Baptism of Our Lord
St. Stephen’s Episcopal Church, Fargo
Let us pray.
Holy Spirit,
as you drove Jesus into the wilderness, when John baptized him and the heavens
opened, drive us also to wrestle and reflect so that we may fulfill and live
out our baptism, and live your life of victory. In Christ, we pray. Amen.
Yesterday was
a very special day for me in my relationship with St. Stephen’s.
It was ten
years ago yesterday that I attended my very first Episcopal service—it just so
happened that I do so here at St. Stephen’s.
Some of you
have heard this story many times, but it is an important story for me.
At the time, as
you may know, I was a somewhat of an agnostic. I was searching and floundering for
some spiritual grounding for my life because of the huge void I felt.
After trying
the Roman Catholic Church and the
My friend
thought it would be ideal for me—with my poetry background and my love for the
liturgy.
I went that
morning expecting to be disappointed once again, just as I had been
disappointed with all the other churches I had attended.
What happened
to me that morning, however, was better than I ever expected.
I was
enraptured by the beautiful hymns. I loved using The Book of Common Prayer.
I was really impressed that there was a woman
priest. But more importantly, I felt what I could only describe as Christ’s
real presence here and, especially, in the Eucharist that morning.
I came away
from that experienced spiritually recharged and, I think, spiritually changed.
And it was
that experience that has carried me this far.
Did I ever
imagine that morning, when I came here, that ten years later I would be not
only an Episcopalian, but an Episcopal priest
of all things? Certainly not!
But here I
am!
I often think
about what would have happened if I had not attended Eucharist that morning.
What if I had
slept in (as I was fond of doing on Sunday mornings in those days—I have come a
long way since then, let me tell you!).
But when I
look at what that day meant to me, I realize it was important to me in much the
same way as my baptism is important to me, as my confirmation was important to
me, as my ordination to diaconate and the priesthood were important to me.
The reason is
because God acted in my life that morning.
God led me
here and from here, helped me find my home in the Episcopal Church.
God helped me
to find a place and a group of people who would help me fill that gaping void
in my life that was fueled by my disturbing agnosticism.
Part of the
reason for the agnosticism I developed in my late teens and early twenties
stemmed from seeing a legalistic, close-minded religion among some of my
relatives while I was growing up.
When I was a
kid, my aunt, who was a member of the First Assemblies of God, would give out
terrible little cartoon tracts, little booklets put out by an evangelist by the
name of Jack Chick.
Jack Chick
was the perfect example of a Christian hatemonger. He hated everyone who didn’t
accept Jesus Christ as his or her personal Lord and Savior.
Everyone was
going to hell except those who had made one simple confession of faith.
All one had
to do to gain heaven and glorious eternity, according to Jack Chick, was make
this simple statement:
I accept you,
O Jesus, as my personal Lord and Savior.
The rest of
us, who didn’t make this statement, were in deep trouble.
Catholics,
for example, were going to hell because they were being led astray by the Pope,
whom Jack Chick saw as the Antichrist on earth.
For example
he blamed Catholics even for the Assassinations of Abraham Lincoln (he said
that was John Wilkes Booth was a Jesuit priest—I guess he never knew that Booth
was in fact an Episcopalian).
Protestants that
belonged to churches other than “Bible-believing,” “Holy spirit-inspired”
churches were going to hell because they were being led stray by liberal Bible
Scholars who polluted the scriptures with false interpretations.
The only
interpretation to follow, Jack Chick said, was the KJV and none other. It truly
was the inspired and unerring Word of God.
He also
believed that there were Satanists everywhere, seeking to destroy true Christians. They were in our
schools, they were in our seminaries, they were even in the White House.
But for the
most part, these awful little books would tell the story of some person or
another who led a destitute life but who had died without accepting Jesus
Christ as their personal Lord and Savior.
Of course,
they ended up in hell—usually pictured as a cavernous place full of fire and
disgusting devils.
The moral of
these stories revolved around the main character crying out in anguish: “If only I had accepted Jesus as my Personal
Lord and Savior, I wouldn’t be here.”
At the time,
as a teenager, these stories made sense to me.
It was
simple. Christ should turn his back
on those who didn’t accept him.
And there
should be a place where we had to pay for the wrongs we did.
We simply
can’t sin and expect not to pay for it in some way, right?
But as I grew
older, as I became an Episcopalian and grew into my relationship with Christ
and as I started to look long and hard at everything I had believed (and didn’t
believe) up to that point, I realized there was one thing Jack Chick and all
those people who believed that way missed.
It was one
simple little word: Grace.
A few weeks
ago, Liz recommended a wonderful book to me that really moved me to my core.
The book was If Grace Is True, by two Quaker pastors,
Phillip Gulley and James Mulholland.
That book
gave voice to almost everything I believed in my heart.
It was also
very radical. It gave voice to something akin to Universalism, but at the same
time, the book made a lot of sense.
As an
Episcopalian, it was very easy for me to take what they wrote to heart and to
reinterpret it from an Anglican perspective.
