The Calling

The Calling
Isaiah 42:1-7
Baptism of the Lord
January 8, 2023

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.

Thus says God, the Lord,

who created the heavens and stretched them out,

who spread out the earth and what comes from it,

who gives breath to the people upon it and spirit to those who walk in it: 

I am the Lord, I have called you in righteousness,

I have taken you by the hand and kept you;

I have given you as a covenant to the people,

a light to the nations, 

to open the eyes that are blind,

to bring out the prisoners from the dungeon,

from the prison those who sit in darkness.

 

Blair Moffett is a tall man with a beard, and a really good friend. He grew up in the hills north of here, is retired now, and lives on a lake in New Hampshire. A Presbyterian minister, from a long line of Presbyterian ministers, he’s done a lot of things, gone to a lot of places, taught at Yale Divinity School, and served congregations large and small. We’ve spent a lot of time together, but not so much in recent years.

Yet he’s the kind of friend that we can pick up right where we left off. A year, two, or three may go by. But we connect on a phone call or see one another a meeting. After a firm handshake and a quick, we jump into the next paragraph after the last conversation broke off.

We catch up on family updates, or projects that we’ve have been working on. We compare the books we’ve been reading and talk about our activities in our communities. He asks about my musical exploits. I will inquire if he’s still playing the electric bass at his Congregational church in Wolfeboro. Then there’s a pause; and he asks the question at the bottom of it all: How are you living out your baptism?

I don’t know what you talk about with your friends, but I can guarantee that’s the question he will always ask me. And it’s the kind of question that I have to stop and consider before I answer. How are you living out your baptism? Your baptism.

For a lot of us, maybe most of us, baptism is a distant memory – if we remember it at all. If we did a quick survey, we might discover that, whether we were baptized as children, as teenagers, or as adults, baptism is an event way back in the past. Most of will access the memory only through the rear-view mirror. It was back then, sometime ago, and life has moved on a good piece since then. 

I was baptized on March 19, 1961, in the North Springfield Presbyterian Church of Akron, Ohio. I was just over a year old. Dad had taken his first job out of college, moving us to the edge of Akron from eastern Indiana. It was near the end of the national baby boom, so there were a handful of babies baptized that day. It was not an individualized event. According to the accounts, a pastor named Duffy lined us up in our parents’ arms. He went down the line and repeated the ancient words, “I baptize you in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.”

The sacrament was stiff and perfunctory. Strictly by the 1946 worship book. I keep the certificate in my safety deposit box. No one has ever asked to see it. I didn’t have to show it to another minister to wiggle my way into confirmation class. I never had to flash it at the admissions office to get admitted into the seminary. And for a lengthy period of my life, I never gave a thought about when I was baptized.

Except I have this friend Blair, 81 years old, and whenever we catch up on the phone, he pauses, then asks, How are you living out your baptism? And if he were to ask you - or if I were to ask you - what would you say?

Our model for constructing an answer is best drawn from Jesus. He was baptized, not as a child, but as an adult. Not in a church, but hip-deep in a river. The baptism was administered by a wild preacher named John, who dressed like a character out of the Old Testament. John was baptizing as a way to prepare for the Messiah. “He’s almost here,” John said, “so give up your sins and let me wash you clean. We do this to get ready for what is to come.” And that worked well. People came from all over.

And then Jesus showed up. John said, “No, no, no. This is all wrong. It’s backwards. You should be dunking me, not me washing you.” To which Jesus said, “Let’s fulfill (or complete) the righteousness.” Which suggests he came to put John out of business. Nobody will have to prepare for the Messiah anymore when he’s standing right in front of you!

Jesus is baptized. It’s curious, so curious that nobody could have made it up. But one thing we know is that, in that moment, something changed. The New Testament writers pointed to something inexplicable. The sky ripped open from the other side. God’s Spirit came down on Jesus, looking like a dove. Then a Voice from Beyond Time said three things: “This is my Son. He is Beloved. My favor rests on him.”

Those are the same three things God announces when we are baptized. This is my Child; that is, you’re part of God’s Family. You are Beloved. The favor of God – the grace of God – rests on you. And after that moment, just like Jesus, there is a Calling on us to live out those words.

So my friend Blair wants to know: what does it mean for you to belong to God’s family, beloved and full of grace? How does your life reflect that? This is God’s Calling – for Jesus and for us.

