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Sermon transcript for February 2, 2014

Deep Gladness
Matthew 5:1-12
Belmont UMC—February 2, 2014
Ken Edwards, preaching

Audio - MP3

Today’s Gospel reading is probably one of the most familiar texts of the Bible. When I was in elementary Sunday School we had a teacher who believed in memorizing scripture. Usually, this meant memorizing a verse, like John 3:16, but out most ambitious project was to memorize the Beatitudes. Our prize for successfully memorizing this passage was a pair of chopsticks. We were all pretty excited about winning these chopsticks, which in hindsight doesn’t make much sense, because in the rural parts of Robertson County in those days none of us had ever eaten Chinese food and had no clue as to how use chopsticks.

But I do think our familiarity with Biblical texts causes us to forget how impactful they were to the first hearers. The Beatitudes are not what the hearers would have expected.   

Jesus is describing the journey toward true happiness or the truly blessed life. The word “happy” “blessed” is translated differently in other versions of the Bible. N.T. Wright translates it “Wonderful News!” “Wonderful news for the poor in spirit! The kingdom of heaven is yours.” Wright says that this is “God’s wonderful news. God is acting in and through Jesus to turn the world upside down. . . to pour out lavish blessings on all who turn to God and accept the new thing God is doing.” (Matthew for Everyone).

The word here is translated “happy” by many modern versions, especially the Common English Bible, and this translation is consistent with the Old Testament translation (see Psalm 1). I like the word “happy” except for the limitation our cultural understanding of happiness puts on this word. To us happiness is fleeting and conditional. “I’ll be happy when it warms up!”

But the Beatitudes describe a journey toward something I call “deep gladness.” It is a journey toward a blessed, happy, glad heart whose gladness is deep and abiding and withstands circumstances and life changes. These persons described in the Beatitudes have found deep gladness and they are on the way to the new thing God is doing in Jesus.

But Jesus turns worldly wisdom on its head and it is likely that these words would have been received with gasps or maybe chuckles by the first hearers. The world of Jesus’ day, and the world we live in, believes that those who are strong, powerful and rich are the most blessed. Jesus says precisely the opposite. Barbara Brown Taylor says the Beatitudes can be summed as “Blessed are the upside down.”

Jesus says those who experience this deep gladness are the poor, the hopeless, the sad, the hungry, the humble, and those who have pure hearts, those who show mercy and those who make peace, and even those who are harassed and persecuted. Jesus is describing this new kingdom toward which we are all called to journey.

I have to admit that I struggled with writing the sermon this week, because every time I sat down to write I heard a voice in my head that said, “Read the text again.” And I’ve read this text over and over and in a variety of translations and paraphrases. My very goal-oriented self wanted to write this sermon on Tuesday but I could not write it until I had read the text over and over and over.

The last time I read it, at the least the last time before I felt permitted to write anything, I realized what the text does not say. It does not read, “Happy are the self-sufficient. . . “ or “Blessed are those who call themselves ‘self-made men and women’. . .” or “Happy are those who always feel entitled. . . .” “Blessed are those who always think they are right. . .” “Blessed are those who think they have all the answers. . .”

Thomas Merton wrote, “The things we really need come to us only as gifts, and in order to receive them as gifts we have to be open. In order to be open we have to renounce ourselves, … our autonomy, our fixation upon our self-willed identity.” (Conjectures of a Guilty Bystander)

But the people who find true happiness, the ones who experience deep gladness on this journey toward the kingdom, are the ones whose lives have made room for God. They have come to terms with the profound poverty of their own spirits, they know the deep hunger in their souls for God, they have made a place for God to come and reconcile their broken relationships, and they have made room in their hearts for possibility of forgiveness.

