The "Parable of the Sower" (or "Parable of the Soils") -- Matthew 13:1-9, 18-23

I spent the summers of my late teens and early twenties working for a large farming operation. My particular division was crop production, where we produced wheat, barley, alfalfa, soybean, hay, and, of course, corn. There were times (like harvest) when it was really quite exciting; but in reality most of my summers were spent preparing soil for planting, which meant picking rocks; hours and hours of picking rocks, walking through acres and acres of freshly plowed fields. In an area famous for its limestone quarries, you can imagine just how many rocks a freshly plowed field can produce. With all the modern technology available today for field preparation (tractors, plows, discs), guess what? Rocks still have to be picked up by hand!

The parable before us today (Matthew 13:1-9, 18-23) is typically known as the “Parable of the Sower.” Yet perhaps it would be more appropriate to call it the “Parable of the Soils,” because what is really interesting about this story are the various conditions of each of the soils.

The first soil we encounter is the soil of a beaten-down path, the kind one can still imagine surrounding crop fields even today. The soil is hardened, not open to life. You can well imagine a sower casting seed into a field by hand (as was common in ancient times), and some happens to fall onto the pathway beside it. Obviously it does not provide a nurturing environment for seed. Yet even this kind of soil has its usefulness: it's good for walking on!

The second soil in our parable is the “rocky ground.” For obvious reasons, this is my favorite. Back in my rock-picking days, it was quite easy to see which parts of a field were picked properly. As soon as the seed-corn germinated, the seed in rocky ground sprang up quickly because rocks hold moisture, especially after a good rain. But over time the parts of a field that are rocky tend to be sparse, while the clean parts of a field flourish and produce more corn. This is because the moisture held by rocks quickly evaporates when the sun beats down on the soil causing the newly germinated plants to wither and die.

Our third soil reminds me of many an English countryside. Those who have ever traveled in England will surely remember the countless hedgerows that separate pastures and fields, marking off ancient boundary lines and providing barriers for pastoral animals like sheep and cattle. Obviously, any seed corn that would fall into a hedgerow, though protected from the sun’s menacing heat and provided with plenty of moisture, would be robbed of the nutrients that it needed to grow to maturity, having to compete with the thorns and thickets that make up hedgerows.

As Jesus explains to his disciples, each of these three soils represents a common response to the good news of the kingdom that the disciples would experience as they went out to sow the message of their Lord. We can readily see this truth for ourselves. Many are they who respond to the Gospel with the indifference of a well-trodden path that has just been seeded with corn. Even before the soil of their hearts has a chance to respond, "Satan" comes to snatch it away, never knowing the better. Then there are those who hear the Word, respond with the excitement of newfound discovery, only to have their faith wither and die because there is no depth in their experience. More frighteningly are those whose response is represented by the hedgerow. Their faith grows yet never comes to maturity as the strangling concerns of their lives rob them of essential nutrients.

But, my friends, there is a fourth soil – the good soil. And what is it that makes it good? Is it that the soil is any better than the other? Is there some special quality about it? Is it endowed with the principle of life while the other soils are not? Is there something supernatural in it, perhaps? No, any farmer (ancient or modern) can tell you that the difference between good soil and bad soil is not necessarily in what the soil is made of, but rather in how it is prepared. To produce a crop of a hundredfold, of sixty-fold or of thirty-fold takes much soil preparation. Back in my farming days, we had to fertilize, plow, pick rocks, disc, pick more rocks, rake, and pick even more rocks before we had a field of good soil.

It takes a lot of hard work to prepare a field for seed; it takes a lot of hard work to prepare a heart for the Gospel. Many of you know this from experience as no doubt you have friends and family members within whose hearts you have been picking rocks for years. And you know this corporately as parish as well. Good Shepherd has been working the ground of this community for many years, and has seen many fruitful harvests.