When Matthew tells this story about the baptism of Jesus, he does something sly. He sneaks in the words of the prophet Isaiah from the poem we heard today in chapter 42. This is my Beloved, my Chosen One, in whom my Delights. Without dropping one of his typical quotation footnotes, Matthew is telling us about the baptismal calling for Jesus.

Jesus is identified: this is my Servant, the Servant of God

Jesus is embraced: I uphold him, I choose him, I delight in him.

Jesus is called to his life’s mission: he will bring justice (that is, righteousness) to all the nations.

Identified, embraced, and called. Matthew’s language is very subtle, especially for such a dazzling event – the sky torn open, the dove descending, the Enormous Voice out of sight. If we miss the connection, nine chapters later, in chapter twelve, old Matthew will spell it out for us and for all. He puts it right there in the text:

This was to fulfill what had been spoken through the prophet Isaiah:
  ‘Here is my servant, whom I have chosen, my beloved, with whom my soul is well pleased.
    I will put my Spirit upon him, and he will proclaim justice to the Gentiles.
    He will not wrangle or cry aloud, nor will anyone hear his voice in the streets.
   He will not break a bruised reed or quench a smoldering wick until he brings justice to victory.
     And in his name the Gentiles will hope.’ (Matthew 12:15-21. Cf. Isaiah 42:1-4)

 At that point in Matthew’s story, Jesus has been teaching and healing. The families bring their sick folks, and he heals every single one. He awakens their souls to the presence of God. He reveals the dominion of God has come close. All their preparations of repentance have prepared the way for God to come. People know Jesus is doing the work of God.

 And the greatest miracle of all is that he doesn’t call attention to himself. Ever notice that? Every time Jesus heals somebody in the Gospels, he says, “Don’t tell anybody.” Every time he casts out a harmful spirit or a troublesome demon, he says, “Keep it quiet. Get on with your life.” As the scholar Dale Bruner observes, Jesus is the Modest Messiah. He does his work quietly and inconspicuously.[1]

Jesus doesn’t bark like a carnival promoter, nor does he grandstand like a politician. He is not selling a product nor inciting a revolution. And why? Because his work is not about him – it’s about the people in need, and it’s about the God whose justice is revealed in their healing. He kneels beside the bruised and lifts them up. He sits beside the injured and dresses their wounds. He is the “savior of failures,” the companion for the cast-offs, the One who brings oxygen to those whose flames are flickering. And he never, ever, honks his horn to say, “Hey, look at me.” That’s how we can tell he is the Real Messiah, and not one more fake.

In the lyrics of Isaiah’s old poem, “He will not break a bruised reed or snuff out a smoldering wick until he brings justice to victory.” He does not wear out. He will not stop, until the justice of God fills the earth.

To echo the word of my old friend Blair, it all goes back to his baptism. Jesus heard he belonged to God, that he is God’s beloved, that he is the vessel of God’s grace for all people. And that’s when his life’s work began. That’s when heaven ripped open to spill onto the earth. That’s how the work of salvation began – quietly, steadily, largely out of sight, never calling attention to itself, yet oozing with the compassion of God.

So - - - how are you living out your baptism? It’s a present-tense question, for here and now, for me, for you. God loves us, claims us, and commissions us to show that infinite love to a broken-down, worn-out world. That’s what it means to live a baptism and not merely keep the yellowed certificate in a safety deposit box.

When we were baptized, there was water – maybe a lot, maybe a little; doesn’t matter. There were words – you are mine, and you have a home with a huge, inclusive family. And somehow, very quietly, there was the beginning of a calling for you from our God in heaven. It’s a calling to join Jesus in his work: to speak truth, to show care, to embody compassion, to kneel with those who can’t stand up, to hold those whom nobody else is holding, and above all, to point to the God who wishes to heal all that is broken.

So baptism is a sacrament, and maybe it’s more than a sacrament. Just maybe, it’s a way of life. A compassionate life. A quiet life. A generous life. A holy life. A Christ-shaped life. A life where the very Spirit of God has been breathed into us.

That means it’s a life of purpose and joy.

 

(c) William G. Carter. All rights reserved.

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[1] F. Dale Bruner, The Christbook: Matthew 1-12 (Waco: Word Publishing, 1988) p. 453.