Former South African Bishop Peter Storey remembers serving in District 6 in Cape Town as a young pastor. This was the ghetto where mostly mixed-race and poor people lived. He said his life was profoundly shaped by this time of his ministry. Among the people he visited there, was a humble married couple living in two rooms. The husband was paralyzed from the waist down and each day someone would push his wheelchair the few blocks into the city where he would sell matches to make some money. His wife suffered from a twisted spine and hopped about with a crutch. He would visit them and take Holy Communion and he confessed that he visited more than he needed to. He writes, “I wish I could say it was because I cared so much for them, but the truth is more selfish: I went because I felt so close to God in that home.” (With God in the Crucible, p. 82)

I suppose Peter learned from this dear couple that he did not have to become poor or physically disabled to feel closer to God, but he would have to come to terms with his own poverty of spirit before he could know God in such a profound way. And so will we; and so will we!

These words from our hymn book have been in my head this week, “Come ye sinners, poor and needy, weak and wounded, sick and sore; Jesus ready stands to save you, full of pity, love and power.” (UMH, No. 340, words: Joseph Hart, 1759) I suspect these words describe the reality of who we are and where we are on our journey.
We come to church on Sunday mornings looking great. We clean up well and put on some nice clothes, either our best jeans or our finest suits and dresses. And no one would imagine how wounded and weak we’ve been for days, no one could see beyond our façade to our grief, our depression, our unresolved angers and our immense spiritual poverty. Truth is, what most of us really need is to fall down on our knees and cry out, “Christ, have mercy on me!”

What was the condition of your soul when you arrived here this morning, friends? Was there any space for God there? Did you arrive here incredibly hungry, with a deep longing to be filled with the Spirit of God? Is there room in your heart to forgive and to be forgiven? Is there space for us to live in peace with one another?

Adam Kelchner gave an altar call last week at 10:30 and invited us to come and pray. It kind of took us all by surprise and a lot of us needed to come to the altar, but we didn’t. But today we are all invited to come to this chancel, and open our hands in a humble posture that acknowledges our profound poverty of spirit and our deep hunger for God. And receive, receive and discover that deep gladness that comes only as a gift from God.


Sermon transcript for January 26, 2014

Matthew 4:12-23
Belmont UMC—January 26, 2014
Adam Kelchner, preaching

Audio - MP3

In Houston, Texas, a young African American man recounts how he worked in the family business with his father: In his words he says, my dad and I owned a business in a tough Houston neighborhood, a motel that catered to prostitutes and their customers. For my entire life, I literally lived in a house of pain. There were buyers and sellers and most of the sellers were female. It didn’t matter. My entire life, I spent every day in that place not caring who got hurt, and or even the cost. We profited from darkness. My business was the sex trade. I had no idea the ages of the girls who worked in and out of our place. I didn’t care.

Then Jesus proclaimed, ‘Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has already come near.’ Light has dawned on the region of death and the prophet Isaiah echoes, Land of Zebulun, Land of Naphtali, you who sit in darkness have seen a great light. In as something as a simple relocation from Nazareth to Capernaum, Jesus has fulfilled the ancient prophecy that holy light will disperse darkness from a region deeply plagued by violence and war.

Most of us would have difficulty locating Zebulun and Naphtali on an ancient map, much less a fragmented and divided map of our present Middle East. But these two locales were located in the northern reaches of ancient Israel. North of Jerusalem. And when the Assyrians invaded, Zebulun and Naphtali were some of the first regions to fall. These regions were held in low esteem and heavily oppressed by the conquering force. So no wonder that the prophet Isaiah and Matthew situate the dawning of holy light in a region known so well for foreign occupation and oppression. What could be a more fitting setting? They even call it a region of death. What is good news for a place like that? What is a life giving invitation to the people who live there?

Can you imagine, the power of Isaiah’s prophecy driving Jesus to retreat to places held in such low esteem? Land of deep darkness. Lands ravaged by outside forces, people treated as worthless. Jesus is declaring the kingdom of God drawing near wherever darkness prevails. A great light has dawned in Kandahar, Baghdad, Fallujah, and Damascus and no longer do these regions live in the shadow of death. That’s good news to communities held under the thumb of an oppressor. Christ retreats to these regions to proclaim, ‘The kingdom of heaven is near’ and to call his followers to their life long work.

