Mark 1:1-11

The beginning of the good news^[a] of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.^[b]

² As it is written in the prophet Isaiah,^[c]

⁴ John the baptizer appeared^[e] in the wilderness, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins. ⁵ And people from the whole Judean countryside and all the people of Jerusalem were going out to him, and were baptized by him in the river Jordan, confessing their sins.⁶ Now John was clothed with camel’s hair, with a leather belt around his waist, and he ate locusts and wild honey. ⁷ He proclaimed, “The one who is more powerful than I is coming after me; I am not worthy to stoop down and untie the thong of his sandals. ⁸ I have baptized you with^[f]water; but he will baptize you with^[g] the Holy Spirit.”

⁹ In those days Jesus came from Nazareth of Galilee and was baptized by John in the Jordan. ¹⁰ And just as he was coming up out of the water, he saw the heavens torn apart and the Spirit descending like a dove on him. ¹¹ And a voice came from heaven, “You are my Son, the Beloved;^[h]with you I am well pleased.”

A while ago, I read a book called The Patron Saint Of Liars by Ann Patchett. It is the story of Rose Clinton and her daughter Cecilia, who live at a home for unwed mothers in Kentucky. The mother Rose is the cook, and Cecilia is the young darling of the place, adored by all the young women who are to give their own babies up for adoption. And one day, when Cecilia is about fifteen, she meets one of the new girls who has come to the home, Lorraine. Lorraine is about to have a nervous breakdown, while she waits to be interviewed by the nun in charge. As she waits, Cecilia gives her this advice: “don’t say the guy who got you pregnant is dead. Everyone does that. It makes Reverend Mother crazy.” “So what do I tell her?” asks Lorraine. “I don’t know”, replies Cecilia. “Tell her the truth, or tell her you don’t remember.” “Well, what did you tell her?” Lorraine asks Cecilia, and Cecilia is speechless.

She later writes: “I sat there, absolutely frozen. I felt like I had just been mistaken for some escaped serial killer. I felt like I was going to be sick, but that would only have proved her assumption. No one had ever, ever mistaken me for one of them, not even as a joke. The room felt small and airless; I thought I was going to pass out.”

Cecilia felt, deep in her core that she had been mistaken for one of them – one of those weak women whose bad decisions had derailed their lives, who had done something so shameful that their own families had packed them off to live with strangers until the evidence of their shame could be put up for adoption. Or, in theological terms, Cecilia thought she would pass out because she had been mistaken for a sinner, when she had done absolutely nothing wrong.

It wasn’t that Cecilia hated sinners. She had grown up with them, and was friendly, and helpful, and gave sound advice. She just never expected to be mistaken for one of them, because in her own mind she was of another order of being. She was a good Christian girl, and a virgin, and she thought it was something anyone could see, regardless of her pregnancy.

The exact opposite situation happened the day Jesus showed up at the river Jordan to be baptized by John. Imagine the scene: the banks of the river teeming with sinners – faulty, sorry, guilty people – who hoped beyond hope that John could somehow clean them off, and turn their lives around. Some were notorious sinners, some were there for sins known only to themselves – but none had illusions of their own innocence. They had come to be cleaned, knowing they were not clean.

And then Jesus, Son of God, one without sin, shows up and gets into line with them. No one knew anything about him yet. In fact, in Mark’s gospel, his story begins with his baptism (not his birth), so the crowds did not part and ooh and ahh when he appeared. Jesus simply took his place in line, and waited his turn. But later, after the heavens were torn apart, and the voice from heaven make clear who he really was, there was a LOT of controversy. Think about it: what was he doing in that crowd of sinners, looking and acting like one of them? What did this guy have to be sorry about, and why was God’s beloved submitting himself to a weirdo like John?

The Church over history has never been truly comfortable with the baptism of Jesus. Each gospel writer writes about the event with some un-ease. Matthew elaborates on Mark’s story by adding that John tried to talk Jesus out of being baptised, and Luke won’t even come out and say that it was John who did it. John’s gospel is the most uncomfortable of them all; John says he saw the Spirit descend like a dove upon Jesus, but doesn’t actually mention anything about a baptism at all.

