Foothills Congregational Church The Rev. W. Matthew Broadbent

United Church of Christ The Baptism of Jesus

461 Orange Ave., Los Altos 94022 January 13, 2008

MY BELOVED

Isaiah 42:1-9; Mathew 3:13-17

And a voice from heaven said, ‘This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased’(Matt. 3:17). We know these words. How often I have said them: This is my daughter, this is my son, this is my beloved child with whom I am well pleased. Well, I was probably not so formal, but I meant the same thing when I would hug them and say, “I love you guys. You’re great!”

And now I get to say this to my grandchildren: These are my grandsons with whom I am well pleased. Nine month old Logan is just one big happy guy, while the two and a half year old Marin is talking up a storm, and has quite a sense of humor. His parents have been encouraging his language and humor skills by asking him questions and creating little routines. The latest was demonstrated on our visit over Christmas week.

“Marin,” they would ask, “where does your mommy work?

“High ‘kool,” he answered.

“And what does she do?”

“Teacher.”

“And where does your father work?”

“At the kirk,” spoken like the descendant of Scottish immigrants.

“And what does your father do?”

“I don’t know?”

“But, Marin, when you go to church would do you see daddy do?”

At this point he runs to the shelves and selects a book, finds a box on which to stand, opens the book, lifts his head and says, “Byor, byor, byor…”

This is my beloved grandson with whom I am well-pleased.

Today we read of Jesus baptism by John in the Jordan and hear God’s blessing on the Beloved One, and we take a moment to reflect on the meaning of our own baptism. Kathleen Norris writes, “I suspect that to many Christians baptism seems a curious and antiquated custom. People want their children baptized but can’t say much about why they want it, and what the rite is meant to signify. Many adults who attend church faithfully nevertheless would be hard-pressed to say what their baptism means to them.”

Most of us in this tradition were baptized as infants or children and have forgotten about it. Adults who have never been baptized are embarrassed to be baptized, though I have had several fathers come to be baptized with their children. It is a very moving, and significant experience for the family. Baptism is about celebrating the incomparable gift we receive as creatures beloved of God. It is a blessing we bestow upon our children, but let’s not forget the power this blessing has on each of us as we become conscious that we, too, are beloved of God.

One of my favorite stories of the powerful yearning we all have to be blessed is a story I heard told by Henri Nouwen, who served as a chaplain for a Daybreak Community, in Toronto, serving mentally and physically challenged adults. After communion one Sunday, Father Nouwen stood off to the side and offered a blessing to those who desired it. One Sunday, Robert, a young man with Down’s syndrome, and his caregiver, a young athletic man from a local college, came up to him and bowed his head. Father Nouwen lifted his hands in the sign of the cross and gave Robert a formal blessing –in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. But Robert looked up and said, “Not good enough Henri. I want a real blessing.”

Henri Nouwen placed his hands on Robert’s head, and said, “Robert, you are a beloved child of God who lives in God’s blessing.” Robert lifted his head and said, “Thank you, Henri,” and walked off. Father Nouwen looked up to find Robert’s caregiver next in line with head bowed, and behind him a line of residents and care-givers eager to receive their blessing, as well.

John says to Jesus, I need to be baptized by you, and do you come to me? Jesus says, “Let it be done so that righteousness may be fulfilled.” It is the right thing to do, because unless Jesus submits himself to this ritual there will be no room in line for us.

Though we call Jesus the divine Son of God, he was also fully human. If he should receive special treatment is there any hope for us? Jesus accepts his blessing, and encourages us to accept our blessing also. Do you know you are a beloved child of God? Do you know in your heart that the spark of the divine, the impulse of holy resides within you? Do you recognize that the person sitting next to you is made in the image of God, and is a vessel of the Christ-Spirit? Beloved. Cherished.

Fully human. Fully divine. This is the classical formula for the nature Jesus, whom we call Christ. I believe the only difference between you and me and Jesus, is that he came to accept the blessing and live into it, fully realized as the beloved of God.

You and I are having a hard time of it. We are embarrassed to call ourselves blessed, or we are still bargaining for more personal power. We want to insure that health, wealth and a little more political clout will be ours.

Jesus gave himself over in humility to the blessing and fulfilled what Isaiah had spoken of long ago:

Here is my servant, whom I uphold,

my chosen, in whom my soul delights;
I have put my spirit upon him;

he will bring forth justice to the nations.
He will not cry or lift up his voice,

or make it heard in the street;
a bruised reed he will not break,

and a dimly burning wick he will not quench;

he will faithfully bring forth justice.
He will not grow faint or be crushed 

until he has established justice in the earth;
and the coastlands wait for his teaching.