The waves are breaking on the shore, the reeds blowing in the wind, there are people dotting the banks of the sea going about the work of the day making home and making money. Jesus is walking on the seashore, presumably a familiar one, since he’s made a home in Capernaum and he calls out to two brothers, Simon Peter and Andrew. Does he know these men? Are they familiar to him? ‘Come, follow me.’ You aren’t worthless. You’ve been fashioned in the image of God Almighty. I’ll take the skills you have heaving these nets to and fro and lead you to greater, eternal things. His walk continued and he called out to two sons of Zebedee. Come, experience the kingdom-align yourself with what God is doing in this overlooked place. Whatever he said must have promised life and life abundantly because they left their father in the boat that day.

Remember the man in Houston, whose family business created space for pimps, prostitutes, and call girls to work-one day he walked into a Methodist Church with his wife. And the church told him, Rudy, we love you. And for five more years, he ran the family business aiding a vicious and destructive cycle for Houston’s sex workers. And the church kept telling him, Rudy, we love you. And then he began believing it and he heard the voice of Christ-‘Come be part of my crowd.’

An invitation from Jesus the Christ to come and experience the living, powerful, life changing work of God Almighty is no joke. It’s not an invitation to come see if the grass is greener and the paycheck is bigger on this side of the lake than the other; it’s certainly no promise that health, wealth, and prosperity are divinely ordained for your future; in other words, it’s not the prosperity gospel that’s prevailing in our culture right now, it’s not an invitation to corporate ladder climb and put the pursuit of meaningless wealth above compassion and human integrity. Come follow me is an invitation to experience a great transition, a dislocation of creative sorts. It’s a transition of worthlessness to God’s worth. It’s a transition from addiction to the bottle and prescription pills to recovery, freedom, and restoration.

It’s a transition from the emptiness and despair of the soul to new life through the baptismal waters. It’s a transition for the bigoted oppressor who is called to repentance and hears anew that they are a beloved child of God in spite of a history of prejudice.

That was my transition. Quite honestly, in the early 2000’s I was a religiously driven bigot. I blamed our denominational woes on the gay community. I took delight when church trials began to defrock gay and lesbian pastors and then rejoiced when the verdict was read. And in the depths of that insidious prejudice and discrimination was a call to ordained ministry. Some time later Christ said: Beloved, we’re going to put your prejudice, animosity, and your homophobia in the grave. You’ve chosen to follow me and you don’t get to hold on to these things that carry no kingdom value. But what has kingdom value are the gifts of the Spirit poured out for you and all of creation. Cling to them; use them; and rejoice that the kingdom of heaven is among you.

Indeed, come follow me is a transition from idle meaningless work that pays the bills to the realization that God has given you gifts and passions that burn deep in your soul and when you use them in alignment with God’s vision for community, there is the fire of holy transformation.

Theologian Tom Long puts it this way: Our work is truly effective when it serves to express the will of God. The patterns of our lives are not made secure by the kingdom of heaven; the kingdom of heaven rearranges them into the new design of God's own making.
Come follow the Christ you who work at the medical center across the street and you will bring divine balm where suffering is deep. Come, follow the Christ you who labor in the courts of justice and you will be peacemakers. Come follow the Christ you who labor with your hands and demonstrate the beauty of God’s creation. Come follow the Christ all you who rest from your work.

If you only hear me say one thing this morning this is it: God calls on your everyday living, working, and playing to show love to a hurting world.

If you were here a few Sundays ago, you might recall it was Baptism of the Lord Sunday, recalling John the Baptist baptizing Jesus in the River Jordan. You were invited to come forward and receive water on your hands and hear these words: Remember your baptism and be thankful. Remember that you are baptized and be thankful. As you came forward, the pastors got to look you in the eyes and see your smiles and awe as we put the water on your hands. Many of you shared how rich and deep that service was-it struck a chord somewhere deep in your souls. That’s what God does in baptism and the celebration of Holy Communion. God takes the ordinary things, sometimes the things that are overlooked-water, bread, and grapes-and invites us to experience the holy. Like the four fishermen on the side of the Sea of Galilee, God takes our ordinary, the everyday, blesses it, and retools it to demonstrate love to a hurting world.

