Matthew 3:13-17
I was in my office one morning at the church I served as pastor when a couple of members walked in to see me. They had a dilemma they wanted me to resolve. Their granddaughter was getting married. She and her fiancé had a one-year-old son. The family wanted the child to be baptized. They also wanted her fiancé to be baptized.
The baby was easy, it would be done like any other ordinary baptism, in church during worship. The fiancé, however, was more of a problem. He was willing, basically because it was important to the family he was marrying into. But he was a big, tough guy, and felt it would be embarrassing to stand in front of the congregation and submit to having me splash him with water. So the family thought they could solve the problem by holding a private baptism for him. Just to get it done. Without embarrassing him. When can we do this, they wanted to know.
So often when we talk about baptism we are presented with teachable moments. The ways in which we understand – or misunderstand – baptism could fill a book, or many. On that day I explained to the family that we do not do private baptisms, because baptism is not a private ritual. It is an act of the community, where we welcome a new child of God into the covenant we all share with God. A baptism is as important to every single member of the church as it is to the one being baptized.
I also explained that I would not feel comfortable baptizing a grown man just because his in-laws wanted it for him; that there is a significant difference between parents bringing their child forward for baptism and these folks trying to do the same thing with their grown-up soon-to-be son-in-law. I think they understood. But on that day, sitting across from this particular family and hearing their dilemma, I was struck by one other thing: baptism is fundamentally a matter of making oneself vulnerable. It asks us to trust in ways we rarely do.
We do this thing called baptism because Jesus urged us to. But it all started with John, who had established himself out in the wilderness of Judea with a message of repentance. He drew people to him who were yearning for something they weren’t finding anywhere else. John invited them to turn themselves around, to take a new perspective on life.
Baptism was not a new thing that John invented, however. It was already at that time an ancient practice of Israel. The ritual bath – the mikvah – had its place. It was used by the priests who served in the temple, to purify themselves for service. It was, and still is, used by Orthodox Jewish women to purify themselves once a month. And it is a ritual that is part of conversion to Judaism.
But John was using it in a new way. He invited any and all of the children of Israel to come to the waters and turn their lives around. This was not a conversion to a new religion, nor was it a ritual purification as prescribed by the law of Moses. John was inviting them into something new and unknown.
And then Jesus came to him in the waters presenting himself to be immersed. Jesus has not begun his ministry yet, but John knew who he was. Luke tells the story about how John and Jesus were cousins. Their mothers, Mary and Elizabeth, lived in the same household for a while when they both were pregnant. John knows who Jesus is, and who he will be, and so he is surprised.
He has already been telling people about the one who is greater than he; “the one whose sandals I am not worthy of carrying,” John has said. And now this great one is asking John to carry his body down into the water and back out again. But why should Jesus submit to John? It should be the other way around.
Why should the Son of God, the King of the Universe, the Savior of the World, be surrendering himself so completely?
It is most peculiar. He comes alone. He doesn’t have an entourage of bodyguards and assistants, or even a friend to lean on. He comes alone, steps into the water, and puts himself in John’s hands – literally. In front of all these people.
He has not yet begun his ministry, but Jesus, in baptism, begins to show us the power of vulnerability.
You may be troubled by this. Because we know that vulnerability is not a good thing. To be vulnerable is to be at risk in some way. Those who lack adequate health care are vulnerable to illness. Those who lack housing are vulnerable to the elements. Those who suffer mental illness or addiction are vulnerable to anyone who would prey on them. The elderly are vulnerable and young children are vulnerable. No one wants to be vulnerable. We are afraid of being vulnerable.
Yet Jesus reveals to us its beauty.
Whether we like it or not, the truth is that we are all vulnerable – it’s the human condition. We are breakable. We can be hurt – physically and emotionally. But we learn to protect ourselves from these potential hurts, because we are afraid, of course, of such vulnerability.
A baby doesn’t yet know enough to be afraid of their vulnerability. Yes, they will instinctively close their eyes and mouth and nose when we slosh water over them in baptism. And they may cry out against this strange stuff happening to them. But they haven’t yet learned to be embarrassed about their helplessness. Their faces register surprise and delight and discomfort and all the feelings they are feeling when these strange things are happening to them. And isn’t there a certain beauty in that?
This week there was a story in the news about an 84-year-old man who has a terminal cancer diagnosis. As he reflected on his life, he felt satisfied, content. With family he loves, work that was purposeful, and a church that was central to his life. But one thing was missing. He had somehow never been baptized.
Everyone else in his family was, but somehow it bypassed him. I’ve known it to happen. If a family is going through a particularly difficult or busy time, it might be overlooked. And now, looking back over the entirety of his life, he felt like something important was missing.
He asked to be baptized – by immersion – no sprinkling would do it for him. But his body was weak and so many options were closed to him.
His caregivers and the chaplain found a way. They took him to a regional hospice center with a big walk-in tub with a built-in seat. They helped him in, then filled the tub with water. They said the familiar words, “You are baptized in the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit.” He bent forward and immersed his face. The chaplain scooped up water and poured it over the back of his head. As he rose up from the water, they wiped his face for him.
And then they shampooed his hair. They oiled his skin all over and massaged his feet. He said, “that felt good.” And the staff and chaplains who cared so tenderly for his frail body said it filled their hearts with joy.
Isn’t it beautiful – this tender vulnerability?
It seems like we never willingly shed our armor and allow ourselves to be vulnerable. We would never willingly risk the pain, that might come our way if we shed our tough protective skins.
But Jesus shows us the power of vulnerability. Jesus reveals to us its beauty. Because it is only through vulnerability that we find the way to love and happiness.
Vulnerability is really not a bad word, after all.
It is the way we may draw near to God.
