Sunday, January 27, 2013

Today This Scripture Has Been Fulfilled




Luke 4:14-21
January 27, 2013

I had a conversation this week with a few folks in our congregation about evangelism.  It was a short conversation, but a well timed one as I looked at this text.  You may or may not know this, but our church – unlike many out there – has no evangelism committee.  We might have in the past, we might in the future, but right now, we have no evangelism committee.  I suspect this is because many of us are uncomfortable with the word “evangelism.”  It’s too much like “televangelist.”  It’s going out and telling people what they should believe, or what church they should go to – ours.  This is generally not our corporate personality.

But, I couldn’t help thinking more about this congregation and evangelism as I read this text from Luke. 

These are the first public words of Jesus in the gospel of Luke – and he talks about evangelism.  The version Gail read says “the spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor.”  The Greek word for “bring good news,” is “evanggelizo.”  This word is where Christians throughout the centuries have gotten the idea that the task of Christians is to evangelize.

So, I thought I would muse a little bit about what it means for our church – First Presbyterian – to evangelize.  Namely:  Should we be evangelizing, and if so, how?

Should we be evangelizing?  Well, if we listen to Luke, yes.  This is not the only time he uses the word to describe Jesus’ ministry; and he doesn’t only use it to talk about Jesus’ ministry…he uses it when talking about what the disciples are doing after Jesus’ death and resurrection.  For Luke, evangelism is Jesus’ ministry, and it is ours to carry it on.  Evanggilzo.  Evangelize. 

We might not agree with Luke that this is what our ministry is supposed to be about.  That’s fair.  But, if we at least want to entertain him for a bit, we should look at what evangelism meant to him…why he understood Jesus’ ministry as evangelism. 

Neither Luke nor Jesus comes up with this idea of evangelism all by themselves.  The passage Jesus is reading comes from the Hebrew bible.  At first, no one listening would know he might be talking about himself – much less us.  He was simply the liturgist that week.  He was just reading Isaiah – people would no more assume that when he read “the spirit of the lord is upon me,” he was talking about himself than you all assumed that of Gail when she read it.    

It was the custom in the synagogue for someone to go up front, be handed the scroll of the text for that day, stand while reading it, roll it up, hand it back, and then sit down.  That’s what Jesus is doing.  It’s only after he reads from Isaiah and sits down that we find out Jesus applies that passage to what he does and why.

It’s important to remember this because it helps us relate to the story.  Many things have changed in the 3,000 years since the scriptures were written.  We know that sometimes, no matter how hard we try, we just can’t put ourselves in the shoes of the people in our scriptures.  The leap of context is too big. 

But one thing that seems to have never changed:  people gather to hear the scriptures read and think about what that meant for them.  This is what we do.  And what we do – what we’re doing today – is directly connected to what was happening that day in Nazareth.  And that day – the day that kicks off everything for Jesus, the scripture was about evangelism.

Now Isaiah’s version of evangelism that Jesus reads about had nothing to do with getting more people to become Jewish or to come to the synagogue.  Nothing.  It was to take good news to the poor.  The spirit sends out to proclaim release to the captives.  Evangelism is letting the oppressed go free.

Evangelism is not about bringing people in:  It’s about being filled with the spirit of God, being anointed by the spirit of God, and then living the good news for the poor, captive, oppressed, wounded.  That’s the good news we share...the good news that comes from living out the scriptures we hear every Sunday…that’s evangelism.

That’s what Isaiah thought of evangelism – that’s the scripture Jesus read.  But of course, he doesn’t just stop with reading the scripture…and neither do we.   Jesus quotes scripture, then gives a sermon: maybe the shortest sermon ever:  “Today, this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.”  I don’t give short sermons – his whole sermon is just the title of mine – but in my defense, I have learned over the years that only the most impressive, intelligent, insightful people can do this – give short sermons and speeches with incredible meaning.  And those folks come along rarely in history:  compare the length of recent inaugural speeches with that of Lincoln’s 2nd inaugural.  And then, just for kicks and giggles, compare which one – the short speech or the long – is more substantive…more profound.   I, folks, am no Jesus.

