Ordinary and Beloved - Luke 3: 15-17, 21-22

January 10, 2010

Kay E. Huggins, New Life Presbyterian Church

It must have been crowded in that river; for Luke refers to a crowd.

It must have been a cloudy day; for after all the baptisms, the heaven was opened.

It must have been strangely quiet; for a dove was untroubled and God’s voice was heard, clearly.

It must have been a blessed moment; for the words that hung over Jesus included “my son, the beloved, with you I am well pleased.”

And yet, it must have been ordinary; for John the Baptist continued his baptizing until his death, indeed he sent his disciples to interview Jesus five chapters after today’s event.

This is Luke’s pattern for Jesus’ baptism. A crowd, clouds, sufficient silence to hear God’s voice, a blessing and then, life gets back to ordinary. Let’s take each step together.

First, the crowd. Well, we aren’t exactly crowded in this room, but we have gathered in a manner similar to the crowd that went out to hear John the Baptist. They were there seeking direction for their lives. My hunch is that on any given Sunday, a portion of those who come to worship are similarly engaged in pondering a decision...

to stay or to go,

to take or to give,

to listen or to talk,

to keep on keeping on or to quit,

to remember or to release,

to forget or to forgive,

to prepare or to hang loose....

Yes, there’s a similarity between John’s crowd and our crowd; some of us are pondering decisions, some have arrived, as the choir sang, “down to the river to pray.”

Perhaps the first thing Luke wants us to know about Jesus’ baptism is: it occurred with a crowd of folks, many of whom had decisions to make, many of whom came down to the river to pray. So, they (and we) came out on a cloudy day content to listen to the preacher, content to wade into the water, content to look up at the skies...content to stay under those clouds. That’s the first step, an important step, filled with prayerful intention.

As I prepared for this sermon, I was had little difficulty imagining the crowd surrounding Jesus; but when I lifted my eyes to the clouds. I couldn’t imagine what I should see. So, I did a google search of images of Jesus’ baptism...there were many and it was interesting how most of the artist who included the detail of clouds used them as a dividing line between heaven and earth.

Many of the pictures showed Jesus (sometimes with John, sometimes strangely alone) in the water, while angels, saints and spiritual leaders (from various ages) peeked down from the clouds above. These artists, evidently, located the significance of Jesus’ baptism in the heavenly realm. Among the holiest beings imaginable, the artwork expressed obvious excitement over Jesus’ baptism. But, not one depicted the Baptist, or any of the oddly absent crowd, staring up at the clouds. Rather, as the clouds break open, heaven gets a glimpse of earth; earth, however, does not return the favor.

Now, for a preacher, this is an irregular perspective. How often does someone plan a service or write a sermon and think: I wonder how this looks from heaven’s side? Yet, in ancient and modern iconography of Jesus’ baptism, the heavenly host, riding those parting clouds, were surprisingly interested in what was happening with the crowd who gathered down at the river to pray. While the audience below kept eyes downward, content with the non-cosmic nature of the moment, saints and angels, even God Almighty, are beaming with delight.

Is this another similarity we share with the Biblical crowd? Are we so connected with the here and now that we miss the interest of the angels, saints, heavenly host, spiritual leaders and even God?

Could, for example, the cloudy sky be parting right over us? Right here, right now?

What if those artists who portrayed the cosmic significance of Jesus’ baptism were actually reading Luke accurately? If Holy Spirit (divine wind) and Holy Fire (divine energy) were present, it does seem plausible that heaven was aware -- and, yes, even joyful. But, if it happened then -- did it/does it continue to happen? Are there still cosmic moments when we, a small prayerful crowd, gather for worship? Does the heavenly host take note when our choir sings or our children pray or our hearts melt? Perhaps the second thing Luke meant us to learn from the story of Jesus’ baptism is disclosed as parting clouds dissolved the separation between heaven and earth.

And then, there’s the silence implied by Luke’s setting. A silence so still that a wild bird descended. (Imagine that!) A silence so complete that the divine voice was heard, clearly. (Imagine that!) A silence so precious that no one dared move, let alone speak.

This is how I imagine it: John wades out into the water, a long line of folks wanting baptism are before him. Each man, each woman, each child, each elder prays...but no words disturb the scene, just the steady swish of water and the warm touch of John’s hands on each head.

Moreover, I don’t imagine that those who were baptized left the water; they probably had more praying to do. Finally, when all are in the water, the silence intensified.

Perhaps you have experienced that thick silence of a crowd at prayer? If so, you know it’s palpable. It’s transformative. It’s feels both fully present and eternally rich.

And then, the divine blessing began. It began with a flutter of wings. Out of nowhere in particular, a dove circled slowly overhead. A few looked up, prayerful and hopeful; the wide circle tightened and slowly the dove alighted on one man in the crowd. Too awed to move, the crowd held their collective breath. It was a natural, godly sign. But what could it mean....a dove resting lightly on the shoulder of a man?

Into the silence wrapped scene a voice came from heaven, a voice so clear the words could not be forgotten. After all, this little slice of earth was standing in wrapped attention; down at that river, those who came to pray experienced an unforgettable moment. This is what happened: God spoke a blessing over the crowd, specifically addressing Jesus, “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.”

And then, the crowd began to murmur. Doubting the divine audition, each checked with his or her neighbor. The waters rippled with commotion and the whispers doubled and redoubled in volume until they were all out of the water, drying off, walking home, much as usual. Then, everything was back to ordinary.

Except, they had a story to tell:

a story about being in the crowd,

on a cloudy day, when prayer became thick as silence

and the world stood still

and a circling dove dipped down to settle on the shoulder of Jesus

and God’s voice spoke, from heaven,

a blessing.

It was a blessing they remembered from Isaiah...a blessing of God being with them through troubled waters, a blessing of God’s love for them, a blessing of God’s delight in who they were. True the words addressed Jesus, but also true, these words had a wider history, a more comprehensive meaning. These words, “You are mine, beloved; with you I am well pleased” hung over every believer who trusted in God’s love.

“You are mine, beloved; with you I am well pleased” were, and are, the first words -- the foundational words -- of the divine/human relationship. The crowd that accompanied Jesus into the Jordan knew that and even now, as a small crowd gathered to worship here, in this place among this community, we know that as well. We believe God claims and names, blesses and delights in us unconditionally.

From these words, “You are mine, beloved; with you I am well pleased,” our ordinary lives flow.

As the crowd that surrounded Jesus on his baptismal day afterward dispersed to their ordinary lives, in due time we will dismiss ourselves from this service, fed and nurtured in spirit and soul; after the prayer and fellowship we treasure, we will return to our homes, much as usual. Yet, this Sunday, as every Sunday, we leave with more than we expected. Today, we leave with the heavenly voice saying, “You are mine, beloved; with you I am well pleased.” And we, as the crowd from Luke’s gospel, know that blessing is meant for us.

Beloved and ordinary friends of Jesus, the story of Jesus’ baptism initiates his ministry is a story of a prayerful crowd, a cloudy day, a dove descending, a blessing swelling,

but this story also concludes with a caution

for all beloved and ordinary friends of Jesus.

The caution is the simple outline of the way of Jesus; it is what follows the blessing:

beloved and ordinary friends of Jesus

do not underestimate what God’s blessing intends.

Amen.