January 11, 2026

Sermon Transcript

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.  (Isaiah 42:2-3)

Today, I begin with a personal declaration: I love snow.  I always have.  I always will.  When I was growing up, snow had the power to call off school.[i]  How could I not love it?  Indeed, last week’s 50-degree January days annoyed me to the core of my being.  “Go back to November, where you belong,” I said.  We need more snow in New York City.  “But wait,” you say, “it did snow here just about two weeks ago.”  True, Mother Nature set us in her cross hairs, and walloped us with four inches.  It was enough for news crews to give live reports from the salt piles, as road workers prepared to do battle on the streets.  I just love it when they report from the salt piles.

So it was that late in the evening on the day after Christmas, the Feast of Stephen, when the snow lay round about deep and crisp and even, I decided to make like Good King Wenceslas and go out in it.  This I did, and proceeded on a long walk through the West Village.  The cobblestone streets were blanketed in white.  Our busy, noisy city was hushed for once.  It was absolutely beautiful.  I love the snow.

I was completely caught up in the chilly silence of the evening when suddenly, from inside the picturesque townhouse I was walking past, a cacophony of screams pierced the night.  Apparently, a mother and a father were bringing forth justice upon their two, possibly three, small children.  It was horrible.  The children shrieked and cried.  The parents shouted them down using vulgar, demeaning words and phrases that no child should ever hear.  The mother declared her hatred of them all.  The father shouted similar sentiments right back at her.  The children screamed and screamed so that I could still hear them half a block away.  Perhaps they were having a particularly bad night.  Or perhaps it was just another night like many others for the family inside.  I don’t know.  As a parent myself, I’ll be the first to admit that I lost my cool too many times when our sons were little.  But on the Feast of Stephen, it didn’t take a perfect parent to judge that something was and probably remains very, very wrong in at least one household of the West Village.

Today is the First Sunday after the Epiphany, which is the day on the church’s calendar when we observe the baptism of Jesus.  In today’s Gospel reading we have heard Matthew’s (3:13-17) account of Jesus’ baptism in the river Jordan.  Jesus came to John for baptism, as did the multitudes of Jerusalem.  They came in response to John’s preaching about their urgent need for repentance – to turn from their sin and be cleansed from its stain.  What John was doing was nothing new.  Ritual washings were a common custom among many cultures.  The Jews practiced proselyte baptism, by which they received Gentiles into the community.  In all cases the outward washing with water signified an inward cleansing of the soul.  They washed away the old so the newly baptized person was fit and pure to participate in the new.

But why Jesus?  Why Jesus submitted to John’s baptism is a conundrum.  It is a narrow door that theologians have been trying to squeeze through for centuries.  The dilemma goes like this: On the one hand, we say that Jesus truly was the incarnation of God, and therefore without sin.  He was at one with God.  On the other hand, John’s baptism was for the cleansing of sins, of which Jesus had none to wash away.  What, then, was the purpose of Jesus’ being baptized?  Even John had objections to Jesus’ submitting himself for baptism.  As we heard in Matthew, John tried to prevent Jesus from going down in the water.  But Jesus insisted that he too should be baptized.  Somehow, it would fulfill all righteousness for him to get in the water with the multitudes.

Why was Jesus baptized?  We will never know for sure, but let me tell you what I’m coming to understand.  When John submerged Jesus in the waters of the Jordan, what happened to Jesus was not a cleansing of sin.  In fact it was just the opposite of a ritual washing.  For Jesus it was a dip in the dirtiest of bath water, literally and spiritually.  Think about this: the Jordan River is not like the Hudson River.  In many parts it is easy to wade across the Jordan by foot.  In dry months some places can be little more than a collection of stagnant pools.  Matthew writes that the multitudes of Jerusalem came to John and stood in the water waiting for baptism.  What happens when multitudes of people stand in stagnant water?  Literally, the water becomes foul with their humanity.  Spiritually, the water of the Jordan became foul with the sins of the people who had been washed in it.

When Jesus went down in the muddy waters of the Jordan, God made him to be sin, who knew no sin, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God (2 Corinthians 5:21).  Jesus’ baptism was a public declaration of his total identification with humanity.  With us, warts and all.  Family feuds and all.  It was an outward and visible sign of his taking upon himself the sins of the whole world: every hidden hurt, every vicious word, every clenched fist became splattered on him with the waters of the Jordan.  Jesus was not getting clean.  He was getting dirty.  So his baptism was for our atonement, not his.

But what does the baptism of Jesus have to do with life today, and how can it speak to the strife-ridden families of the world?  What is the point of squeezing through such a narrow theological door as the baptism of Jesus?  Friends, hold on: we have more narrow doors still ahead of us.  The next has to do with identity: Christian identity.  Jesus’ baptism awakened him fully to his God-given identity.  Matthew reports how Jesus heard a voice from heaven declare. “This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.”  Those familiar with the Scriptures then and now would recognize in the words the prophecy of Isaiah (49:1) that we heard earlier today: Here is my servant, whom I uphold, my chosen, in whom my soul delights; I have put my spirit upon him.  In his baptism, Jesus awakened to his identity as the beloved Son of God.  He was the Suffering Servant of the Lord, about whom Isaiah prophesied centuries before.