But the point of the sermon – the scripture  has been fulfilled in your hearing, is that Jesus lives the scripture with his life – he fulfills them….with who he is, how he lives, loves, heals, cares for, frees, and reconciles.  When he preaches the sermon, now we find out that he means that the spirit of the Lord has anointed him, and he lives good news to the poor…he is evangelism. 

Evangelism is making the scriptures come to life – embodying them with who you are.  The scriptures are not just to hear – they are to live…they are to be evangelized.

We are doing exactly what happens in this passage.  People gathering together to hear scripture read and then a sermon.  And today, we read that we are to evangelize.  And my sermon this morning – though much more lengthy – is in fact, when summed up in a sentance “today, the scriptures have been fulfilled in your hearing.”

I can, with confidence preach the same sermon today.  The Spirit of the Lord is upon us; we are anointed to evangelize – to bring good news to the poor.  There are people in this church that drive folks to medical appointments when they don’t have a car.  Our church offers emergency financial aid to people who are facing eviction.  There are people sitting here that cook and serve meals, raise money for Mica and Heifer, and spend a lot of time thinking about who is in need and how to help them. 

We are anointed to bring good news to the poor:  Today, the scripture has been fulfilled even as you hear it.

The spirit of the lord is upon us;  we are sent to proclaim release to the captives.  There are people in our congregation who go into our prisons and teach…people in our midst – students, family, staff – who work to bring what’s offered to students at Grinnell college to those mostly forgotten by everyone – certainly those who most wouldn’t think deserve a top level, elite college education.  It releases them from being “inmate” – captive – to being “student” alongside some of the other most talented students in the country being taught by the best and the brightest.

We are sent to proclaim release to the captives:  Today, the scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.

The spirit of the lord is upon us;  we are sent us to proclaim recovery of sight to the blind.  There are people sitting here this morning who seek out those who wander lost – who can’t see their way to hope, or see those who love and care about them.  There are people here who sit with those who are depressed and offer hope through loving presence.  There are people who open the eyes of the lonely, visiting them regularly, so they can see how loved and valued they are.  There are people who, every time they sit with someone, talk to someone, listen to someone, show the face of God through kindness and compassion – they let people see God.

We are sent to proclaim recovery of sight to the blind:  Today the scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.

The spirit of the lord is upon us; we are to let the oppressed go free.  There are people in this room who have sat on living room floors with men and women and children weighted down – oppressed – by the enormity of raising children without enough resources.  There are teachers and counselors who work with kids in schools – schools oppressed by ever decreasing resources and ever increasing challenges. 

There are people in our midst who work tirelessly to change systems that continually keep the same people down while raising up the privileged: school systems, mental health systems, economic systems.  People who speak truth to power, who never stop communicating with those who make laws and decisions that oppress.

There are people who every day make their work place more just, more compassionate, more humane through the decisions they make, the way they conduct themselves, and the values they bring to what they do – making these spaces free of oppression.

We are to let the oppressed go free:  Today the scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.

The spirit of the lord is upon us; we are sent to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.  There are people here who pray for others.  There are people here who, during our prayer time, write down everything that’s said and then pray over and over and over, day after day, the prayers that have been requested, not to win favor for themselves, but because they know of God’s favor for those who are hurting. 

We are sent to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor:  Today the scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.

We are evangelists.  We are evangelizing. 

Today we were to ordain and install officers in our church.  These people are entrusted with an awesome responsibility.  They are entrusted with discerning where the spirit of the Lord is, where the spirit is moving, and then figuring out how we, as a church, can join that movement.  They come to church and hear the scriptures and then seek to find ways for the whole church – not just them – to make the scriptures live here, today…how to fulfill them.

Just like today, Jesus’ context was mixed.  The scripture was fulfilled, and not.  It was moving and living through the work of the spirit, but not everywhere…changing everything.  The same is true for us.

Sometimes we do no better than muddle along.  We – the session, the deacons, me, you – are always making our best guess about where the spirit is moving and sending us.  We want that guess to be as good, informed, faithful, deliberate, thoughtful as we can.  But in the end, it is always just a guess.  We don’t have a light behind us that lights up – the word “spirit” in neon letters or something – every time we get it perfect.