Today is a day to hear the waters flowing:
The waters that move through pipes,
Some waters fresh, some polluted,
Some falling from the sky, some rising from the earth,
Waters bringing life and hope,
Waters bearing waste and loss,
Waters cleansing and being cleansed.
Today is a day to hear the waters flowing:
The waters of baptism with which God birthed you,
Birthed us all anew in Jesus Christ,
And bids us come, and drink,
To slake our thirst,
And bids us go and share,
That thirst may be fulfilled for all.
Today is a day for hearing Christ’s call,
like those fishermen heard Jesus calling long ago—
to hear and to decide:
are we ready to follow Christ,
ready to declare and rejoice in his love,
and demonstrate his glory in the world?

We need to keep reading the gospels keeping an eye on Simon, Andrew, James, and John. They usually don’t understand the parables, they impede Jesus’ ministry to the crowds, and even Peter denies the Christ at a time of crisis. But this morning, Christ called upon them, and perhaps out of a deep longing for fulfillment, they put down their soggy nets so that Heaven might come on Earth.

This morning may be the first time you’ve ever heard that divine invitation, ‘come follow me’ and discover greater, eternal things for your life. Maybe you've heard it a hundred times over but never gave it much more than a passing glance. Perhaps your story is a bit like Rudy’s, caught in a darkness and despair and you’re surprised to hear of your belovedness before God. No matter, the invitation is still good. Come follow Jesus the Christ.

And this morning especially, I invite you to come to this chancel rail during our last hymn for prayer-pray for the journey, pray for those who journey with you, pray for those who’ve never heard that they’re God’s beloved, pray for those whose lives need transitions that lead to freedom and resurrection.


Sermon transcript for January 19, 2013

Come and See
John 1:29-42
Belmont UMC—January 19, 2014
Ken Edwards, preaching

Audio - MP3

There are three sentences in the verbal exchange between Jesus and the would-be disciples? Jesus asks, “What are you looking for?” They answer with another question, “Where are you staying?” Jesus responds, “Come and see!” 

“What are you looking for?” Jesus asks the two men who were following him. They were disciples of John the Baptist and they likely knew of John’s interest in Jesus. So they followed Jesus, not like disciples following a leader, they simply followed around behind him, curious, wondering followers. Jesus turned around and asked, “What are you looking for?”

I’m not sure those disciples knew the answer to his question. They may have felt vague about the notion of following this man, but they followed anyway. Something about him attracted their attention. And they followed.

What are we looking for? We sit here in the presence of Christ each week. Is Jesus asking us to ponder this question week after week? What we you looking for? What brings us to this place? What causes us to give up our morning at home to gather here? We could be home drinking a latte and reading the morning paper, or snuggled warmly in bed underneath the warm blankets. (It’s probably not good marketing for me to make that sound so appealing.) What are we looking for? What is it about Christ that bids us to follow him?

At some point in our journey we ask our selves this question or some question similar to it. Why am I here? Why have I followed this path? What does my faith really mean to me or to others? What am I seeking? These are the questions of searching and longing hearts.

One pastor said, “As a pastor I have found it helpful to begin with the assumption that most of us, myself included, are here at church for the wrong reasons.” (Bishop Will Willimon, Pulpit Resource, Vol. 42, No. 1, Year A, p. 14) We may have come for the wrong reasons (if there are any wrong reasons) but once in the door we found something far more than we could have imagined. We found joy in being a part of something bigger than our selves.

We may have come here looking for a place among the people of God, a place where we can know and be known, a place where we can be held accountable, loved and supported through difficult times. We are looking for a place where friends are like family and where we and our children can find spiritual growth and a sense of extended family. As a person who values community, these reason appeal to me.

