Sermon for the Baptism of Jesus, January 10, 2021
      There are no infancy narratives in the Gospel of Mark. Unlike Luke, Mark says nothing about the birth of either John the Baptist or Jesus. He offers no information about their antecedents. The two simply appear as adults. The good news of Jesus Christ begins with their encounter at the river Jordan, at the boundary of settled territory and the wilderness. It is a passage from the defined into the unknown. When Jesus comes to John to be baptized, he moves from the private life of a devout Jew with a home and a trade to the very public position of an itinerant preacher and teacher. He is not just beginning a new life; he is also leaving another one behind. 
     In a commentary on this text a friend of mine wrote, “ . . . [T]he meaning of Jesus’ baptism for us is that we are baptized into something. A fundamental change takes place in baptism at whatever age.” I wonder what change Jesus was anticipating. Did he have a clear idea of what he was letting himself in for? Did he weigh the pro’s and con’s? Or when the time came, did he just up and make his move without calculating the cost? God had called him; the Baptist was expecting him; to the banks of the river Jordan he must simply  go.
      But why a baptism of repentance, a washing for the forgiveness of sins? Why was Jesus baptized into that, when he himself was untouched by the damage of the fall and remained unblemished throughout his life? Sin is defiance of the will of God; it can be a matter of things done or things left undone. Whether by carelessness or with deliberate intent, we turn away from our neighbor and from God. We do harm. In this regard Jesus was surely without sin. It is his uncompromising obedience to the will of God that brings him to John the Baptist this day and that will ultimately bring him to death on a cross. But while that faithfulness keeps him from sinning, it does not shield him from sin. 
     Two weeks ago we heard the story from Luke’s Gospel (2:22-35) of Joseph’s and Mary’s trip with their infant son to the temple in Jerusalem. Simeon takes the child in his arms and blesses him. Then he turns to Mary and says,  “This child is destined for the falling and the rising of many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be opposed so that the inner thoughts of many will be revealed — and a sword will pierce your own soul also.” Jesus himself may not sin, but the life he leads becomes the occasion for the sinning of others, the stone of offense upon which they stumble and fall through their anger, fear and selfishness. No wonder the words of the prophet Isaiah are used to describe him, “a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief” (Isaiah 53:3).
     Human sinfulness is like a thick, suffocating net thrown over us all, woven of twisted strands. We deliberately trespass so as to cause injury and secure our own advantage — this Jesus did not do. But we are also implicated in the sins of others. We participate in structures of violence and injustice we do not know how to escape. We watch helplessly as even our righteous actions at times trigger unrighteous responses that do harm we never intended. “We are baptized into something,” my friend wrote; this is what Jesus was baptized into when he came to the river Jordan. He took on human sin to break its power over us. He called it out relentlessly, in conflict after conflict from that day forward. This surely bruised his heart; ultimately it cost him his life.
     “And just as he was coming up out of the water, [Jesus] saw the heavens torn apart and the Spirit descending like a dove on him. And a voice came from heaven, ‘You are my Son, the Beloved, with you I am well pleased.’” The very wording of this description marks his baptism as a foreshadowing of the crucifixion. According to Mark, the revelation made privately to Jesus with the rending of the heavens and the dove’s descent at the beginning of his ministry is confirmed openly by an astonished Gentile at the end of his life. “Then Jesus gave a loud cry and breathed his last. And the curtain of the temple was torn in two, from top to bottom. Now when the centurion, who stood facing him, saw that in this way he breathed his last, he said, ‘Truly this man was God’s Son’”  (Mark 15:37-39). Indeed, a fundamental change has taken place with Jesus’ baptism, and for him there is no turning back.
     So it is with us. We are baptized into Christ’s death so that we might exchange the sin that engulfs us for the mercy that God freely gives. Luther wrote, “For if my heart accuses me and witnesses against me that I have done evil, I immediately turn away from evil and take my refuge in Christ, saying, ‘Christ has done enough for me. He is just. He is my defense. He has died for me. He has made His righteousness my righteousness, and my sin His sin.’” Jesus emerged from river Jordan at his baptism bound to human sin so that through the baptism we receive in his name we might rise free, day after day. 
      “We all dwell in the here and now; we all have actual selves, actual lives. But what are they?” writes Joshua Rothman. “Selves and lives have penumbras and possibilities — that’s what’s unique about them. They are always changing, and so are always new; they refuse to stand still.” Jesus shouldered our sin, but his baptism also bound him to a life full of possibility for healing and transformation. As he came up out of the water, God blessed him and sent him forth into the unknown, a world seething with sin yet ripe with promise. We have seen and heard things this past week that many of us, growing up in this country, never imagined could happen, and the shock of it has stopped us in our tracks. But not for long. We can refuse to stand still, paralyzed by the evil confronting us. We can find our way beyond the danger, because we are a people in motion, bound, like our Lord, by our baptism to a life full of possibility for healing and transformation. Amen.
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