Gloria Dei Lutheran Church

Mark 1:4-11 + Baptism of Jesus + January 7, 2024

Gloria Dei Lutheran Church + Pastor Bradley E. Schmeling

We have a set of 52 angel cards, each with a word, like Strength, Honesty, Integrity, Transformation, Harmony, etc. They also have a cute little picture of an angel acting out the word. The point of these little devotional cards is to help you see more clearly the spiritual dimension of your life.   If you’re thinking about your week, for example, by using the word “Tenderness,” what will you see?

I remember one time, using them at home by myself, I was exasperated by my work at the church, frustrated by our failures, wondering who I was really mad at, and picked the card, “Abundance,”complete with the picture of an angel surrounded by piles of fruit.  I threw it back hoping for a word that might confirm by sense of emptiness and frustration.  I stirred up the bowl and picked the same word:  Abundance.

I thought, “Alright, God, I get it.”  I’m not exactly sure my feelings changed at the moment, but I left the card on the coffee table because it felt like a voice from heaven urging me, tempting me, to see something different than what I wanted to see.

In today’s gospel text, Jesus receives the words that were to give shape to his life.  “You are my child, the beloved.  With you, I am well pleased.”  I’m pretty certain that Jesus struggled with all the same things we do:  self-doubt, despair, fear, insecurity, sadness that flattened his joy, frustration, impatience. The temptations that occur immediately after his baptism are proof of that. But when he came up from the water, he heard and grabbed hold of these words that came from the deep bowl of Israel’s tradition, from the coronation psalms.  The words are deeper than a divine “I like you.”  They are, of course, deeply affirming, but they also come with a mission attached, words that initiated Jesus ministry to join God and all those who went before to build a nation on the hill—a light to every people– that is bright with love, justice, community, and mercy, a world that flows out of God’s abundance.

Epiphany means “a-ha.”  That moment when all the pieces come together.  This must have been that moment for him. Because he knew he was God’s child, he could see everyone else as God’s precious child.  Because he knew he was beloved, he could see blessing in the most twisted souls.  Because God was pleased with him, he could be pleased with all those who crowded around him, even those that were difficult.

There’s a small part of our brain called the Reticular Activation System that turns on and off our perceptions of ideas and then determines the lenses through which we look at the world.  This is why when you learn a new word, you start hearing it all the time.  Or you buy a new car, and then you start seeing the same car in every parking lot and on every street.  You made a change, and then your brain starts to lay down that change as a track, literally a new neural pathway that makes you see differently. Brain chemistry and spirituality may be on the same team.[1]

In all the gospels, Jesus’ baptism is the prologue to his ministry.  It laid down the pathway for him.  Maybe that’s why we do baptisms, not because we need God to notice, or claim us in some new way, or move us from the unsaved to the saved category.  Maybe we do it because we need again and again, to hear the words, laying down the promise so that we come to see as God sees.

You are God’s beloved.

Imagine if we say that first before anything else.

First in the mirror when your hair is standing on end and your flossing your teeth

First when you see that image of the Palestinian child after the bombing or the families waiting for word about their hostage.

First when we pull up into the driveway of the family or friend that often disappoints.

First when we read about the predicted results of the Iowa caucuses.

First before we text, or call, or speak, or write.

In Myron Medcalf’s op-ed in the Star Tribune this morning, he says:

In the homeless encampments of the Twin Cities, I do not see a collection of mistakes or bad decisions or people who’ve given up or failed to make better choices. I only see humans who have encountered turbulence that’s complicated their ability to obtain and sustain permanent housing. I only see members of a community who deserve an opportunity to be measured according to the only bond that matters: our humanity. I only see people. The only way to shape the narrative about the individuals who are unhoused in the Twin Cities is to change the language in our conversations about them.[2]

The RAS system in our brain gets so trained to lead off with disgust or judgment; with disappointment or a sense of lack.  Beginning the year with the Baptism of Jesus, with these ancient words from heaven begins to reform the church and the world around us.

You are God’s beloved.

Sometimes it takes time to know why these words catch us, why they press themselves into our neural pathways.  Sometimes, frankly, it takes some work on our part to keep these words before us. Sometimes it will be so clear, an a-ha like Jesus had. It will take a lifetime to be washed into the Word made flesh.

In the end, Jesus becomes the final word, that word that binds us to the heart of God, the word that places its own image on us, the word that carries us to heaven—a word not randomly chosen from a bowl, but lovingly given from the God who breathed us into life, washed us into renewal, then took a step back to say, “Now, wow, that’s good.  That is really, really good.”

[1] Information about RAS from the introduction to the The Five Minute Journal, Intelligent Change, 2023.

[2] Myron Medcalf, They are homeless…and our neighbors.  Star Tribune, January 7, 2024, https://replica.startribune.com/infinity/article_popover_share.aspx?guid=b5c437af-1c81-41f1-ab14-360702c58124&share=true.