The Strangeness of the Good

Jesu Juva

St. Luke 3:15-22                                                                 

January 9, 2022

The Baptism of Our Lord-C                   

Dear saints of our Savior~

          Well, it’s over.  It was great while it lasted.  Christmas has come and gone.  Twelve days never zipped by so quickly.  It’s impossible not to notice the absence of Christmas.  Dried up, naked Christmas trees have been cast out to the curb like yesterday’s garbage.  And in the church, too.  My goodness, this place never looks so barren and empty and cavernous as it does on this Sunday—after the trees, and the wreaths and the poinsettias and the nativities have all been removed from this sacred space.

          But . . . right over there . . . that little baptismal font is still there.  It never moved—never went away.  It will never be tossed to the curb.  The font abides.  It doesn’t look like much—especially compared to those two big trees that graced this space.  But Christmas would be pretty meaningless without that font.  Christmas without baptism would ring hollow.  Baptism takes Christmas and personalizes it.  The Christmas angel proclaimed good news of great joy for all people.  Baptism takes that good news of great joy and applies it to you (of all people)—to your life, to your death and resurrection.

          Today we hear how the Savior born in Bethlehem began that saving work of His.  And that saving work began with His Baptism.  It’s a strange beginning, to be sure.  If Jesus’ baptism by John doesn’t strike you as a little strange, then you need to pay closer attention.  John’s baptism was a baptism of repentance.  Of what did the sinless Son of God need to repent?  John’s baptism was for the forgiveness of sins.  Of what did the sinless Son of God need to be forgiven?  John was the lesser; Jesus was the greater.  Yet here, in the baptism of our Lord, the greater gets baptized by the lesser.  The sinless One gets treated as a sinner.  The sinless One stands shoulder to shoulder in solidarity with sinners like us.  This is strange.

          Baptism itself was something strange and new on that day when Jesus waded into the Jordan River.  It was new and strange to be baptized—to have water applied to you—for the forgiveness of sins.  In the Old Testament, you sacrificed an animal for forgiveness—the animal’s life in exchange for your life.  The animal’s blood was your forgiveness.  But John preached something radically new and different—not blood, but water.  Not a sacrificial death, but a cleansing bath.  Not something done at the temple, but in the river, in the wilderness.

          But for Jesus Himself to undergo this new baptism was so strange that even John Himself objected to it.  Luke doesn’t record it, but Matthew tells us that John initially refused; because he believed that Jesus should be baptizing him—which makes perfectly good sense.  The greater should baptize the lesser.  The sinless One should baptize the sinner.  But Jesus said it was necessary—necessary that He be baptized to fulfill all righteousness.

          This is the key to understanding John’s baptism and why Jesus had to

undergo it.  It was necessary—necessary that Jesus get wet in a sinner’s baptism—that He be treated like a sinner.  In that water He became one with us.  He declared solidarity with sinners.  He joined us in the filth of our rebellion—took a bath in our filthy, sinful bathwater.  He who knew no sin became sin for us.

          Was this Jesus really the Messiah—the One mightier than John, whose sandals John wasn’t even worthy to untie?  Jesus doesn’t seem to fit with what John had been preaching.  John’s version of Jesus has Him dishing out a fiery baptism, with a winnowing fork in His hands, ready to burn that worthless chaff with unquenchable fire.  But when the Savior waded meekly into the water, well, this was hardly the pitchfork-wielding, hellfire-and-brimstone judge John had been preaching about.  Did John get it wrong?

          No, this is just what one poet has called “the strangeness of the good.”  It is the strangeness of the God who loves us and wants to save us from our sins.  You can’t really understand the baptism of Jesus apart from the cross of Jesus.  Before Jesus could judge the living and the dead, He Himself had to be judged on the cross—like a Lamb led to the slaughter.  Before the faithless chaff could be burned with unquenchable fire, Jesus Himself had to endure the full fury and fire of the Law’s condemnation.

          What we see as two separate events, separated by time and space—His baptism and His cross—they are really two sides of the same coin in God’s strange economy.  Jesus Himself liked to refer to His death as a “baptism” He must undergo.  His saving work begins in the water; it ends—it is finished—on the cross.  His saving work begins with the Spirit descending and the loving voice of the Father from heaven; it ends with the Spirit departing, and the voice of the Father silent.  His work begins where He stands in solidarity with all the sinners—knee-deep in the same bathwater as prostitutes and tax collectors; His saving work ends as He hangs suspended between two evildoers—promising paradise to the one who receives Him in faith.  His saving work begins with water; and ends with water and blood flowing from His side.  At His baptism, the heavens are opened to Him; at His cross, the heavens are opened to sinners—to us.

          This is all so strange.  This is the strangeness of the good—the strangeness of God who has reached out to embrace you as His own dear child in the waters of Holy Baptism.  None of us would have scripted out our salvation in the way that God scripted it.  It’s all so strange, in fact, that you might just be tempted to dismiss it—to disregard it.  You might be tempted to view your own baptism as nothing more than a quaint old rite—a symbolic ritual with no lasting significance—just an occasion for relatives to “ooh” and “ahh” over a cute little baby.  Babies are, indeed, cute.  But baptized babies?  They have received the gift of faith.  They have been born again!  In the baptized, God Himself works forgiveness of sins, rescues from death and the devil, and gives eternal salvation.  Whoever believes and is baptized shall be saved.

          Don’t dis baptism!  By no means!  Baptism is the strange, yet beautiful, way that the story of your salvation is unfolded.  Don’t discount the strangeness of this good and perfect gift for all nations.  Jesus’ baptism foreshadows your own.  Just as the heavens were opened to Jesus, so were they opened to you in your baptism, when you were justified for Jesus’ sake.  The Holy Spirit descended on Jesus in the form of a dove; and that same Spirit descended upon you in your baptism—making your body His temple, marking you as one redeemed by Christ the crucified.  It was at His baptism that Jesus’ Sonship was first revealed—revealed by the voice of the Father no less.  And it is in your baptism that God calls you by name, and declares you to be His beloved son or daughter—and all this for the sake of Jesus, your Savior.

          The Twelve Days of Christmas have come and gone—as they always do.  Barely two weeks ago, we heard the good news of great joy that a Savior has been born—that the Word became flesh and dwelt among us.  He still dwells among us.  He still dwells within us.  How do you know?  How can you be sure?  Well, you are baptized.  The strangeness of the good has removed all your bad; and has given you the goodness—the righteousness, innocence, and blessedness—of Jesus, your Savior.

          In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.