The heart of
this Anglican belief, lies in our Baptismal service, which echoes, in many
ways, what happened to Jesus in today’s Gospel.
This story in
the Gospel is a difficult one in some ways to understand.
In Jesus’
times, baptism was seen as a form of purification.
One went for
baptism as a rite of purification to make right one’s relationship with God.
The problem
with this morning’s Gospel is that Jesus, who we are taught was without sin,
comes forward to be baptized.
What Jesus
does by coming forward for baptism, is make this simple rite of purification
something much more.
It becomes a
sacrament and not a rite.
It becomes a
conduit of God’s presence.
At our
baptisms we (or our parents and sponsors in our stead) affirmed that we are
children of God. And, in some ways even more spectacular, we were anointed with
oil.
After we were
baptized, the priest made a comment to us that is really the most important
words that could ever be spoken to us.
As he or she
anointed us with oil, the priest said, “You are sealed as Christ’s own
forever.”
This is the
statement we carry with us wherever we go.
It is branded
into our hearts and into our souls.
It is this
belief that motivates us and compels us to live out our Christian faith.
We are Christ’s own. Forever.
Nothing will
break this covenant.
Nothing CAN
break this covenant.
We can’t
retract it.
We can’t wash
it away. Even our own unbelief in this statement can’t undo what was done.
Why? It is
this one fact—grace—that makes all the difference in the world.
It is what
makes the difference between eternal life and eternal damnation.
Jack Chick
and those who believe like him are very quick to say that there is an eternal
hell. And if you’re not right with God, they say, that’s exactly where you’re
going.
The fault in
this message is simple: none of us are right with God.
As long as we
are on this side of the veil, so to speak, we fall short of what God wants for
us.
We have all
sinned and we will all sin again. That’s the fact.
But that’s
where grace comes in. That’s where the full reality of being Christ’s own
forever becomes a real fact.
Christ is the
trump card.
Christ set us
free.
There is one
simple little fact that so many Christians seem to overlook. And this is the biggest
realization for me as a Christian:
Just because one doesn’t accept Christ
doesn’t mean that Christ doesn’t accept us.
Christ
accepts us.
Plain and
simple.
This is the
message of our baptisms. We are Christ’s own forever.
Even if we
turn our backs on Christ. Even if we do everything in our limited powers to
separate ourselves from Christ, the fact of the matter is that nothing can separate from
Christ.
Christ
accepts every single person here this morning—no matter what you believe, or
don’t believe, no matter if Christ is some abstract concept to you or a close,
personal friend.
That’s right,
I did say “personal.”
Yes, it’s
wonderful and beautiful to have a personal relationship with Christ.
But the fact
is, Christ isn’t the personal savior to any one of us. He saves all of
us, equally.
That is
grace.
That is how
much God loves us.
Now, I’m not
being naïve or fluffy here.
I have known
despicable people in my life. I have been hurt by some of these people and I
have seen others hurt by these people.
The world is
full of people who are awful and terrible. It always has been. In our day, we
have people like Scott Peterson.
And not just
in our own time either. Look back sixty years, Look at the horrible people that
controlled large parts of the world then, such as Hitler and Stalin.
Sometimes,
those awful people aren’t “out there” at all.
Sometimes the
most awful and terrible person we know is the one staring back in the mirror.
But the fact
is, that even when we can’t love them or ourselves, when we can’t do anything
else but feel anger and hatred toward them, Christ does love them. Christ has
accepted them, just as Christ accepts each of us.
Not even
their crimes can separate them from Christ’s love. Nothing can separate us from
Christ’s love and from Christ’s promise to eternal life.
It’s a hard
concept for those us who were taught otherwise.
It was a hard
concept for me to accept.
But I do
believe it. I believe it because of the personal relationship I have with
Christ.
The Christ I
have come to know and to love and to serve is simply that full of love.
So, do I
believe we’re all going to heaven when we die?
Yes. I do.
Why? Because,
the love of Christ is just that big.
It is just that wonderful and just that all-encompassing. It is just that
powerful.
If one person
is in some metaphysical, eternal hell, then the love of Christ has failed.
Something has, in fact, come between that person and Christ.
I do not
believe that hell or Satan or sin or anything
else is big enough to separate us even in a small way from Christ. Not even we,
ourselves, can turn our backs on Christ because wherever we turn, Christ is
there for us.
When I look
back at that first Sunday I attended Eucharist in this church, I realize, now
with ten years perspective, that I truly was and am Christ’s own forever.
It was a
beautiful reminder of what was given to me at my baptism, a bond with Christ
that can never be broken no matter what I do.
If I ever
needed proof of that fact, I need only to remind myself of the spiritual
reawakening I experienced on that cold January morning in 1995.
So, when you
are struggling, spiritually, or emotionally, or if you are struggling in your
personal relationships, remember the relationship that was formed at your
baptism.
Remember the
fact that you were sealed with the Holy Spirit, and that you are, and always
will be, Christ’s own forever.
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