Sunday, January 07, 2007

SERMON, EPIPHANY 1C, IS. 42:1-9, ACTS 10:34-38, LUKE 3:15-6, 21-22

All through the Advent and Christmas seasons I have been talking about how God is doing a new thing. We hear it in John's message of repentance. We hear it in Isaiah's prophecy of upraising, leveling and straightening. We hear it in Mary's story. We hear it in Jesus arriving as a baby in a manger, and we hear it with God giving us the power to be adopted by him. God is doing a new thing in these last days.

One of the new things that God is doing is baptism. The baptism that John proclaims is connected deeply to repentance. Non-Jews were welcomed into the Jewish community through a baptism of purification; it was a way to make the unclean Gentile acepted as ritually clean within the Jewish community. John was doing something totally different.

John is saying baptism is more than a ritual purification ceremony that happens over several occasions whenever the need arises. Baptism is a willing act of repentance, and an outward and visible sign of inward and spiritual grace. It is that time when we renounce Satan, evil powers and sinful desires and turn to Jesus as Lord and Savior. Baptism is a change in our life in which we are adopted by God.

We, like John, baptize people with water. Some of you here can remember your own baptism and recall the feeling of water pouring over you. Others, like me, have to look at our baptismal certificate and imagine that feeling. But although we proclaim only one baptism, John says that a second baptism will follow; one by the Holy Spirit and with fire.

What does it look like, or what does it mean, to be baptized with fire?

That phrase, "baptism by fire," usually has a negative connotation in our culture. It ranks right up there with "thrown to the lions." But here's a thought: neither Daniel nor the Apostles were consumed by the lions or the fire. So we should look positively on those events, and we should be changed by them.

The Holy Spirit descended on Jesus after his baptism to empower and equip him for his ministry. Jesus didn't become the Son of God at that point, he already was. But it was at that point that he was equipped to do what he had to do, just like us. We are who we are at birth, but it is through baptism that we are changed and equipped by the Holy Spirit for the work of ministry in God's kingdom. What that role or gift is for you, I don't know. It is oftentimes a lifelong process, and it is the Holy Spirit who gives us the strength to accomplish it.

Upon being graced by the Holy Spirit, we are then baptized with fire. This isn't always some big spectacular fireworks production; and it doesn't have to mean that you jump around church or run down the street yelling, "I'm on fire for Jesus!" I'm not saying that can't happen, jus that that probably isn't hte most common thing to happen.

But think about fire for a minute. If we have been baptized with fire, then what might that imply? If you set something on fire, what do you immediately get? Light and warmth. We are able to shine the light of Christ onto the world because we have been baptized with fire. That fire may have started off burnign brightly, and it may have dimmed over the years, but it is still burning. God will not quench even a dimly burning wick; he won't because you are still burning and still giving off light.

Fire also produces warmth. We offer warmth when we invite people into our midst, to be part of our faith community. We offer warmth through our various acts of hospitality, such as funeral receptions, cycling sleepovers, Advent programs and the like. I offer warmth and light by being with people in the bars. We all have different gifts and talents that are burning within us; but we need to remember to let them shine, even if dimly.

Isaiah said God would not quench a dimly burning wick. How then, does that fire get quenched? The answer to that question is found in Peter's understanding that God shows no partiality -- all who fear God and do what is right are acceptable to him.

We are the onese who quench the fire when we start dividing the Body of Christ. One way to stop a fire is by separating its fuel. If we spend our time dividing, separating, delineating those who are in and those who are out, the acceptable from the unacceptable, then we are the ones showing partiality. We are the ones separating the fuel. We are the ones quenching the fire. It is not our job to quench the fire, it is our job to shine and offer warmth.

As we prepare to renew our own baptismal vows, remember this: you have been baptized by the Holy Spirit and with fire. My challenge to you this year is to go forth, shine the light of Christ that is burning within you onto our world, and offer the warmth of this faith community to those around you.

1 comments:

RudigerVT | 11:24 AM, January 07, 2007  

Ref, that was nice. I've not heard you preach, but it reads like a sermon meant to be read (well, duh) and the voice and cadence are appealing.

I hope your congregants chuckled at least when you got to the "hanging out in bars" line. Were you intending to quote the lyric from Monty Python's "Lumberjack song?"

I cut down trees. I skip and jump.
I like to press wild flowers.
I put on women's clothing
And hang around in bars.


But, seriously, I loved the image of sorting out the fuel. Being mildly OCD, I get it (neatness counts!) But it also made me sad, a little. I'm going back to the bar now.

When a small town's big enough to have a gay bar, that's what they have: a gay bar. As a result, every queer, dyke, and fairy will be there. Okay, there's a liiiiitle bit of tension at times. But in my experience, it's also the case that the communal drinking shows forth the fact that there aren't that many of us. We need each other.

But when a city grows, or it's a bigger city, the bars splinter off. Specialize. One for each: the pretty youngsters, the lumpy middle-aged guys, the dykes. And then, we don't have to look at each other. We're afforded the luxury of looking at the people we want to see (and, alas, probably ridiculing the denizens of THOSE OTHER bars). We certainly don't have to get along, figure it out.

Small-town churches (and bars?) are like that, I think. You are maybe a bit more careful with your words because you can't really afford to affront everybody who's not just like you. Chances are, that's an N of 1: you. You don't separate the fuel because you're then left with a bunch of tiny piles of kindling.

LPR

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