"I Am Baptized"

“I Am Baptized” – Mark 1: 4-11
January 11, 2009 – Baptism of the Lord
First United Church – Sermon by Micaela Wood

On David’s birthday this past summer, he and I were in Los Angeles visiting my brother. We have a long history of traveling on David’s birthdays – one time to Ireland, and several times across country in a U-Haul when completing a move – and this was no exception. As we woke up with L.A. sun streaming through the windows I said to David, “Happy birthday. How does it feel to be thirty?”

With barely a pause he said, “You know, I’ve been thinking about starting my public ministry.”

It took me a half-second to realize he was not actually referring to a major life change, but was – instead – just cracking a joke.

Jesus was about 30 years old when he started gaining a public reputation as a holy teacher and I guess my husband was feeling inspired to follow in his footsteps that morning.

Thirty years is a long time.

Now, I know that 30 years seems longer to me than it does to some of you because I haven’t yet made it to that ripe old age and some of you barely remember it.

But any way you look at it, a lot happens in a person’s life before they turn 30.
They have had countless experiences that have formed them into the adult that they will likely be for the rest of their lives.
They have developed relationships with people that have nurtured and sustained them on their journey.
They have completed things that make them proud.

People who are 30 are no longer children – by our standards or by the standards of people who lived during Jesus’ time.

In fact, 30 was getting up there in the ancient middle eastern world. The majority of people died before they reached adulthood, so making it to 30 was no small feat.




Jesus was somewhere around 30 years old when we first meet him in Mark’s gospel.
He has survived childhood.
He likely has relationships that are important to him.
He has probably done some things that make him proud.
He has had countless experiences that have shaped and formed him into the person he will be for the rest of his life.

And he appears to us as a complete stranger.

Luke and Matthew tell the story of Jesus’ remarkable birth in Bethlehem with a cast of bright stars, shepherds, angels, and magi close by. John takes Jesus’ birth narrative way back – to the beginning of time when Jesus was with God at the very creation.

But in Mark – our earliest gospel – we see none of these stories about Jesus’ ancestry, origin, birth, or childhood. Instead, Jesus comes to us as an adult. We do not know who his family is – something that would have been of paramount importance in his culture. We do not know what he does for a living. We know almost nothing about him.

And yet – the author of Mark tells us in the very first sentence that his story is “The beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the son of God.”

That’s no small potatoes.



The phrase “son of God” is probably something we should look at for a minute because it has become so loaded with multiple meanings over the years.

Most of us Christians probably think that Jesus was referred to as the son of God because some of the gospels tell us that the Holy Spirit miraculously impregnated Jesus’ mother, Mary. This is one meaning of the title “son of God” but Mark’s use of the phrase “son of God” means something different.

In ancient middle eastern culture “Son of…” was simply a way of saying “this is a person that has the same characteristics as someone else.” So to say that Jesus was the “son of God” was to say that he was God-like, divine in some way.



In a society like Jesus’ where reputation and honor was based almost solely on family status, convincing people that this 30-year-old unknown son of a carpenter from the sticks was God-like was no small task.

We’ve seen how Matthew, Luke, and John tell the story – highlighting Christ’s presence with God from the very beginning, showcasing the angels and important visitors, telling the story of a miraculous star in the sky heralding the child’s birth.

So if Mark doesn’t have any of those birth stories, it seems to me that what he does say about Jesus in this first chapter must be very important. It must be something that will really wow us. Something that will begin to make us take notice of this no-name guy from Nazareth.

Mark’s opening salvo is the story of the baptism of Jesus in the Jordan River by John the Baptizer.

This incident from Jesus’ life is important enough that Mark believes it should be the opening act. The first thing we need to know if we’re going to understand who Jesus is.

Jesus’ baptism is the moment that begins to lay the groundwork for Mark’s argument that this 30 year old no-good-family-connections, carpenter-from-the-middle-of-nowheresville is the closest thing to God we’ve ever seen.




What is it about this story that is so compelling, so important to understanding who Jesus is?

One of the things that impresses me about the story is the way this baptism truly created a thin place – a place where the holy breaks in and grabs us, saying “Look! Pay attention! God is present!”

The scene as Mark paints it is full of everyday, mundane things:
people taking a trip to the country to hear a traveling preacher,
a murky river flowing through the crowd,
a man wearing camel’s hair and eating locusts and honey.