We may have come here looking an answer to all of life’s persistent questions. What is the meaning of life? What is the will of God? Some of our questions can be answered in our relationship with God, but there will be many others for which there is no easy answer. We came looking for pat answers to life’s big questions and that’s what got us in the door, but what we discovered was a lasting relationship with Jesus that kept us in the house. We came looking for the answers and have learned how to live with the questions.

We may have come here looking for someone who has the grace and hope to fill an emptiness we carry around inside of us. I believe God created us with a longing and a desire to know more of God. This is why those who hunger and thirst for righteousness are blessed and filled. In our theology we would call that prevenient grace—the grace that brings us to know God. Over the course of ministry I’ve heard many people say, “I felt like there was an empty place within me waiting to be filled.”

The disciples who followed Jesus may not have been able to express why they followed or what attracted them to him. And he asked them, “What are you looking for?”

They replied with what seems like an odd question, “Where are you staying?” The question appears to be a distraction or it appears to ignore Jesus’ question. But Tom Long says this is a theological question, not a hotel question. “Where are you staying?” It means, “What are you about?” It means, “Before we get too close to you, we want to know what you are working for in the world.”

What are you all about, Jesus? For the Gospel of John this question is answered in the names given to Jesus or the names he gives himself. I am the Door. I am the Good Shepherd. I am the Way. I am the Light. I am the Bread which has come down from heaven. Is this what we are looking for?

In the story of our text, John the Baptist gives Jesus another identity, saying, “Behold, the Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world!” When we think of lambs, we are apt to imagine softness and comfort, but the Lamb of God image of scripture was an image of strength. John’s disciples would have understood the image as one that evokes animal sacrifice. They would have pictured Temple priest sacrificing animals. The image is not for the squeamish. The image is messy and real.

In the church we like things to be neat and orderly. We like tidy and sanitized. I like to get my new bulletin before Sunday and see all the order it promises us. I like to know exactly what’s going to happen on Sunday. But Sunday comes and sometimes things don’t go as planned. The pastor forgets the liturgy and the microphone squeals loudly during the scripture reading and the acolyte sets the table on fire and the pastor spills grape juice all over the white paraments. One church I served used white grape juice for Holy Communion because they did not want red stains on their new carpet. As it turns out white grape juice makes a brown stain on carpet. We like everything to be neat and tidy, but life is messy and chaotic and out of our control a lot of the time.

I’ve shared about one of my favorite pastors when I was a teenager. His name was Jim and he was tall and lanky fellow from Arkansas. He had a kind and gentle spirit and I liked to be in his presence. Being around him during those years was transformative for me. Jim could also be passionate and prophetic. It was the mid 1960s when he arrived at our church and he was involved in the Civil Rights Movement, which did not always play well with the conservative, status-quo loving, farm families of our church.

We lived down the road from the church and I often walked to church through the backyards of our neighbors. I mowed most of those yards so I knew them well. This walk took me through the backyard of the parsonage. One day I saw Jim out in the back yard and he was working on something. As I got closer I saw he had a huge wooden cross laid across two old saw horses. It was obvious he had built the cross out of scrap wood and he was beating it with a hammer to distress it. He had smeared plaster on it in random places and it looked rough and ugly.

I asked what he was doing with the cross. Jim said, “I’m going to hang this cross in the back of the chancel where that awful painting of Jesus and the little lambs is hanging.” The painting was rather sentimental. Jesus is standing in a pasture, looking very handsome and well coiffed, and he’s holding a lamb and smiling. Gathered around him were other sheep and the sheep are looking up at him and smiling. I’m not kidding—smiling sheep!

I was really young but even then I knew Jim was asking for trouble. I knew there was a brass plaque on that painting but I couldn’t remember whose name was on it. I said, “You really think that’s a good idea?” He put his hand on my shoulder and smiled as though he could read my mind.

On Sunday Jim’s ugly cross was hanging in the chancel and I looked around to see the horrified looks on the congregants’ faces. There were lots of whispers and I’m sure a plot was being hatched before the first hymn could be sung to remove Jim’s ugly cross.