But one of the ways we try to make our best possible guess is by electing people from among us that we trust to spend some time thinking about these things…people we trust to stop their lives as usual to think about whether what we do is spirit filled or not – is evangelism or not.  They wonder together whether the spirit might be leading us in surprising directions.  They seek to find ways to give us all greater opportunities to listen for the spirit as well.  We invite them to help us evangelize.  To make evangelism central to what we do.  And we know the sign of successful evangelism in not the number of members – in our church it’s how much we shift dynamics of poverty, tear down things that oppress and enslave, that make captives, bring favor to those least noticed and least liked. 

We don’t have an evangelism committee at our church – many, many others do.  Or maybe we do…it’s just that that particular committee is made of 100 people who gather week after week to hear the scriptures then preach them with their very lives.  A pretty powerful and active committee if you ask me.  Amen.

Sunday, January 20, 2013

Come Clean




John 2:1-11
January 20, 2013


Since the beginning of Advent, we have mostly been reading from the gospel of Luke – I’m sure you all knew this before I told you.  And, if we continue, as I do, to follow the lectionary – a prescribed set of texts used by many churches and denominations, we will mostly read from Luke until Advent comes again in December when we will begin our “Matthew cycle.”  Mostly.  The lectionary does a few head fakes along the way. 

Today we get the gospel of John before returning to Luke next week – one of our little head fakes.  Which is fine.  Except the gospel of John cries out for multiple weeks of reading because the author uses tons of symbolic language, metaphors not found in the other gospels, he weaves themes throughout his story that don’t become clear until the very end.  In short, it’s hard to do John justice in a head fake. 

There is SO much going on in this one story this morning.  The wedding of Cana, a well-known, well-loved story, is jam packed with metaphors, significant words, numerology, not to mention allusions to details about the Jewish faith that we do not hold in our heads, understandings of miracles far from ours, and assumptions we can’t begin to unpack in 15 minutes.  “My hour has not yet come,” for example.  What does that mean?  Well, we would have to look at that phrase in the twelve other places it comes up in John before we could start to get a handle on it – and I suspect this would not play well in a sermon.

All of this is to say I’m taking a story where there are a hundred things going on – important things John has to say about who Jesus is and what happens when he shows up – and talking about one small part of it.  If you feel like I’m not addressing the whole passage, it’s not your imagination.

I’m going to talk about the jugs…or why I think it matters that the miracle took place in the jugs. 
When Jesus’ mother tells him the wine is running low, Jesus – after a funny little interchange between him and his mother, that would surely take time to unpack, Jesus tells the servants to fill the jugs with water – fill them to the brim.  John gives us a couple of important details here…these are not just some random jugs sitting around.  These are the vessels that held the water used in the purification rites of the Jewish tradition.  And they were quite big: 20 – 30 gallons each.  Sparing you the details of purification rites at that time, suffice it to say washing before almost any event – certainly any event involving food – was not about keeping the flu from spreading.  It was about making one’s self clean spiritually, not physically.

If, as many have suggested, and I’m inclined to agree, the wedding is a symbol for the great banquet of God where we feast on abundance and love, John is telling us that some believed you had to be purified before you could join in…before you could dine with the divine. 

“Come clean.”  We are familiar with this idea.  This is the requirement for absolution in many settings: formal and not.  Admit it – own it – tell the truth.  If you mess up, the best thing you can do if you want forgiveness is to come clean.  Before you get parole, you have to come clean.  Before you get your cell phone back from your parents after you lied about where you were last night, you better come clean.  Before your housemates find out on their own and have time to build resentment, you better come clean about eating all the Haagen Daz coffee ice cream.  If you come clean, you are more likely to be welcomed back into a marriage, a friendship, a family, a community, society.  It’s the first step, I read in the Des Moines register yesterday, for fallen heroes who want to be restored to their former glory.  (I can’t imagine who they might have been referring to.) 

