This sermon was preached on Sunday, February 16 at St. Andrew's Episcopal Church in Wellesley, MA for the occasion of the Holy Baptism of Grace Vera Gaede. The texts for this sermon Deuteronomy 30:15-20, 1 Corinthians 3:1-9, Matthew 5:21-37, and Psalm 119:1-8.
When Paul refers to the church in Corinth as people of the flesh, and as infants in Christ, he does not mean it as a compliment. The tone of Paul's first letter to the church in Corinth is oftentimes exasperated, chastising. He contrasts them with people who live by the spirit, who would not be as squabbling and indulgent as the Corinthians. Paul means to remind these folks in Corinth of their own spiritual immaturity and how far they have to go.
Today, our parish will baptize an actual infant into Christ. So perhaps today is a good day to be reminded of our spiritual infancy, our need for milk. Lent is just around the bend, after all—forty days of challenging and growing our spiritual maturity. Paul's solid food of faith. Today, too, I feel especially confronted by a gospel passage in which Jesus demands so much more from me than I feel capable of: radical reconciliation, eradication of anger, mental and emotional self control. So I feel drawn back to the first rung of the ladder that beckons me upward. Back to the basics of baptism, from which our mature life in Christ springs.
Paul uses the term “people of the flesh” derisively, in contrast to people of the spirit. But that doesn’t mean our bodies are only here to hold us back from the spiritual life. Paul’s world, and ours, emphasize wisdom conveyed in words, books, and rhetoric. But our bodies, our flesh, carry spiritual truth for us. When we forget this, I fear that we may also dismiss the spiritual wisdom of the pre-verbal, the post verbal, and the non-verbal among us. We may lose what they have to teach us about God.
Grace Vera, the infant we’ll baptize at the 10 a.m. service, already has a relationship with God. She may not be able to consent to the promises of her Baptismal Covenant but she will feel in her adorable little body the fleshy experience of the sacrament.
She will feel the splash of warmish water on her face. And in those waters, she will be connected to the great, big story of which we are all a part. When we pray over the water of baptism, we recall the pivotal role of water in the greatest stories we know: creation, the flood, the parting of the Red Sea, Jesus's baptism in the Jordan. A river weaving in and out of sacred history. This water is that water, this life is all life. Every thing that has ever lived.
Grace will feel me trace a small cross of oil drawn her forehead. And in it, she will smell the distinctive scent of the chrism. As with all babies, scent is the first way Grace came to know her mother, father, her brother, the most important and special people in her life. She already knows what it means to have a specific smell that makes a person uniquely them. This anointing oil will mark Grace apart as well, as a priest in God's Kingdom, with a call and a purpose we cannot yet imagine.
Grace will receive the light of Christ in a candle. Although we do not trust her yet to hold it, although her eyes can’t see quite as far as ours, Grace already knows the other gift of Christ’s flame: warmth. Grace knows and needs the warmth of the embrace of others. She will feel me hold her. And as she grows, she, too, will learn how to be that warmth for others. We will teach her how to hug, how to hold hands, how to wrap a reassuring arm around another.
These are the basic truths we know in baptism, in the water, the oil, and the flame: we are all interconnected and interdependent. We have been given a special purpose. We are meant to share the warmth of God's love.
When I came back to Christ and church after a long desert of unbelief, it was not through words or even prayers, no Pauline rhetoric or preacher’s turn of phrase. It was through my body. The feel of the wine as it slipped down my throat and the familiar weird dryness of the wafer on my tongue. I knew the truth of God's love in my body, first.
So I invite you today to lean into the spiritual truths of the flesh, of what the infant knows of Christ. To begin again from the milk. When you receive the cup, feel the wetness of the wine. Smell its strange scent. If you receive a blessing or a healing prayer, soak in the warmth of the hand laid on you in love.
You do not have to be here at church, of course. Baptism is with you, in your body when you go from this place.
You can at any moment stop yourself to refocus on those truths we know and learn as infants, in our baptisms. Relationships are built on the small, simple gestures of daily life: the goodbye and hello kisses, the holding open of doors, the shaking of hands. Turns out your relationship with God is, too.
So here is a prayer without words that I wrote for the children. But it can be done by anyone, anywhere, any time – and very subtly, too.
First, feel the water of your mouth. Move your tongue to gather the saliva there.
In this water, you are linked to every human being, every tear ever cried, and every story ever told. Water was there at the beginning of creation, at your birth, and will be at your death. Every living thing on this earth depends on it to survive, including you. We need God, too, and each other. Feel the water that courses through your body and remember: we are connected to one another, to all living things, and to our creator. You are not alone.
Second, rub your fingers together. Between them is the natural oil of your skin.
Like the chrism oil, this oil has a fragrance: the unique scent of you. You may have been taught to be embarrassed by it, to hide it. That it’s a nuisance to be covered up. But do not forget that distinctiveness is exactly how human beings fall in love, how our children first know us. It’s what our loved ones will miss when we’re gone, when it no longer lingers on our things. So breathe yourself in and remember: God has set you apart for a special purpose. You are to do and be you.
Third, put a hand on a warm part of your body, or give yourself a hug. Or if you’re brave, lean into the person beside you.
In this warmth is God’s love. You are capable, more capable than you know, of sharing that love to those who need it most – those who are left out in the cold. Feel your warmth and remember: you carry the warmth of God’s love with you, wherever you go. You are to share it.
As Paul reminds us, neither Grace nor us can remain in infancy in Christ. We will promise, along with her parents and godparents, to bring her into the full stature of Christ. We will name the rungs of the ladder in our baptismal covenant, we will commit ourselves to striving. We will do all of this in the knowledge that it is God who does the growing, God who makes us ready. And we can always, always return to the water of baptism to begin again.