One of the ways Jim’s presence in my life was transformative was that he was constantly challenging our racism. Jim would meet with the youth on Sunday evenings and we would have these rap sessions about the issues of our time: the War in Viet Nam and the Civil Rights movement were hot topics. Jim would push us to think differently about the world around us.

Then April 4, 1968 came and Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. was assassinated as he stood outside a motel in Memphis, Tennessee. Jim went from being gentle to being fiery and prophetic. I recall the Sunday after Dr. King’s death, Jim’s face at church that morning was grim and he looked like he hadn’t slept for days. I knew his heart was broken.

He stood in the pulpit that morning and he said, “Some of you are not going to like my sermon this morning so I’m going to offer a few minutes of silent prayer. During that time some of you may choose to leave and I’m fine with that.” The church grew very quiet and still. Then there were sounds of rustling behind us and I looked back to see several families get up out of their seats and walk out the door.

Jim proceeded to call us out for our racism. I don’t remember the content of the sermon but I remember his passion and I remember the tears that ran down Jim’s face as he preached.

I was 16 years old and I still remember looking up at that ugly cross behind Jim in the chancel that day and thinking, “Today we do not need the image of little happy lambs; we need to see the ugliness of the cross.” We needed to come to terms with our own hatred and the ugliness of our racism. And we needed to get a glimpse of the Lamb of God whose sacrificial love has the power to take away the sins of the world.

Racism is still present in our country and we are often reminded that God is not finished with us yet. And we still need that Lamb who takes away our sins.

“Where are you staying?” they asked Jesus? “What are you about? What are you doing in the world?”

Jesus answered them, “Come and see!” Do we dare follow this Jesus and see who he is and what he is doing in the world today, and where he invites us follow?


Sermon transcript for January 12, 2013

Matthew 3:13-17
Baptism of the Lord Sunday
Belmont UMC—January 12, 2014
Ken Edwards, preaching

Audio - MP3

Our theme today is “remember” and I was telling someone the other day that I don’t have to remember anything because I have Google. Google helps (especially as our brains age), but remembering is important as a spiritual practice. It is a part of our spiritual heritage and it is a sacred to us as a people of faith.

Several months ago Kathryn, my wife, and I were driving back from Dickson, Tennessee and we detoured through Craggie Hope and Kingston Springs. I served the two churches there when I graduated from seminary. Craggie Hope is still there in a little hollow a few miles from Highway 70. Nobody knows how it got the name Craggie, but it’s kind of world unto itself. When I was the pastor there were about 15-20 people who came to church but there were more who claimed that Craggie was their church and they’d show up for picnics and Christmas pageants and on Easter Sunday.

There was a young boy there named Michael who decided to be my buddy. He would talk to me on Sundays and sit with me at pot luck dinner. Michael would call me in the summer and say, “Momma said we could go swimming today, if you would take us.” And I would drive over to Craggie Hope in my little red Subaru station wagon and pick up 4 or 5 kids and we’d go down to the swimming hole at Turnbull Creek and spend the afternoon playing in the water or sitting on the sandbar talking. Besides playing, my job was to be lifeguard and to watch out for Cotton Mouth Snakes.

I led those youth in a Confirmation Class my last year there. None of them had been baptized and they all wanted to be immersed at the creek. As we drove past that swimming hole a few months ago I remembered taking them out into the water one at a time. The church members were on the bank singing “Where He Leads Me I Will Follow.” I remember their faces as they came up out of the water. Some of them had tears mixed with creek water. Some put their arms around me and said, “Thank you.” It was good to remember that day.

Do you remember your baptism?  Were you a baby, earlier than your primal memory can conjure? Your parents presented you at the altar. You wore the antique gown made by your great-grandmother, worn by every generation since. Your parents looked on with hope and possibility as the pastor placed water on your head and welcomed you as a new brother or sister in Christ.

Or were you were at the lake on a cold October Sunday? So cold the water made you wonder if you were experiencing a spiritual awakening or simply hypothermia. Your warm relatives and friends stood on the bank smiling back at you as the pastor pushed you under the choppy brown water.