Yet even despite our best efforts, sometimes it seems that others come into the fields we've been working on for many years and proceed to tread them underfoot. Other times, it's as if the soil itself produces a fresh crop of rocks that need to be picked. And thorns and thistles are always looking for the right opportunity to invade a field to rob the rightful seed of its essential nutrients. But don't be disheartened. A farmer's work is never done. Each year we must continue to work the fields, pick the rocks, trim the hedgerows, and prepare the soil. Remember: the life is in the seed, not the soil. And every farmer knows that there really is no such thing as bad soil; just poor preparation.

The Most Inclusive of Exclusive Claims (John 14:6)

Perhaps it is because of the magnitude of the issue – the clash of competing systems of faith – that I find myself more aware, painfully aware, of the divisions that that persist in the Body of Christ. Our divisions are not simply a matter of competing doctrinal systems. Rather, they are more often than not caused by allowing systems, theology, doctrine, or whatever pet-viewpoint we espouse (political, social, or ideological) to define our loyalties and to shape our relationships in such a way as to exclude those with whom we may differ.

In a paradoxical way our Gospel this morning may bring clarity to this point (John 14:1-14). Here portrayed for us by the author are Jesus’s last words to his closest friends, his disciples, on the night of his betrayal and arrest. And herein is one of the most memorable sayings recorded in the New Testament: “I am the way, the truth, and the life” (14:6). Immediately we are struck by the weight of this claim. It matters little whether we take them as the actual words of Jesus or the interpretive gloss of a gospel writer. These words, and its exclusive claim that Jesus is the unique savior of the world, simply cannot be dismissed, set aside or explained away.

Jesus is not portrayed by our author as saying that he is “a way” (i.e. one of many possible ways), or “a truth” (i.e. one of many possible truths), or “a life” (i.e. one possible way of life); but rather, THE way, THE truth, and THE life. The language here is intentionally exclusive. To put it in the bluntest terms possible: according to our Gospel, all paths simply do not lead to Heaven.

If that were not enough, Jesus goes on to say in the very next statement, “No one comes to the Father, but by me.” Again, these words could not be more exclusive. The claim here is that Jesus is the unique revelation of God to the world. In our modern day, so pre-occupied we are with so-called tolerant speech, inclusive language, and political-correctness, these words could not be more alarming, more painful to our ears. They are downright scandalous, especially when invoked, as they are by many Christians, to rationalize an exclusive vision of the kingdom of God.

Yet I contend that this passage forces us to grapple with the paradox that is the Gospel. Indeed, if read on a superficial level it is impossible to make sense of the exclusive claim of Jesus – “I am the way, the truth, and the life” – and not come to the conclusion that very few people in this world today, or at any time in the past or in the future, will actually be saved. How then can we reconcile these words to the other majestic statement in the Gospel of John? –“For God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten Son…” (John 3:16).

Indeed, herein lies the paradox. It is only when we read this claim in light of the all-encompassing, all-inclusive and universal work of Christ on the Cross and in the Resurrection (i.e. in light of verses like John 3:16) that we can begin to make sense of it. It is precisely because Jesus is THE way, THE truth and THE life that the Cross and the empty tomb of Easter are good news for all people, every person, and each race, gender and age.

Jesus did not die just for Christians. He died for all. Jesus is not the Savior of Roman Catholics only. He is not the savior of the Protestants only. And he certainly is not the savior of Episcopalians only. He is the savior of ALL.

Those of you who are familiar with C.S. Lewis’ Chronicles of Narnia , no doubt recall the last book in the series, called The Last Battle – which portrays the final apostasy and the resulting apocalypse of Lewis’ fantasy world of Narnia. Those familiar the Narnian tales will recall that the Christ-figure in the story is a Lion named Aslan, the Son of the Great Emperor Beyond the Sea, who created Narnia. In the first of the series of seven books – The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe – Aslan goes to the extent of dying a humiliating death on behalf of one of the main characters, a child from our own world named Edmund, to save him from the captivity of the White Witch. Like Christ, he also overcomes death by being resurrected, and ushers in a new age for Narnia.

