I’m always amazed at the way a chance remark can sometimes stay with me for weeks, informing my understanding of what’s going on around me and touching almost everything I do. Those of you who were present this past Wednesday for either of our services celebrating the Epiphany heard me tell about how something I learned before Christmas has done exactly that.
The week before Christmas, I was privileged to attend a lecture on Art of the Nativity, presented by Professor William Fredlund at the Institute for the Study of Western Civilization. Professor Fredlund is a delightful lecturer who connects the dots about various elements of history in a way that brings insight about the development of our traditions and our faith. Before the slideshow began, he spoke to us about the way art reflects the culture and beliefs in which it emerges and pointed out that the popularity of paintings of the Nativity grew at the time of the Protestant Reformation, as theological emphasis shifted from Jesus’ suffering and became more grounded in hope.
After he gave us some background, Professor Fredlund showed us how the conventions surrounding the painting grew. There’s always a mother and baby, of course. And Joseph—usually tucked away in a corner, looking somewhat elderly and tired. There’s always a cow and a donkey. One of each—never more or less. There may be an angel or two. There might be shepherds and sheep, and there might be the three kings—all depending on whether the emphasis was on Luke or Matthew or an amalgam of them both. It was fascinating to see the way the painting styles changed over the decades. The early nativity scenes built on Eastern iconography and showed the holy family in a cave. Then came the rudimentary roof which grew in time to become a shed or arbor that sometimes had grand and glorious proportions and enough glitter sprinkled around to indicate the royalty of the holy child. Toward the end of the lecture, the professor mentioned that artistic interpretation of the scriptures sometimes hold surprises for us and described a painting in which the magi were associated with a boat. He said they must have taken the warning in their dream to return to their homes by another way quite literally and decided to abandon their camels. We all laughed, but Professor Fredlund’s words have stayed with me, and over the weeks, a new question has emerged for me: After we’ve seen Jesus, are we able to journey in the same way we did as we moved toward him? Where do we go—how do we journey after we’ve been to the manger—after we’ve seen the light of Christ? How does our path change? The magi had the stars to guide them after their visit to the Child. What guides us on our journey?
Today we celebrate his Baptism of Jesus, and—in a few minutes—we will remember our own baptism by renewing our baptismal covenant. As we prepare to do that, it’s probably appropriate to consider the gospel we’ve just heard. What led Jesus to the Jordan to be baptized by John? What did he know in that moment when he emerged from the water and heard the voice saying “You are my son, the beloved; with you I am well pleased.”? The truth is that we’ll probably never know for sure about the path that led to that moment. It’s unlikely that we’ll ever know what was in Jesus’ heart and mind that day. It’s also unlikely we’ll ever know how much he knew about the path that lay ahead of him, but the gospels give us some clues. As his ministry progresses, we see Jesus growing into his role as healer, teacher and leader. We see him learning that his ministry is not limited to the Jews of his own community. We see him learning the price of his ministry during the night in Gethsemane.
We’ll never know the truth of Jesus’ experience, but it’s likely that his knowledge of the road ahead on that day of his baptism was just as limited as ours is at the moment of our own baptisms. Baptism is not the end of the path. It’s not the goal. It’s not the get-out-of-jail-free card. Baptism is the beginning—the beginning of our new relationship with God—the beginning of our new walk with Christ—the beginning of our new life with the Spirit. Baptism is the beginning of the path leading to the reign of God made fully present here on earth.
We enter the reign of God—the kingdom of heaven—one step at a time. Jesus was led by his understanding of God’s great love for all creation. We are led by Jesus’ teaching, by his example, by the prodding of the Holy Spirit, by our own experience of the Holy, and by all those who have gone before us. In our Episcopalian tradition, we are also led by the promises we make in the baptismal covenant—the promises that show us the road we’re called to travel as disciples of Christ. As followers of Christ, we are called to the discipline of loving God and loving our neighbor as ourselves. We are called to the discipline of action—not to wait for a warm fuzzy feeling to well up in our hearts but of decision but to decide to love. As followers of Christ, we are called to transformation, and the promises of our baptismal covenant are the road map to that transformation.
Every time we read those promises, I’m struck that any one of them is the work of a lifetime. A focus on any of these promises would be enough to guide our lives, but we commit—at least four times a year—to live our lives according to all five of these promises. I freely admit that these promises seem daunting to me. These promises also give me new heart. Our response to each question is “I will, with God’s help.” With God’s help. We can’t do this by ourselves, and—thanks be to God—we don’t have to. God comes to be with us as we work to live in the way God calls us to live. As if that weren’t enough, God doesn’t seem to expect us to do it perfectly every time—or quite possibly—any time. What God does seem to expect is that we’ll do the best we can and trust in God to take up the slack.
When we truly do our best to live into these promises—when we truly do our best to bring our lives as individuals and as a parish family into alignment with these promises—I can only believe that God rejoices in the step we have taken to bring God’s reign into being.
So, as we enter this season of Epiphany—the manifestation of God’s love in the world—and enter this new year, I encourage you to do a bit of reflection at the end of each day. Think about the promises we will make in a few minutes. Think about your thoughts, feelings and actions during the day that’s ending. Offer all those things to God—all the things done and left undone—all the joy—all the anger—all the sorrow—all the thanksgiving—all the hope. Offer all of it to God. And listen—listen for the voice: “You are my child, the beloved; with you I am well pleased.”