Come clean.  This was ingrained in religious practices in Jesus’ day.  You only get to come if you come clean – admit to and repent of all that defiles you.  Your mistakes, sins, failings, imperfections had to be washed away before you could be a part of the religious community, and more importantly to them, before you could face the divine.  It’s as if, like looking directly at the sun, God couldn’t handle the site of you with all your deepest failings shining through.  And so water jugs were placed so people could come clean…you weren’t clean until you washed with the water in the jugs.

This is why it’s so important that the miracle of water turning to wine happens in the purification jugs.  Think about what happens…once the wine appears, the water is gone.  The jugs are still there, but they don’t offer the required water anymore.  If someone came to try and purify themselves, they couldn’t because all they would find is wine.  Really, really good wine.  In fact, John tells us by giving us the holding capacity of these jugs, you would find lots and lots and lots of really, really good wine.  But they wouldn’t be able to wash themselves – they wouldn’t be able to come clean.

Jesus, along with other Jews at the time, thought the rites of purification had lost their original intent.  If Jesus and his friends thought about rituals similarly to how we do, I can see why they may have thought that. In our rituals today – our sacraments of communion and baptism – we say that it is not the ritual which makes something true.  The ritual is a sign of something that is already true.  Washing one’s self clean should have pointed not to the fact that someone is “unclean” to begin with and has come clean to approach God.  Washing one’s self affirms that we come clean – when we come, we are already clean to God…it’s showing that we have already been purified through grace.  We come ready to dine with the divine – no matter what.  We can come just as we are, and we are more than clean enough already – sins, failings, brokenness, and all.

The hymn we are about to sing is a hymn familiar to many and surely new to others.  It was written by a poet named Charlotte Elliott in 1835.  As always when reading poetry written so long ago, language has changed and the common theological phrases no longer flow from our mouths.  But whether we would say it the same way or not, I don’t think there’s any missing the core of what she writes of in this poem – at I think the core truth has not changed over time.

Elliott lost the use of her legs as a very young adult, and was essentially house bound from that point on – until she passed away.  Her poetry expressed her struggles with faith, God, meaning, purpose, and we enter into that struggle when we sing her words.

Elliott could not attend church, even though her whole family was very faithful and religious.  She could not be out in the community, active in volunteering for good causes, even though her family was extremely involved in things that made the world a better place.  She struggled with doubt about her purpose and usefulness in life.  She struggled with her relationship to God; what did it meant about the value of who she was – supposedly God’s creation – if she couldn’t do anything.  She struggled with the meaning of Jesus’ life.  She struggled with the age old question of why bad things happen to people – is it punishment for our sins or random cruel events. 

After 13 years being house bound, while her brother was out raising money to build high quality schools for women who couldn’t afford higher education, Elliott sat in her house, struggling, and she wrote the hymn Just As I Am.

Just as I am – though toss’d about with many a conflict many a doubt.  Fightings and fears within, without, O lamb of God, I come!

And the rest of the hymn goes on to express that when she comes just as she is, she meets the free love of God. 

Some of you and others in our congregation not here, I’m sure, can relate quite directly to Elliott’s struggles with purpose and doubt because of physical limitations.  We wonder how to continue to be faithful when we can’t do what we used to be able to do.  I don’t have that direct experience, but when I read Elliott’s story, I can connect with her struggles with doubt, her questioning the purpose of life, the existence of God, the meaning of Jesus’ life.  I have felt all of these things at some point, though born of different experiences.  I know many in this room and beyond have had, or are having, similar struggles for various reasons.

The hymn, Just as I Am, taps into the power shame and guilt have over us.  But the hymn also defies any theology that says we have to be good enough to come before God and receive God’s love.  The hymn speaks to deep internal conflicts I have over whether our faith is about being loved as the beautiful, divine creations we are, or the need to be so different from the broken mess I know myself to be. 

Our scriptures are confusing on this point.  These two things seem to be in conflict – we’re okay, loved unconditionally, and we’re totally broken and in need of some serious saving so we can live as God wants.  And it’s a conflict our scriptures hold almost without comment.  The beautiful passages that reach far to describe a love so big and unimaginable exist side by side with the cries of prophets calling on people to come clean and change their ways lest they risk the wrath of God.  If we are going to be in relationship with these texts we read every Sunday, this is a tension we can’t get away from. 