At the end of the series in the last book, Narnia is in conflict both internally and externally. Narnia’s hostile neighbor to the South, a mysterious foreign country called “Calormen,”attempts to conquer the entire world in the name of their god, Tash. Tash is a false god, who even makes an appearance in the final book in the form of a terrible winged Dinosaur-like demon. The Calormenes form an unholy alliance with a few treacherous and greedy subjects of Narnia, in particular an Ape named “Swift,” who fools the good inhabitants of Narnia into believing that Aslan has returned and that Aslan and Tash are really two names for the same God.

The final battle of Lewis’ fantasy world would take too long for me to tell. But the story ends with the de-creation and the dissolution of the Narnian world, and the dividing of all of the creatures and inhabitants, both past and present, into two groups – one which goes off to disappear into Aslan’s shadow (into outer darkness and separation) and the other which is invited into “Aslan’s country” (which of course is Lewis’ metaphor for heaven). The main characters of the story, all children from our world, are surprised to discover that a Calormene warrior – a worshipper of Tash -- is also among those who have entered into Aslan’s country. His name is Emeth, and they ask him to tell his story, of how he too had ended up in Aslan’s country. Emeth then proceedsto tell his story:

…I fell at Aslan’s feet and thought, "Surely this is the hour of death, for the Lion (who is worthy of all honour) will know that I have served Tash all my days and not him." Nevertheless, it is better to see the Lion and die than to be Tisroc of the world and live and not to have seen him.

But the Glorious One bent down his golden head and touched my forehead with his tongue and said, "Son, thou art welcome."

But I said, "Alas, Lord, I am no son of thine but the servant of Tash."
He answered, "Child, all the service thou hast done to Tash, I account as service done to me."

Then by reasons of my great desire for wisdom and understanding, I overcame my fear and questioned the Glorious One and said, "Lord, it is then true, as the Ape said, that thou and Tash are one?"

The Lion growled so that the earth shook (but his wrath was not against me) and said, "It is false. Not because he and I are one, but because we are opposites, I take to me the services which thou hast done to him. For I and he are of such different kinds that no service which is vile can be done to me, and none which is not vile can be done to him.

Therefore if any man swear by Tash and keep his oath for the oath's sake, it is by me that he has truly sworn, though he knew me not, and it is I who reward him. And if any man do a cruelty in my name, then, though he says the name Aslan, it is Tash whom he serves and by Tash his deed is accepted. Dost thou understand, Child?"

I said, "Lord, thou knowest how much I understand." But I said also (for the truth constrained me), "Yet I have been seeking Tash all my days."

"Beloved," said the Glorious One, "unless thy desire had been for me thou wouldst not have sought so long and so truly. For all find what they truly seek."

Then he breathed upon me and took away the trembling from my limbs and caused me to stand upon my feet. And after that, he said not much, but that we should meet again, and I must go further up and further in.

In the final analysis, Jesus’ exclusive role as Savior of the world – the way, the truth, and the life – turns out to be the most inclusive and most unifying principle there is! Systems of theology and doctrine cannot unite; denominations cannot unite; bishops cannot unite; ideology cannot unite; force-of-arms or military threats cannot unite; politics certainly cannot unite. Indeed, the only thing that can unite the human race is the God who became human in the Person of his Son – the One who assumed our nature, experienced our trials and temptations, shared our sufferings and afflictions, bore our sins and transgressions, died our death, and raised us up again with him.

Sermon Outline (Pentecost 20)

Old Testament: 2 Kings 5.1-3, 7-15c (Story of Naaman the Leper)
Psalm: 111
Epistle: 2 Timothy 2.8-15
Gospel: Luke 17.11-19 (Story of the Ten Lepers)


1. From the realization of need comes the recognition of grace.

2. From the recognition of grace comes the opportunity for thanksgiving.

3. From thanksgiving comes service.

St. Francis' Sermon to the Birds: Read at Good Shepherd's Animal Blessing Service (October 9, 2010)

My little sisters, the birds, much bounden are ye unto God, your Creator, and always in every place ought ye to praise Him, for that He hath given you liberty to fly about everywhere, and hath also given you double and triple rainment; moreover He preserved your seed in the ark of Noah, that your race might not perish out of the world; still more are ye beholden to Him for the element of the air which He hath appointed for you; beyond all this, ye sow not, neither do you reap; and God feedeth you, and giveth you the streams and fountains for your drink; the mountains and valleys for your refuge and the high trees whereon to make your nests; and because ye know not how to spin or sow, God clotheth you, you and your children; wherefore your Creator loveth you much, seeing that He hath bestowed on you so many benefits; and therefore, my little sisters, beware of the sin of ingratitude, and study always to give praises unto God.