Your baptism can awaken you to a new identity, too.  Today we don’t just talk about Jesus’ baptism.  We talk about ours as well: yours and mine.  Every time we baptize a child or an adult, every time we renew our own baptismal covenant, every time we receive the Eucharist, the opportunity is there for us to call on the gifts God has given us through the waters of the sacrament.  We have a new identity.  We are God’s beloved children.  We belong to God.  Imagine if all baptized people fully embraced their status as God’s beloved children, and looked upon others with those same eyes.  Imagine if the people in the household I walked past fully embraced each other as if they were children of God.  To be sure, if we all came to a greater appreciation of our status as God’s beloved children, we might have less violence in the world, and hear less crying in the street.

Now for the final narrow door to pull us through.  Baptism gives us more than a new identity.  In baptism, God imparts yet another gift.  God gives us a new responsibility: a new mission, a new role.  Jesus’ baptism awakened him to a role and a mission and a responsibility.  Isaiah prophesied that the Suffering Servant of the Lord would reconcile us with God.  The Servant’s responsibility was to be splashed with the sins of the whole world – even though he himself knew no sin – and put those sins to death on the cross.  Isaiah (chap. 52) later said this about the beloved Son of God’s mission: Surely he has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows.  He was wounded for our transgressions, bruised for our iniquities, and with his stripes we are healed.  Jesus brings about our atonement with God not by means of worldly might, not by shouting, shoving, or arguing people into obedience.  Rather, 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.  Jesus fulfilled his role not through coercive force, but by the attraction of divine self-sacrifice.

As it was with Jesus’ baptism, so it is with ours.  When we receive baptism, when we renew our baptismal vows, when we witness the baptism of another, we receive another gift: a new responsibility, a new mission, a new role to play.  God gives us the invitation to follow the pattern of Jesus’ perfect life.  Should you choose to accept the invitation, or renew it, as the case may be, you pledge to continue in prayer and worship, to persevere in resisting evil, to proclaim the Good News of God in Christ, to seek and serve Christ in all persons, to strive for justice and peace among all people, to respect the dignity of every human being.  You may be thinking that baptism sounds more like a burden than a blessing.  “No thanks,” you say.  “Life is hard enough, already, without having to be as perfect as Jesus.”  If the new responsibilities of baptism sound beyond the abilities of people with penchants for losing their cool, you’re right.  The example of Jesus is beyond our reach.  Thus we qualify the answer we give to the invitation, saying, “I will with God’s help.”

God’s help is the key.  You may be relieved to know that the Christian faith has nothing to do with relying on human strength.  It has nothing to do with human will power, or the power of positive thinking, or the ability to hold your tongue and bite your lip.  The Christian faith is about the Spirit of the living God dwelling in you to strengthen you.  When Jesus received his baptism, he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove and alighting on him.  We need not take the dove and the voice literally.  They are metaphors to illustrate the Spirit of God.  When Isaiah prophesied about the Servant of the Lord, he declared that God would put his spirit upon him.  Likewise, those who are baptized receive the inward grace of Jesus’ very life, which is the Spirit of God.

Dear Christian People: we all face those times when we are sorely tempted to cry out in the street.  These are the moments when God invites us to summon the help of his indwelling Spirit who strengthens us to do more than our natural selves are capable of doing.  I read recently how Martin Luther, the great 16^th century German theologian and Reformer went about doing just that when he caught himself losing his way.  When he became downhearted, tempted, or overly pessimistic, when he felt himself ready to lash out at his wife or children, Martin Luther would take a piece of chalk and write in large letters on his desk, I HAVE BEEN BAPTIZED.  By so doing he reminded himself that God’s Spirit was available to help him, that God had high hopes for him, that he had promised to follow Jesus Christ, that he belonged to the Christian family in which we are all brothers and sisters.[ii]  I HAVE BEEN BAPTIZED, carved into his desk.  I suppose the modern equivalent might be making it the lockscreen or the home screen on your phone.  Or how about the ringtone?  Believe me: I’ve heard stranger things go off in people’s pockets.

The next time you are at the end of your rope, may I suggest that you take a walk in the snow, if we are blessed to have any?  It is sacred stuff.  I never want to be without the possibility of it.  You can make snow angels in it.  You can write in big, bold letters in it: I HAVE BEEN BAPTIZED.  It may help you to remember that God has given us power to become his children.  Remember that you have a new identity in Christ, and a new responsibility as his follower.  Remember that God’s beloved Son has totally identified himself with you.  Remember that God’s Spirit is available to strengthen you and to help you.  Let the Spirit, like the snow, hush the noise and cease the strife, so that you, too, might hear the angels sing.

[i] From the poem, “Three Brothers in the Snow,” by Jeffrey Harrison.  The Singing Underneath, E.P. Dutton, 1988, p. 16.

[ii] Carroll E. Simcox, Understanding the Sacraments.  Morehouse-Graham, Co., 1956, p. 36.