But it’s worth bathing in the wedding at Cana, in Elliott’s poem, as a starting place.  She was who she was, and at least she felt it wasn’t nearly good enough in the face of the needs of the world around her.  And, though we might disagree with her analysis of her situation, she absolutely worried that the God she learned about in her faith tradition might find her unworthy of love because she couldn’t do what she knew she was supposed to do.

That night in her house, somehow she was able to find that place in our faith that I think everything else stems from – the starting place of our complex, confusing, challenging, difficult faith.  We come…just as we are, and without condition we are loved: bathed in love…lots and lots and lots and lots of really, really, really, good love.  Yes, we are called to things, we are pulled to participate in the world’s redemption and wholeness, but as deeply flawed people who are bathed in love and accepted just as we are.

In the miracle at Cana, Jesus says to be invited to the wedding – the lavish banquet of God – to be able to be a part of it, you just come, and it meets you before you ever even “get inside” so to speak. 

I don’t want to jump the gun, but Ash Wednesday is three ½ weeks from now.  Ash Wednesday marks the beginning of Lent.  Traditionally in Lent, we spend time reflecting on our own brokenness, the world’s brokenness.  We spend time thinking about what it means to come clean – to tell and own the truth about who we are and what we have done to ourselves and others.  There is value, importance, to coming clean in the sense of owning up and making amends.  We know this just from our own relationships with people we love.  Coming clean is a powerful experience that transforms us, those we might be hurting, and the relationships we have with one another.

Lent runs the risk, though, of undermining the spirit of the miracle at Cana – of connecting us to shame and guilt over our shortcomings with no way out of the hold this has on our life.  And so, like Elliott’s poem, I think in Lent we also spend time thinking about our brokenness because there is value to sitting with who we are…truly are without all the masks we use to look better to others and ourselves… because then, when we come to Easter just as we are, having been stripped of our defenses, those things we think we need to be, do, believe, say in order to make the shame go away – when we enter Easter just as we are, the good news of resurrection is that that is exactly how God receives us and loves us.  The stripping away, acknowledging our brokenness is not because we have to come clean – admit these things – before we can be worthy of God’s love.  We do it to remind ourselves that we come clean, worthy, loved, just as we are.

Sometimes that feels like a miracle to us – the moment of feeling loved for who we truly are.  Sometimes, just like with miracles, we don’t believe it’s possible.  If we ever get a taste of feeling like we are enough, worthy of love no matter what is true about us inside or out feels like water has been turned into wine.  But like the wine, the miracle keeps on flowing.    

When that miracle touches our lives, we can’t help but know that there should be no purifying jugs at our doors either.  Only wine served here.   The very, very best wine…lots and lots of it…not matter if you show up early, late, hated, polished, a trembling mass of inadequacy, or whatever. 

We’re so used to the jugs being filled with water.  We’re so used to thinking we, and sadly others, have to be good enough, faithful enough, Christian enough just to come in the door…to be loved.  But if we can sing those words with Elliott – believe that we come and are invited into the banquet just as we are…without having to change…paradoxically we are changed…we are changed into the wine.  When people come, all they will find at the door is lots and lots and lots of really, really, really good wine.  No purification necessary.  Here, we say, you come clean…just as you are.  Amen.

Sunday, January 13, 2013

Named




Isaiah 43:1-7; Luke 3:15 – 17, 21-22
Baptism of Christ:  January 13, 2013


There’s wonderful diversity in how we all have come to have the names we do – first and last names both.  Some stories are more complicated and/or more interesting.  Some people love their names, some struggle with their names their whole life, some people re-name themselves at some point in their life.  Names are one of many ways we can celebrate and honor our diversity. 



Lydia was given a name by Phat, her first mother:  Phat named her “Kim,” and following the conventions of Vietnam, this meant her full name was Bui Thi Kim.  Because Lydia was an infant when I adopted her, I felt like I could also give her a name that I chose for her – well two, actually:  Lydia and Klepfer.