Saint Francis of Assisi - 1220

A Lack of Faith or Faithfulness? -- Pentecost 19 (October 3, 2010)

OT: Habakkuk 1:1-4, 2:1-4
PSALM: Psalm 37:1-10
EPISTLE:2 Timothy 1:1-14
GOSPEL: Luke 17:5-10

Imagine one of your children using their “lack of faith” as an excuse for not performing a task or doing a chore. For instance a parent might ask: “Did you do your homework?” “I didn’t have enough faith to do it,” says the child. “Did you take out the trash?” “I didn’t have enough faith.” “Did you feed the dog?” “I didn’t have enough faith.” Sounds absurd, doesn’t it? What does FAITH have to do with taking out the trash? Or doing homework?

And yet what is our favorite excuse for not doing the things that we are called to do as disciples of Christ? – Our lack of faith! Amazing, isn’t it? This is precisely what Jesus rebukes his disciples for in our Gospel (Luke 17:5-10):

“The apostles said to the Lord, ‘Increase our faith!’ The Lord replied, "If you had faith the size of a mustard seed, you could say to this mulberry tree, `Be uprooted and planted in the sea,' and it would obey you.” (vv. 5-6)

The meaning of this passage is often misunderstood. Jesus was NOT criticizing his disciples for their lack of faith; i.e. he was not saying that their faith was less than a mustard seed’s worth. The amount of their FAITH was not the issue. Rather, FAITHFULNESS was the issue.

To help us understand this better, it would do well to consider this request in context. In the passage immediately preceding the apostles’ request, Jesus had instructed them about the extent of forgiveness:

“So watch yourselves. If your brother sins, rebuke him, and if he repents, forgive him. If he sins against you seven times in a day, and seven times comes back to you and says, 'I repent,' forgive him." (vv. 3-4)

We all know how difficult it is to forgive someone who has sinned against us. But seven times a day? Is it any wonder the apostles exclaim, “Increase our faith!”?

“No,” says Jesus. “Faith is not the issue.” They had enough faith. Even with faith as small as a mustard seed they could say to a mulberry tree, “Be uprooted and planted in the sea,” and it would be so (cf. v. 4). Rather, what they lacked was faithfulness – i.e. acting in obedience to what Christ was calling them to do; surrendering their will to Christ’s. This point is brought home further in what Jesus says next:

"Who among you would say to your slave who has just come in from plowing or tending sheep in the field, `Come here at once and take your place at the table'? Would you not rather say to him, `Prepare supper for me, put on your apron and serve me while I eat and drink; later you may eat and drink'? Do you thank the slave for doing what was commanded? So you also, when you have done all that you were ordered to do, say, `We are worthless slaves; we have done only what we ought to have done!'" (vv. 7-10)

One of the things I find intriguing about this passage is that it is one of the very few places in the Gospel accounts where the immediate followers of Christ are called “apostles.” (The term “apostle” is used many times elsewhere in the NT, but not normally in the Gospels.) Why might this be? Perhaps it has something to do with meaning of the word. The usual term “disciple” means “one who is taught,” whereas the term apostle means “one who is sent” – that is to say, “sent on assignment.” Perhaps Luke, our evangelist, is reminding us that Jesus’ followers are not merely students; rather, they are entrusted with a task, an assignment. Jesus’ followers are “sent-ones” – entrusted and commissioned with the task of advancing the Kingdom of God. This includes us! We would do well to remember that, like Jesus’ immediate followers, we too are “disciples” in the fullest sense of the word – perhaps not “Apostles” with a capital “A,” but certainly “little apostles” within our own spheres of influence, entrusted and commissioned with the task of proclaiming the good news of Christ, not only with our lips and in our lives.