It is all so earthy. So connected with the day-to-day muck of being human.



And yet – in the midst of all this humanity, something holy breaks in. After John baptizes Jesus, dunking him under that cool dirty river water, “the heavens are torn apart and a spirit descends on Jesus like a dove. And a voice came from heaven, saying ‘You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.’”

“You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.”

Something holy breaks in to stir the monotony of daily life. God is about to do a new thing. This 30-year-old no-name guy from Galilee is the son of God.





I don’t know what Jesus thought when he got up that morning and went to the countryside to hear John the Baptizer preach.

I like to imagine that he wasn’t quite sure what he was getting into. He was 30.
Maybe he was looking for a change in his life.
Maybe he had settled into a routine but wanted to shake things up a bit.
Maybe he ate his oatmeal while watching the Today show and thought, “I hear this John guy is doing something different.”
Maybe he packed up his work bag and locked the door behind him but found his feet taking him away from the office and towards the River Jordan, thinking, “Today is the day to find something new.”

I don’t know. Maybe he knew exactly what he was getting into. But maybe, just maybe, he didn’t.
Maybe the voice from heaven was as much a surprise to him as it was to everyone else.
Maybe he didn’t know the depths of God’s love and affection until he saw the dove descending from the sky.
Maybe he didn’t know he was a child of God until that very moment.

That moment when a regular day down by the river became an opportunity to touch the holy.




I guess part of the reason I like to imagine Jesus being not so sure about what was going to happen that day is because it makes me aware that holy moments like the one by the Jordan River can happen in my life, too.

I might wake up thinking I’m just going to have an average day and, instead, find myself hit over the head with a dove descending from above carrying a gigantic sign that says, “God loves you! Remember?!?”

I may find myself sitting in the chair in my living room, beating myself up about some stupid thing that I’ve done, wondering why I’ve messed things up again, only to discover a small voice telling me that God is well pleased with me.

We may not know what we’re getting into when we wake up in the morning and go about the business of being human.





Now, this may seem like a total departure from the subject at hand, but stick with me. Martin Luther – you know, the one that lived in the 16th century and stirred up a lot of trouble with the Roman Catholic Church – Martin Luther likely did not know what he was getting into when he first started voicing his complaints about the institutional Church.

Before long, he found himself imprisoned in Wartburg Castle in central Germany. He was taken there for his own protection – after being kicked out of the Catholic Church there were lots of people who wanted to harm him. He hid there in solitude for almost a year.

Day after day he worked away on his translation of the Second Testament into German, but he also spent a fair amount of time just wallowing in his misery. His health was poor and he was lonely. He argued with God and felt abandoned. His spiritual journey was at an all time low.

Throughout this year-long struggle, Luther found his hope in three small words. Every day, he would write the words “I am baptized” on his desktop.

“I am baptized.” That reminder that he was God’s beloved child and that God was well pleased with him were enough to sustain him during the darkest night of his soul.



If remembering his own baptism was enough to sustain Martin Luther, what might it mean in our own lives? If the story of Jesus’ baptism is important enough that it is how Mark begins to tell us Jesus is the son of God, what might it mean in our own lives?

I believe that baptism is an outward sign of what is already internally true for every person – is it the way that the church gathers together publicly to witness to the astounding truth that we are all children of God and that God is well pleased with us.

Through our baptisms we do what Jesus did: we accept God’s love and feel it rushing over us in one of the most vital elements in all of creation – water. Through that water and the spirit the mundane mingles with the holy and, before we know it, we are in over our heads, going places we never thought we’d be going, doing things we never thought we’d be doing.

And – through it all – we carry in our hearts those three words Martin Luther wrote on his desk while in prison: “I am baptized.”

God has called us by name. We are God’s own children. God loves us and is well-pleased with us.

As we prepare for the moment of silent reflection that comes after the sermon, I would like to invite you to reflect with your feet and your hands.

Up here we have a bowl filled with water and, in the bottom of the bowl are glass stones. If you would like, you are invited to come up front, dip your hand in the water, remembering your own baptism. As you do so, remind yourself that you are God’s beloved child and God is well pleased with you. The stone is meant to be a token and visible reminder of God’s love for you.

Also, if you or your child have not yet been baptized but would like to be, I invite you to speak with me or with Jack any time. We love to do baptisms and we know that First United Church would be honored to be a part of that holy experience with you.

Come now to the water. Remember that you are God’s own child.