Sermon: 'Beloved Son'

Matthew 3:13-17
Baptism of the Lord, St. Paul’s L’Amoreaux, January 13, 2008

A little over a year ago, near Nickle Mines, Pennsylvania, Charles Roberts carried his guns and rage into a one-room Amish schoolhouse. Determined to even a score with God, Roberts quickly made good on his commitment. As police surrounded the building, he opened fire on ten young female hostages, killing five of them.

The contrast between Roberts’s actions and the peaceful rural landscape made the Nickel Mines school shooting a dramatic story, but even more so was the Amish community's response: forgiveness, extended to the killer’s family within hours.

Horrified strangers worldwide sent over $4 million to the Amish settlement for a people who have no insurance. But the people used the gifts for more than medical bills. They gave shares to local emergency services that came to their aid and, in a move that caught the world’s imagination, to the widow and children of the man who murdered their daughters.

Coverage of their acts of forgiveness and reconciliation in the face of unspeakable horror and grief quickly overwhelmed coverage of the murders. Suddenly people were asking profound questions about a culture known more for its rejection of cars, television and other trappings of
modern life than for its ideals.

Miroslav Volf, director of the Yale Center for Faith and Culture at Yale Divinity School, believes the events occurred at a crucial cultural moment. "It came at a time when, rightly or wrongly, religion was in the news but not in a way that was flattering . . . [but in ] the midst of all this ... you suddenly have this prominent case where it is shown in a very different, positive light."

The evening of the shootings, Amish elders went to console the wife and three young daughters of Mr. Roberts and to the home of his parents to say they held no grudges. Later on, dozens of Amish, including some whose children he had murdered, attended Mr. Roberts' burial and offered condolences to his widow. One report indicated that more than half of those in attendance at the burial were Amish.

There are two aspects of our gospel lesson that I’d like you to notice. The Bible says, “As soon as Jesus was baptized, he went up out of the water. At that moment heaven was opened, and he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove and lighting on him.”

The first thing is the mention that Jesus “went up out of the water”, and a reference, in the singular, to Jesus alone seeing the Spirit descend like a dove. We suppose from this that Jesus had taken a step or two away from John the Baptist and others who may have been there and that it was also Jesus, alone, who heard the voice which said, “This is my Son, whom I love; with him I am well pleased.”

It appears that Jesus alone saw and heard the heavenly vision. In the rest of Matthew’s gospel, there is uncertainty and confusion about the identity of Jesus. Later, even John the Baptist has his doubts.

Following his baptism, the Gospel of Matthew describes a life of continuous conflict for Jesus. Conflict with his disciples who can’t seem to understand the implications of what he is saying. And conflict with the authorities who understand enough of the implications for their lives that they want him killed.

The ministry of Jesus often put him in a lonely spot, with all around him staring at him in confusion, doubt or hatred. In a small way, the preparation for that begins at the baptism itself.
But here’s the second thing to notice.

It is likely that the voice from heaven is calling to mind other similar passages from scripture.
A passage from Genesis, when God said to Abraham, “Take your son, your only son,” and offer him as a sacrifice.

The promise from Psalm 2 about the king God would send his people, descended from the great king David: ‘You are my Son; today I have become your Father’” (Ps. 2:7).

But here is a third and key passage, and one I’d like you to notice. It is a passage from Isaiah 42: “Here is my servant, whom I uphold, my chosen one in whom I delight” (Is. 42:1). This comes from one of four songs in Isaiah describing a servant who will save through his suffering. Israel trusted God and his promises to Abraham. Israel expected a king. Israel expected a servant. But no one expected a king who would serve by giving his life! (Mt. 12.18-21).

As one scholar (Jack Kingsbury) has put it, together, these several passages combine in Matthew 3:17 to form a solemn affirmation in which God declares that Jesus is his unique and only Son. That Jesus is the Messiah and King from the line of David. And, surprisingly and dramatically, that this Messiah will reign on the road of the suffering servant foreseen by Isaiah.
As followers of this king, God has not called us to charm people into the kingdom through the glory of earthly kings and queens. Instead, we have been called to the patient, persistent, persevering ministry in the footsteps of Jesus Christ. Ministering to the poor and needy. Healing the sick. Comforting the discouraged. Offering God’s forgiveness and mercy. And building the kingdom of God among all people and in all nations of the earth.

I know in your various capacities as professionals at work, parents at home, students in school and university, there are times when you wonder what it all means. When you wonder what difference can my simple life make in this fix that I find myself? When you feel the loneliness of the Christian mission under the sad clouds of this world’s hatred and violence.

But Jesus’ words are true. We are not alone. We have Jesus before us and the company of his followers, together with whom we walk and serve.

And the glory we saw and the voice we heard at our baptism was not our eyes playing tricks. It was trustworthy and true. And in the footsteps of Jesus, we have been called to carry on the kingdom work of Christ on earth.

Over the holiday I read an interview with Bishop Tom Wright, a noted biblical scholar and one of the pre-eminent bishops in the Anglican Church. He was asked, what difference does the cross and Christ’s self-sacrificing life make.

“The cross,” he said, “is not just an example to be followed; it is an achievement to be worked out, put into practice. But it is an example nonetheless, because it is . . . the model for what God now wants to do by his Spirit in the world, through his people. It is the start of the process of redemption, in which suffering and martyrdom are the paradoxical means by which victory is won.

So where does forgiveness fit in, he was asked.

“Some people believe,” he said, “that when it comes to forgiveness, you just draw a line and forget it even though it’s tough and messy. But this is too simple . . . Whether we are dealing with international relations or one-on-one personal relations, evil must be named and confronted. There must be no sliding around it, no attempt—whether for the sake of an easy life or in search of a quick fix—to present it as if it wasn’t so bad after all. Only when that has been done, when both the evil and the evil doer have been identified as what and who they are—can there be the second move towards . . . the one who has deeply hurt and wounded us or me.
“If I have named the evil, and done my best to offer genuine forgiveness and reconciliation, then I am free to love the person even if they don’t want to respond.”

He was asked to offer an example and he mentioned the Amish of Nickle Mine.

“The point of following Jesus,” says Bishop Wright, “isn’t simply so that we can be sure of going to a better place than this after we die.”

Our future beyond death is enormously important, but the nature of the Christian hope is such that it plays back into the present life. We’re called, here and now, to be instruments of God’s new creation, the world-put-to-rights, which has already been launched in Jesus and of which Jesus’ followers are supposed to be not simply beneficiaries but also agents.

“And a voice from heaven said, ‘This is my Son, whom I love; with him I am well pleased’ (Matthew 3:16-17).

This is our king. Let us follow him today and in the days ahead. Amen.