I highly doubt that any of us are called to the task of uprooting mulberry trees. So don’t go home and try it. Faith is not a magic act. Yet if God ever did call us to uproot mulberry trees, we certainly have the faith to do it. That’s Jesus’ point! It doesn’t take a great deal of faith to accomplish great things. It only takes faithfulness -- stepping out in obedience with the faith we already have!

So why do we scoff at doing the things that we are called to do? Why do we continue to use our favorite excuse? (I hear this excuse all the time...I use this excuse myself!) Why do we find faithfulness so difficult?

“Oh, I tried loving my neighbor, but I don’t think I have enough faith.”

“I can’t share my faith with others or invite them to church, I don’t have enough faith!”

“I don’t have enough faith to stand up for what is right and just.”

“I just don’t have enough faith to make a pledge to the church.”

(Ah, yes, the pledging thing again…you perhaps were wondering when I was going to bring this up!)

Yes, we’ve been talking a lot about stewardship these past weeks. But if what I have said about pledging hasn’t quite resonated with you, then I implore you to reflect on what you heard from those of your fellow parishioners who gave their stewardship testimonies in the last three weeks. The stories differed in the details, but there was a common thread that ran through them all. Their stories can be summarized as follows:

• Each story told of economic struggles and hard times. (We all struggle from time to time to make ends meet.)

• Nevertheless, each one told of how they were challenged in the midst of struggle to respond in faith to Christ’s call to begin a discipline of giving. Each stepped out in the faith that they had, perhaps only a baby-step at first, but a step nonetheless.

• Each person found along the way that God continued to meet all of their needs with each step in faith – i.e. they proved faithful to the call and God rewarded their faithfulness.

• Finally, each told of how their faith actually increased along the way.

The irony is that what the apostles asked for – MORE FAITH – is the very thing that each faithful disciple (or "little apostle") receives along the way when they step out in faith and obedience, and submit their wills to the will of Christ.

Thoughts on Haiti -- A Sermon (January 17, 2010)

NY Times Op-Ed Columnist, David Brooks, begins last Thursday’s opinion column with these words: “On Oct. 17, 1989, a major earthquake with a magnitude of 7.0 struck the Bay Area in Northern California. Sixty-three people were killed. This week, a major earthquake, also measuring a magnitude of 7.0, struck near Port-au-Prince, Haiti. The Red Cross estimates that between 45,000 and 50,000 people have died.” (Red Cross figures now go as high as 150,000 people.) Brooks rightly opines, “This is not a natural disaster story. This is a poverty story.”

Also featured in the news this past week was the well-known televangelist, Pat Robertson, whose comments ignited a firestorm of media attention in their implication that the cause of this natural disaster lies in a pact that the people of Haiti had made with Satan in an obscure Voodoo ritual that allegedly took place in the late 18th century in order to overthrow French rule.

My first reaction to Robertson’s remarks were anger and the desire to publicly dissociate myself from his remarks and from everything he stands for, including his version of the Christian faith. On more sober reflection (though I am no more in agreement with him now than I was at first), I can well understand his need to find some kind of theological explanation or moral rationale for this tragic disaster, for it is conundrum that all people of faith share.

Disasters of such magnitude inevitably cause crises of faith. Yet we all know it doesn't take a natural disaster to cause a crisis of faith. Any spouse who has lost a lifelong mate, any parent who has lost a child, or any child who has lost a parent -- perhaps in a car accident or to an incurable disease -- has faced the question, “Why did God allow this to happen?” If God is both ALL-POWERFUL and ALL-LOVING, then how could he allow his people to suffer so?

This dilemma has led some to suggest that our assumptions of God are simply mistaken. Perhaps God is not both all-powerful and all-loving. Perhaps he is just one or the other, but not both. Take, for instance, Harold Kushner, the popular rabbi and author of the book When Bad Things Happen to Good People. Kushner certainly errs on the side of God’s all-loving nature when he suggests that God cannot prevent bad things from happening, though God’s love is nonetheless always present to give us strength when they do. On the other side of the spectrum, some extreme forms of Calvinism would hold that God is not all-loving, i.e., that God loves only the Elect. This is a rather tidy explanation until disaster suddenly falls upon the Elect (like Job in the OT) with no apparent reason.