Amen.
When Paul refers to the church in Corinth as people of the flesh, and as infants in Christ, he does not mean it as a compliment. The tone of Paul's first letter to the church in Corinth is oftentimes exasperated, chastising. He contrasts them with people who live by the spirit, who would not be as squabbling and indulgent as the Corinthians. Paul means to remind these folks in Corinth of their own spiritual immaturity and how far they have to go.
Today, our parish will baptize an actual infant into Christ. So perhaps today is a good day to be reminded of our spiritual infancy, our need for milk. Lent is just around the bend, after all—forty days of challenging and growing our spiritual maturity. Paul's solid food of faith. Today, too, I feel especially confronted by a gospel passage in which Jesus demands so much more from me than I feel capable of: radical reconciliation, eradication of anger, mental and emotional self control. So I feel drawn back to the first rung of the ladder that beckons me upward. Back to the basics of baptism, from which our mature life in Christ springs.
Paul uses the term “people of the flesh” derisively, in contrast to people of the spirit. But that doesn’t mean our bodies are only here to hold us back from the spiritual life. Paul’s world, and ours, emphasize wisdom conveyed in words, books, and rhetoric. But our bodies, our flesh, carry spiritual truth for us. When we forget this, I fear that we may also dismiss the spiritual wisdom of the pre-verbal, the post verbal, and the non-verbal among us. We may lose what they have to teach us about God.
Grace Vera, the infant we’ll baptize at the 10 a.m. service, already has a relationship with God. She may not be able to consent to the promises of her Baptismal Covenant but she will feel in her adorable little body the fleshy experience of the sacrament.
She will feel the splash of warmish water on her face. And in those waters, she will be connected to the great, big story of which we are all a part. When we pray over the water of baptism, we recall the pivotal role of water in the greatest stories we know: creation, the flood, the parting of the Red Sea, Jesus's baptism in the Jordan. A river weaving in and out of sacred history. This water is that water, this life is all life. Every thing that has ever lived.
Grace will feel me trace a small cross of oil drawn her forehead. And in it, she will smell the distinctive scent of the chrism. As with all babies, scent is the first way Grace came to know her mother, father, her brother, the most important and special people in her life. She already knows what it means to have a specific smell that makes a person uniquely them. This anointing oil will mark Grace apart as well, as a priest in God's Kingdom, with a call and a purpose we cannot yet imagine.
Grace will receive the light of Christ in a candle. Although we do not trust her yet to hold it, although her eyes can’t see quite as far as ours, Grace already knows the other gift of Christ’s flame: warmth. Grace knows and needs the warmth of the embrace of others. She will feel me hold her. And as she grows, she, too, will learn how to be that warmth for others. We will teach her how to hug, how to hold hands, how to wrap a reassuring arm around another.
These are the basic truths we know in baptism, in the water, the oil, and the flame: we are all interconnected and interdependent. We have been given a special purpose. We are meant to share the warmth of God's love.
When I came back to Christ and church after a long desert of unbelief, it was not through words or even prayers, no Pauline rhetoric or preacher’s turn of phrase. It was through my body. The feel of the wine as it slipped down my throat and the familiar weird dryness of the wafer on my tongue. I knew the truth of God's love in my body, first.
So I invite you today to lean into the spiritual truths of the flesh, of what the infant knows of Christ. To begin again from the milk. When you receive the cup, feel the wetness of the wine. Smell its strange scent. If you receive a blessing or a healing prayer, soak in the warmth of the hand laid on you in love.
You do not have to be here at church, of course. Baptism is with you, in your body when you go from this place.
You can at any moment stop yourself to refocus on those truths we know and learn as infants, in our baptisms. Relationships are built on the small, simple gestures of daily life: the goodbye and hello kisses, the holding open of doors, the shaking of hands. Turns out your relationship with God is, too.
So here is a prayer without words that I wrote for the children. But it can be done by anyone, anywhere, any time – and very subtly, too.
First, feel the water of your mouth. Move your tongue to gather the saliva there.
In this water, you are linked to every human being, every tear ever cried, and every story ever told. Water was there at the beginning of creation, at your birth, and will be at your death. Every living thing on this earth depends on it to survive, including you. We need God, too, and each other. Feel the water that courses through your body and remember: we are connected to one another, to all living things, and to our creator. You are not alone.
Second, rub your fingers together. Between them is the natural oil of your skin.
Like the chrism oil, this oil has a fragrance: the unique scent of you. You may have been taught to be embarrassed by it, to hide it. That it’s a nuisance to be covered up. But do not forget that distinctiveness is exactly how human beings fall in love, how our children first know us. It’s what our loved ones will miss when we’re gone, when it no longer lingers on our things. So breathe yourself in and remember: God has set you apart for a special purpose. You are to do and be you.
Third, put a hand on a warm part of your body, or give yourself a hug. Or if you’re brave, lean into the person beside you.
In this warmth is God’s love. You are capable, more capable than you know, of sharing that love to those who need it most – those who are left out in the cold. Feel your warmth and remember: you carry the warmth of God’s love with you, wherever you go. You are to share it.
As Paul reminds us, neither Grace nor us can remain in infancy in Christ. We will promise, along with her parents and godparents, to bring her into the full stature of Christ. We will name the rungs of the ladder in our baptismal covenant, we will commit ourselves to striving. We will do all of this in the knowledge that it is God who does the growing, God who makes us ready. And we can always, always return to the water of baptism to begin again.
Amen.
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