Or were you were surrounded by your friends from Confirmation at the altar on that special Sunday—a prelude to membership—a time to profess your faith and to confirm all God had been doing in your life. You were nervous, not fully understanding. The pastor had assured you that you did not have to know everything, but you must be ready to set out on the journey. It felt good to be there surrounded by those people who loved you.

Do you remember your baptism?  I don’t remember mine. I was a baby in the Mt. Zion Methodist Church in the early 1950’s.  There are no pictures. I doubt my parents had bought the little Brownie camera they used to take photos from our childhood. They were a young couple, eking out a living on a farm. There is a certificate in a baby book somewhere.

When I was serving a church in Lebanon, TN, I had a visit from a retired pastor I had known most of my life. He came by to have some coffee and offer some advice. One day he said, “You don’t remember this, but I baptized you when you were a baby.” It was good to know that this man, whose heart was so full of God, was the one who placed the water of baptism on my tiny head.

Do you remember your baptism? We do not practice rebaptism in the United Methodist Church, but we invite persons to reaffirm their baptism and we say, “Remember your baptism and give thanks.” (words that are attributed to Martin Luther) What does that mean? It means to remember that you are baptized! And it means so much more.

It means to remember that you are loved by God! God made a crucial decision for you at the very beginning of your life. God chose to love you--regardless of your pedigree or place in life. Baptism is primarily a celebration of God’s choice—this is why we baptize babies and others who cannot answer for themselves. We’re not celebrating their choice, but God’s. God loves us without condition and everyday we need to celebrate it, share it, and remember it. As you come to the chancel rail to renew your baptism, you celebrate the love of God in your life.

It means to remember that you are part of a faith community! You enter the faith community through the doors of baptism. Baptism is not a private experience, but a corporate experience. Baptism is a celebration of our relationship with God and with the people of the church. We are not alone. All baptisms include promises of the community to love and nurture us in our faith.

I do not remember being baptized, but I do remember that community. I remember the people who loved me, the people who cared for me and my family. When my grandparents died, it was that community that came around us and helped us. When I was confirmed, it was that community who gathered around me. When my Dad was injured and couldn’t’ harvest the crops, it was that community who came to help. I remember Sunday School teachers, youth counselors, pastors, friends. Do you remember them?

To remember your baptism means to remember who you are! At Jesus’ baptism there is a voice, “This is my son, my beloved, with whom I am well pleased.” At our baptism we hear this same affirmation from God, “You are my child—nothing pleases me more than to call you my child.” As you come to the chancel let your mind hear those words again. “I love you, you are my child, and nothing could make me happier.” You are a child of God, your new identity, new name that defines who you are, the values of your life, and the way you live.

To remember your baptism is to remember that you are called into the ministry of the church. I think it was Bishop Will Willimon who said that our baptism is like an ordination. Jesus entered the Jordan a carpenter and left a Messiah. Baptism is our entrance into the ministry to which God has called us and gifted us. Each of us is called by God to be in ministry in and through the church.

A few months ago I was remembering some baptisms that took place at a swimming hole in Turnbull Creek, near Craggie Hope. It was good to remember.

I saw Michael’s mother at Annual Conference a few yrs ago. I asked her about her son. She said he’d grown up, gotten married, and had a baby. He had recently gone through a dark and tragic time in his life and he’d been depressed. One night he’d come home to visit. She put on a pot of coffee and the two of them had stayed up talking through the night. He told her the best time of his life had been those summers at the creek and then being baptized there. He talked about me, about Sunday School teachers, friends, pastors he had known and loved. In his deepest time of need, he found himself remembering his baptism and being thankful.

Why remember? Because we forget, we lose our way; we lose sight of God’s love, and because remembering is sacred to us.

If you are here today and you’ve never been baptized, God’s grace is extended to you. We invite you to take part in this covenant as a hope of your future baptism. All of us together will remember and be thankful.



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