For many people of faith the fallback explanation is to find a moral or ethical root cause, because someone or something simply has to be at fault in order to vindicate the justice of God. So if we cannot point to personal sin, we must invoke the doctrine of original sin, or (according to Robertson) see as the cause an ill-advised pact with Satan. Priests, ministers and pastoral caregivers face this dilemma all the time. Crises of faith within the flock become crises of faith for the shepherds of the flock. Multiply that by the number of people under one’s care, and it is easy to understand why some prominent religious leaders like Pat Robertson resort to ready-made ethical cause-and-effect explanations.

But there are no ready-made answers. If you came to church today seeking such an answer then you will no doubt leave disappointed. I can only hope to put some things into perspective for you. So I leave you with two observations.

First, natural disasters happen. There is no ethical cause-and-effect mechanism for natural disasters. Earthquakes occur where they do, not because the people who live in those locations sin or because those nations are more evil than other nations; but rather because the tectonic plates that make up the earth’s crust shift from time to time.

We would do well to recall the perspective of Jesus. His remarks in Luke 13:1-5 come readily to mind: “Do you think that these Galileans were worse sinners than all the other Galileans because they suffered this way? I tell you, no! But unless you repent, you too will all perish. Or those eighteen who died when the tower in Siloam fell on them do you think they were more guilty than ...all the others living in Jerusalem? I tell you, no! But unless you repent, you too will all perish.”

It does not take a rocket scientist to realize that if one builds a house or a city on a fault line there will likely be consequences. This is the nature of the world that God created. How quick we are to rejoice in the splendor and beauty of God's creation when it cooperates with our plans and movements! But when we happen to be in the way of the physical realm acting according to its nature, how quick we are to blame God! We simply can't have it both ways.

Second, all human tragedies have a moral or ethical component, even those which involve natural disasters. (No, I’m not contradicting what I said earlier.) That’s why Brooks’ Op-Ed piece comes closest, in my opinion, to giving us a theological rationale for the disaster in Haiti, and he was writing from a political perspective! What makes this disaster the epic human tragedy that it is are the poverty and human exploitation, and the systemic evil that existed in Haiti before the disaster ever occurred, and will certainly exist, if not increase, in its aftermath. But these evils are pervasive. They are not limited to Haiti, though certainly they have taken root in a most pernicious and highly successful manner on this tiny island nation. That's why this disaster is truly global in both its scope and effects.

Indeed, Pat Robertson is correct about one thing: Satan and his minions (if we are prone to personify evil in this manner) are very active in this world. But neither Satan nor his demons can move tectonic plates. As the primordial story of the Fall tells us, the main weapon in the Serpent’s arsenal is deception. And Haiti is filled with generation upon generation of deception -- cultural, political, and spiritual. The spiritual darkness that shrouds that tiny island nation is but a microcosm of the darkness that affects the whole world, though perhaps in varying degrees; and the Gospel of Light is the only hope of dispelling the darkness.

The question is, what can we do as the Body of Christ to stem the tide of deception, to dispel the darkness, and to preach the gospel of liberation to a world that desperately needs the light of Christ?

"Wearing Our Dirt" - A sermon preached on the Sunday of the Baptism of Our Lord (January 10, 2010)

OT: Isaiah 43:1-7
PSALM: Psalm 29
NT: Acts 8:14-17
GOSPEL: Luke 3:15-17, 21-22

The baptism of Jesus by John is the subject of some of the earliest Christian art. It is found in early third century fresco paintings in the Roman catacombs as well as being the subject of great mosaics found in the baptisteries of the imperial age church. All of the elements of the story of Jesus’ baptism from the Gospels are portrayed in these works of art, including Jesus standing in the Jordan River, John the Baptist (dressed in camel hair) pouring water upon his head, and the Holy Spirit descending upon Jesus as a Dove. Assumed, if not somewhere written, are the words from heaven: “You are my Son…with whom I am well pleased.”

