Walking the Way Wet

  Luke 3:15-16

  Rev. Monte Marshall

Water:  We drink it.  We bathe in it.  We play in it.  We’re even born from it.  Water falls from the skies.  Water fills the oceans and flows down rivers and streams.  Water drips down into subterranean reservoirs and bubbles up in refreshing springs.  Water sustains life.  We die without water.  Our bodies are 98% water.  When astrophysicists look for signs of life on other planets, they first look for water.  Water stands at the center of life.

And water is before us this morning—as it is every time we worship together in this place—to remind us of who we are:  Yes, we are human beings who live because of water, but we are more than that.  We are people of faith who have emerged from the waters of baptism to bear witness to the world that the Spirit of God is among us and that God is speaking a word into each of us: “You are my own, my beloved.  On you my favor rests.”  We are a people walking wet through life in the way of Jesus.

Author Anne Lamott puts it this way: “Christianity is about water…. It’s about full immersion, about falling into something elemental and wet.  Most of what we do in worldly life is geared toward staying dry, looking good, not going under.  But in baptism, in lakes and rain and tanks and fonts, you agree to do something that’s a little sloppy because at that same time it’s also holy, and absurd.  It’s about surrender, giving in to all those things we can’t control; it’s a willingness to let go of balance and decorum and get drenched.”[1]

“Christianity is about water” because of the stories we tell.  Luke tells a story about water.  The story is set around a river—the Jordan River.  A man named John is preaching and baptizing with water.  With the water and his words, he urges change while proclaiming forgiveness.

And many are desperate for change because along with the water, there’s wilderness—a wilderness of oppressive power.  At the beginning of chapter 3, Luke calls out the oppressors:  the Roman emperor, Tiberius; Pontius Pilate, the governor of Judea; Herod, the ruler of Galilee; Philip the ruler of Ituraea and Trachonitis; Lysanias, ruler of Abilene; and Annas and Caiaphus the high priests.

In this wilderness of oppressive power, people suffer.  People suffer as they are relentlessly pressed to the margins by the powerful and the privileged.  And on the margins, people are compelled to live as nobodies, at least in the eyes of the Empire.

But when John appears, the nobodies of the Empire begin to anticipate and wonder: “Maybe now’s the time for our deliverance.  And maybe John’s the promised one—God’s Messiah—come to set us free!"

But John says, “No!”  John points to another: “’[S]omeone is coming who is mightier than I, whose sandals I am not fit to untie!  This One will baptize you in the Holy Spirit and in fire.’”

 Jesus then appears and he stands with the people lined up to be baptized.  He stands with everyone broken and devalued by the Empire, and with everyone weighed down with guilt and shame.  He stands with those ready to “surrender.”  He stands with those willing “to let go of balance and decorum and get drenched.”    Jesus stands in solidarity with the people—and he even stands at the end of the line.

The story simply says that “When all the people were baptized, Jesus also came to be baptized.”  And as other translations make clear, Jesus is baptized.  But we’re not told by whom, because at this point in Luke’s narrative, John is in prison.    

The story then says that “while Jesus was praying, “the skies opened and the Holy Spirit descended on the Anointed One in visible form, like a dove.  A voice from heaven said, ‘You are my Own, my Beloved.  On you my favor rests.”  All of this is Luke’s way of saying that in God’s eyes, Jesus is not a despised nobody, but a beloved somebody. 

In a sense, for the rest of Luke’s gospel story, Jesus walks wet through the narrative as God’s beloved somebody.  Jesus walks wet into the wilderness of temptation; he walks wet into people’s lives to teach and touch and heal and love; he walks wet into the synagogue at Nazareth to proclaim his mission; he walks wet into Jerusalem to challenge the oppressors; he walks wet into Gethsemane to wrestle with God; he walks wet to Golgotha to suffer and to die, and he’s carried wet and lifeless into a borrowed tomb.  And when the story is told of his resurrection, the point is clear:  Walking wet in the way of Jesus brings life! 

Now it seems to me that the meaning of Luke’s baptism story not only applies to Jesus, but also to us.  Because of Luke’s story, the baptismal waters signify to us that we too are claimed by God; that we too are God’s beloved; and that, upon us, God’s favor also rests.  In other words, we are God’s beloved somebodies.  This is who we are in God’s eyes, no matter who puts us down, or what anyone may think of us, or even what we may think of ourselves.

So when we walk wet through life in the way of Jesus—claiming our identity—life is transformed and amazing things are possible.  For example: “In his book, Craddock Stories, celebrated preacher, Fred Craddock, tells of an evening he and his wife were eating dinner in a little restaurant in the Smokey Mountains.  A strange and elderly man came over to their table and introduced himself.  ‘I am from around these parts,’ he said.  ‘My mother was not married, and the shame the community directed toward her was also directed at me.  Whenever I went to town with my mother, I could see people staring at us, making guesses about who my daddy was.  At school, I ate lunch alone.  In my early teens, I began attending a little church but always left before church was over, because I was afraid somebody would ask me what a boy like me was doing in church.  One day, before I could escape, I felt a hand on my shoulder.  It was the minister.  He looked closely at my face.  I knew that he too was trying to guess who my father was.  ‘Well, boy, you are a child of…’ and then he paused.  When he spoke again he said, ‘Boy, you are a child of God.  I see a striking resemblance.’  Then he swatted me on the bottom and said, ‘Now you go on and claim your inheritance.’  I left church that day a different person,’ the now elderly man said.  ‘In fact, that was the beginning of my life.’

“‘What’s your name?’ Dr. Craddock asked.

“He answered, ‘Ben Hooper.  My name is Ben Hooper.’ 

Dr. Craddock said he vaguely recalled from when he was a kid, his father talking about how the people of Tennessee had twice elected a fellow who been born out of wedlock as the governor of the state.  His name was Ben Hooper.”[2]

So the focus today is on water:  We drink it.  We bathe in it.  We play in it.  We’re even born from it.  And water is before us this morning—as it is every time we worship together in this place—to remind us of who we are:  We are God’s beloved somebodies walking wet through life in the way of Jesus.  Thanks be to God!  Amen.

And now, we all have an opportunity to “play in the water” as we each renew our baptismal covenant with God.