Rev. Matthew P. Cadwell