Some of you may have noticed that Lydia has adopted – so to speak – an interesting relationship with her names.  She knows she is Lydia.  When anyone says her name, she knows it’s her they are talking about.  But ever since she first started saying her name, she has called herself “Kim.”  At first, I’m sure, it was because I have always affectionately called her “Lydia Kim,” and “Kim” was easier to say than Lydia.  But it continues – even now that she can say Lydia, most of the time she still calls herself Kim. 



When she writes her name, it is “L-Y-D-I-A.”  When you ask her what that spells, she says, “Kim.”  When she meets another person named “Lydia,” she calls them “Kim.”  It’s how she introduces herself, and it’s the name her stuffed animals use when telling her how much they missed her while she was at school.  At some level Lydia and Kim are the exact same thing to her. 



I love this – I delight in this and encourage it.  For me, it symbolizes Lydia’s wonderful, complicated identity, and I hope as she ages her names will be a way for her to delight in her story and identity as well. 



Names are important.  Maybe more important in some cultures than others, but they are important.  We’re careful with decisions around our children’s names.  We know it matters – for all sorts of reasons.  Names are about who other people think we are, and who we think we are.  This is, of course, so true in the bible.



Abram and Sarai become Abraham and Sarah.  Simon becomes Peter.  Saul becomes Paul.  Each of these new names indicates something about who they are, and signal a monumental shift in their story and identity.  When their names are changed it means they become something larger than just their individual selves. 



Abraham and Sarah are now not just husband and wife trying to have children…they are to be the parents of a multitude of nations.  Simon is not just a fisherman – he is the rock (Peter) on which the church will be built.  Saul is no longer the man who persecuted Christians, he is a part of the body of Christ. 



And then there is the renaming of Jacob…the renaming that our Isaiah passage picks up on.  After a long night of wrestling with the divine, Jacob’s name went from that of an individual to the name God would use for an entire people – the chosen people:  Israel.



The people to whom the prophet Isaiah is speaking, the people named Israel, felt they had lost their name when they were defeated by the Babylonians and forced into exile.  They thought of Israel not just as the name of their country, but as an identity – as the name God gave them.  In Babylon, they felt like a nameless people embedded in a country that had no interest whatsoever in their identity – in who they are as human beings.  With the loss of political identity came the loss of their spiritual name; their divine identity.



Into this time of exile and desperation – this loss of identity – God, through the prophet Isaiah, speaks, “O Jacob: O Israel.  Do not fear, I have called you by name, you are mine.”  To be called by their name – the name God used for them...they were not forgotten.  God assures them that they have been claimed by God.  “You are mine.”  Their identity – spiritual identity – was reaffirmed.



Then God goes on to say, “When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you…because you are precious in my sight, and I love you. ” I’m not sure I can even imagine how that felt to the Israelites.  To be named “Israel” again was to be reminded of God’s endless, unconditional love for them and presence in their lives, no matter where they lived or how others saw them.



Fast forward about 600 years to Jesus’ baptism and we hear again about God calling out a name.  Yet again the Jews are living in exile, even though this time they are technically living within the borders of old Israel.  They are nameless, mere numbers to the empire.  Just three weeks ago, on Christmas Eve, we heard that when Jesus was born the concern of the Emperor was to count the people – to call for a census, changing people into numbers and statistics for the sole purpose of taxing them.



Into this exile the author of Luke tells the people the story of Jesus’ baptism.  When most of us think of Jesus’ baptism, we picture John the Baptist right there with him.  It is in part a story about the relationship between John and Jesus.  But not so in Luke.  We don’t know who baptizes Jesus.  John has already been thrown in prison by Herod, so it can’t be him.  It doesn’t seem to matter to the author who baptizes Jesus.  In fact in Luke, the focus seems to be less on the dunking in the water.  The actual act of baptism passes by quickly.  “After Jesus had been baptized,” the text says.  That’s it.



I think that’s because this scene is all about God’s action, just as in Isaiah God speaks and names.  In doing so God claims people as loved – requiring no previous action on the part of the people.  In essence, no one baptizes Jesus.  Instead, in calling out his name, God transforms baptism from being the requirement for forgiveness – as John had preached – to being the occasion for calling us by name.  The baptism sets up the big reveal.  The heavens open, the Holy Spirit comes like a dove, and God says, “You are my child, the beloved.  I delight in you.”  No human action required.