There is a reason why we have not fully identified with the Beloved, because with the blessing comes a certain responsibility. The baptism of Jesus initiated his public ministry, which led him to the cross. For individual Christians, baptism is our call to the community of the church, which often provides its own crosses to bear. Yet, as Kathleen Norris writes, “it is together, as church, that we are meant to witness to peace in a cruel and violent world and bring a message of hope in the face of despair. Whatever the worldly powers may be – Roman rulers or contemporary dictators, corrupt lobbyists, arms traders and war profiteers – Christians are called to witness to another, greater power. Our baptisms mark us for this purpose. We are called to live the life of the Beloved. Even when we don’t want to, God demands it.

Marjorie Wilkes is preparing for ordination in the United Church of Christ. She is an extraordinary person with enormous talent and deep spiritual gifts. She wrote a “Theological Reflection” for her meeting with the Committee on Ministry recently, and I begged her to let me use her story this Sunday, to which she graciously agreed. Marjorie is a woman who has had one career in education and now is transitioning to ministry and struggling with the idea of ordination. She does not want to be treated as a special person, but a person called to special duties. She is a 45 year-old woman, who was greatly influenced by her grandmother who grew up in northeastern Oklahoma, a child of freed slaves and Creek Indians. Marjorie learned from her grandmother that among the Creek people, a woman tribal leader was a teacher and healer known by the honorific, “Beloved Woman.” It is in this context that I let Marjorie speak to us.

“This past summer brought one of my greatest joys in 2007, the month-long internship in spiritual direction at Mercy Center, a time of deep peace and healing, a time of incredible spiritual growth. The only blemish on that wonderful month was a painful confrontation with another intern, "Jane," who made a racist comment in my presence (of the 45 participants in the 2007 internship, I was the only African American). Following that confrontation, we settled into a chilly détente, greeting each other politely each morning but otherwise avoiding eye contact as much as possible.

On the next-to-last day of the program, a day reserved for total silence, a small group of us decided to make a trip to the beach at Half Moon Bay. We would drive there in silence, then each of us would go her own way to pray, write, simply sit and be still. We'd meet for lunch, allow ourselves to "cheat" with a bit of lunchtime conversation, then return to the beach to resume our solitude and silence. The car in which I was riding had room for four, but only three people had signed up, and I somehow ended up with responsibility for inviting a fourth.

Walking out the front doors of Mercy Center into the morning sunlight, I saw Jane sitting alone, writing in her journal. Jesus nudged me, and I gritted my teeth, thinking, "Heck no! She's a racist so-and-so, and I am NOT inviting her to the beach." Jesus nudged again, and I felt it, the patient sigh, the gentle reproach: "Come on, Marjorie, forgive her. I asked you all to love one another, remember? Aren't you the woman who's spent this entire year meditating on the meaning of the word 'beloved'? When the rubber meets the road, does that meditation amount to anything if you can't forgive someone? Think of it as today's opportunity to live into the vows of your baptism. Come on. You can do it ......”

So, dragging my feet like a chastened five-year-old and suddenly overwhelmed by a fit of shyness, I made my way over to Jane and said, "Hi. A few of us are going to spend our day of silence at the beach. There's room in the car for a fourth. Wanna come?"

She smiled up at me (I hadn't realized that she had such a pretty smile), and said, "Oh, I'd love to come. Thanks for inviting me."

The time on the beach was beautiful — a whole morning of uninterrupted silence, half of it spent writing in my journal, half of it spent praying and meditating in the simple way that I'd been taught, with a one-word mantra, using the word I'd received months ago in prayer — beloved.

Over lunch, we all shared stories about our journey to the ministry of spiritual direction. I talked about my dear friend and mentor in ministry, the late Reverend Diane Phillips, who had been the first to affirm my call as a spiritual director. Jane talked about her time as a missionary in Kenya, where the members of the church she'd served had given each missionary a new name in Swahili. We talked at length then about what it means to receive a new name, how a new name often marks a turning point in one's spiritual journey, how so many Bible stories affirm this truth — Abram and Sarai becoming Abraham and Sarah, Jacob becoming Israel, Simon becoming Peter, Saul becoming Paul.

"So what's your Swahili name?" I finally asked Jane.

"Mwende," she told me. "It means 'beloved."'

For a long time, I couldn't say anything. I simply stared at her. "It's beautiful," I finally said.

She smiled at me. "In Kenya, whenever I admired something — you know, a necklace, a piece of fabric — it was given to me. So, if you'll accept it, I offer you this name — Mwende, Beloved. Will you accept it?"

I bowed my head, tears flowing, hearing Jesus laughing softly. "Yes, thank you, I accept."