In any case, if Jesus had listened to his PR agents, he would have been more like Cecilia wanted to be – friend to sinners, a kind and loving helper, but never mistaken for one of them. His people would never, ever have allowed him to be baptized. He could have stood on the shore and pronounced some words of encouragement to those going into the water, yes. He could have held out his hand to those who struggled out of the water in their heavy wet clothes, yes. But he could not have gone into the water himself, unless it was to tap John on the shoulder, and say, “you go take a break; I’ll take over for a while.”

And even if he were completely innocent and without sin, and even if his intentions were nothing but pure, it was ruinous to his reputation. Who was going to believe that he was there simply because he cared about those people, and refused to separate himself from them? Gossip being what it was, who was not going to think that he had just a few little titbits to get off his conscience, before going into public ministry?

I wonder if you see the problem I’m alluding to. We spend a lot of time in the Church talking about God’s love for sinners, while going to a lot of trouble not to be mistaken for one of them. Guilt by association, and all that. And yet Jesus, our leader and our Saviour and our Lord, did not seem concerned about that in the slightest. This, my friends, is the Gospel: in Jesus, God’s being with us included God being in the river with us, in the flesh with us, in the murkiness with us, in the sorrow of repentance and the joy of new life with us. Even if he, like little Marley, didn’t have anything of his own to be sorry about.

In Sunday worship, when we confess our sins, we do not simply confess our personal sins. We kneel and talk to God about the sins of all humanity – all the things that we, as a whole people, have done and failed to do – all the ways we have fled from the love of God, perhaps due to fear of being seen, known and changed. And when we receive an assurance of God’s pardon, we do not hear it simply for ourselves. We say “thanks be to God” on behalf of ALL those who have discovered hope in despair, light in darkness, life in death. In fact, nothing we do here of a Sunday is a private matter between us and God. Like Jesus in the river Jordan, our worship is something that we do in union – in communion – with all of humanity.

Just before Marley was baptized, we were called to confess the faith into which we were baptised, using the words of the Apostle’s Creed. This happens whenever we welcome new members into God’s household. We name our faith together, so we all remember what is expected of us: to believe in God (Father, Son and Holy Spirit); to take our place at God’s table; and to always, in what we say and what we do, always proclaim the good news that God has come to us in the flesh. Then, we invite the newcomer to step into the river with Jesus, so that their beings are wrapped up with all other human beings around the world and throughout history: the well and the hut, the brave and the weak, the successful and the ones who cannot seem to get anything right.

John then prayed a prayer, including a petition that, by sharing in this mystery, we may recall our own baptism. I doubt Marley will remember this day. And I doubt many of you would remember your baptism. So how do we do this? Perhaps it might be that any time you see water: in your homes, in rain, or in a river, you bring to mind the good news that you are a sinner saved by grace, and you give thanks to God. Perhaps whenever you take part in the regular act of Communion – food for discipleship, you give thanks to God for the act that started it all: your baptism. Perhaps every week when the Christ candle is lit, you remember the coming of the Holy Spirit upon each believer. Perhaps it is only when you witness the baptism of others, like this morning, that you are reminded of who you are, and whose you are. Or perhaps you never remember it.

But here’s my suggestion: what if remembering our baptism became an intentional part of our worshipping life, here at West Epping Uniting Church? What if our font became a much more integral part to our worship space than just a piece of furniture? What if, in fact, as you came into worship, you were greeted not just by our welcomers, but by the font with a bowl of water in it, and as you came into worship, and/or as you leave worship, you could dip your finger into the water, as an act of remembrance of who and whose you are? Might this be just what we need, in this time of change and beginning a new chapter of West Epping’s life, to remind ourselves that we are all sinners together, redeemed by the waters of baptism, and nourished by both God’s Word and the Lord’s Table? What if the font became a symbol of hope among us, so that whenever we might feel discouraged or depressed or weak, we can again dip our finger into the water – the river – and remember our baptism?

To that end, how about we give this a go: let’s have our baptism font at the entrance to our worship space, with fresh water in it – and see how this simple act might reinvigorate our identity – people who have gotten into the river of life with Jesus, Marley, and the whole family of God. Marley’s baptism, our baptism, is the Gospel: there is no chance we will be mistaken for one of them, because we are them, as they are us: Christ’s own body, forever. Thanks be to God. Amen.