People at that time had a tendency to believe that their exile was a punishment for their sins.  We see this expressed by the authors of the Hebrew Bible.  This is undoubtedly true of the Jews living in Jesus’ day.  They surely wondered what God thought of them that they should be so oppressed, and what they could do to earn God’s favor.  Responding to this question, God speaks and calls them by name:  Beloved.



Fast forward 2000 years, and I think we too are living in a sort of exile, and we see it in how we name people.  I don’t mean how we give names to children.  I mean how we name one another in our culture.



Think about those emails you get, those advertisements that sometimes pop up on your computer screen, those mailings you receive, that start out addressing you by name.  “Kirsten, have I got the credit card for you.”  They may be using my given, personal name, but in reality I am only one name to them:  Consumer. 



Computers today are programmed to delve deep into my unique being: learning my preferences, habits, desires.  When people do this, it is an act of love.  When we get to know someone and begin a friendship, we want to know what they like, what they want and hope for, what is meaningful to them so we can know them and delight in who they are.  But when credit card companies and advertisers and insurance companies do this, it is not an act of love – it is an act of exploitation.  It is meant not to learn about one’s desires and hopes, or what people find meaningful – it is meant to exploit and shape those things in order to sell us something. 



We also “name” people in other ways that take away their true identity:  “sinner,” “sick person,” “poor person,” “enemy,” “the rich,” “liberal,” “conservative.”  We use these names so we can categorize people, use them, manipulate them, discount them, and dehumanize them.  These names are veils that obscure their true identity, not reveal it.  What happened after Jesus was baptized, what God said to him, is the antidote to this – to this exile from our true names – God calls out our name so that all these veils disappear and we are simply “beloved.”



Today, we celebrate baptism – we will baptize Graeme.  It’s an occasion for all of us to remember our baptism.  And let’s be clear – this doesn’t mean to remember our baptism in the church by a pastor or priest – it means to remember our baptism that happened when Jesus was baptized – before Jesus was baptized…it was when God created us and called us our first name:  “Good,” as it says in Genesis.  The baptism of Jesus, was done by no agent other than God.  It wasn’t done by a church, but rather was done with the waters of the womb as soon as we were born – whether we have ever stood, kneeled, or been held in someone’s arms at the font or not.



I think the act of baptism – the one we do here in the church – is a significant ritual in the church.  It symbolizes many things, on many levels.  Washing, renewal, new life, membership in God’s family.  Baptism is significant because it reminds communities of the commitments we make to each other to walk this journey together, helping one another, teaching one another what it means that God has called us each by name. 



In the Presbyterian church we baptize babies to remind ourselves that nothing is required for God to claim us – to call us beloved.  No statement of faith, no membership, no cognitive or physical ability – nothing.  As soon as we are born – from that moment we are claimed, and named by God.



But we should also remember that the act itself doesn’t do anything that is not already done.  We baptize to remember that we share in the baptism of Jesus.  It is a ritual meant to evoke the whole scene described in the gospels.  It’s not the church, it’s certainly not me, that baptizes.     



When we baptize we are to imagine that the heavens are opened, the holy spirit descends like a dove, and God speaks our name:  “Graeme, my child, Beloved.”  The water washes away the dehumanizing labels and names we are given by others and ourselves, and reveals our God-given name.   



No matter what anyone else calls us, no matter what it means when someone else uses our name, no matter what we have done, no matter who we are, have been or are going to be, no matter what we believe, doubt, love or hate…the deepest possible truth about who we are is found in the name God gives us:  Beloved. 



This is the promise made to Graeme.  It is also our hope for how he experiences life.  When we baptize him this morning, remember that that is the setup for the great reveal:  When he leaves the font and as he grows up in this church, we speak to him God’s words:  You are God’s child;  You are beloved; We will remember your name – no matter what you do, who you become, where you go, or what you believe. 



That is our promise to Graeme.  Of course, Graeme also offers us something wonderful:  he is yet another occasion for us to remember our own baptism: to remember that every day, the heavens open, the dove descends, and God calls us by name:  Beloved.  Thank you Graeme.  And thanks be to God.  Amen.