The reason for these works of art is obvious: the early Christian saw Jesus’ baptism as a picture of their own. Jesus’ baptism gives meaning to the baptism that Christians receive. What happened to Jesus at his baptism happens to us in our baptism. Like Jesus, we too receive the Holy Spirit in baptism; and as Jesus was proclaimed the “Son of God” at his baptism, we receive our adoption as children of God. There’s a beautiful symmetry here. But there’s also a theological conundrum, because Jesus received John’s baptism, not “Christian baptism” per se (in the sacramental sense).

John himself testified that he merely “baptized with water.” His baptism was a ritual washing of repentance, signifying the washing away of sins and a return of the people to their covenant relationship with God. Luke’s account portrays those who came to John as a people “filled with expectation” and “questioning in their hearts concerning John, whether he might be the Messiah” (Luke 3:15). But John could only give them water and the promise of forgiveness and a restoration still to come. He could not give them what he too sought: “I baptize you with water; but one who is more powerful than I is coming…He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire” (v. 16).

And yet, no sooner does Luke record these words than we see Jesus, the One who baptizes with the Holy Spirit, rather nonchalantly submitting to John’s baptism (cf. v. 21). Absent from Luke’s account is any protest and questioning from John. But nonetheless the question is implicit: why would Jesus submit to John’s baptism? Is this not the Son of God who “lived as one of us, yet without sin,” (as our Eucharistic Prayer D expresses it)? This is the Savior, Christ the Lord, who takes the burden of our sins into his own sinless life, and puts them to death when he himself dies on the Cross. Surely Jesus did not need a baptism of repentance to mark the beginning of his adult public life and ministry. He did not need to be reconciled or brought back into a covenant relationship with God. So what is going on here? Of course, theologians down through the ages have pondered this question and offered up complex theological rationales. But there is perhaps no better explanation (that I have found) than a story once told to me by my Great-Aunt Helen.

Aunt Helen was the sister of my paternal grandmother, the oldest of six children. She had more impact on my faith as a child than anyone else in my life, and could she tell a story! Her father (my great-grandfather) was a chicken farmer in Delaware. Life was hard at the turn of the century. As Aunt Helen would say, “In those days, the only thing there was ‘plenty of’ was dirt.” And since her family did not have indoor plumbing (let alone a hot water heater) you can imagine that bathing – something we take for granted – was quite a chore. Once a week, each Saturday night, the family would fill a large washtub in the kitchen with hot water from kettles, and each person in the family (a family of eight mind you) would in turn take a bath in that tub. My great-grandmother would be the first to bathe, since “going first” was one of the only luxuries she had in life. Then each child would have his or her turn, the oldest children first washing the babies, and then going in the order of “cleanest to dirtiest” (the rule in the family being that the dirtiest child went last). Aunt Helen would laugh as she described how often she fought with my grandmother over which of them was dirtier. By the time the children were finished, the water was usually the color of coffee.

Yet there was still another person that needed a bath: my great-grandfather, who would come in from the fields after everyone else had bathed. Except for an additional kettle of hot water used to replenish the tub, he stepped into that same coffee-colored water, the water that everyone else had bathed in. Then, after his bath, he would put on his only white shirt, the shirt he wore to church. As Aunt Helen described it, “Over time that shirt looked more gray than white.” Since she was responsible to wash that shirt each week, she was embarrassed by its appearance, especially when her father sat next to the other deacons in their Baptist Church. She began to resent that shirt, and to resent her father for being so poor. She was angry at her circumstances. But then, one Sunday, while sitting behind her father in church, she suddenly realized to her own shame the reason that shirt had become so dingy gray over time: “He was wearing OUR DIRT.”

Is this not what we see in Jesus? What is the significance of his submitting to the baptism of John if not a willingness to stand in complete solidarity with us? – A willingness to put on and to wear OUR DIRT?

In everything that Jesus does, we see God at work, showing us how intimately God relates to human beings, yet without sin. Jesus did not need baptism because he was not a sinner. However, we do. We need to be cleansed by God, refined by the Holy Spirit. And because we need that cleansing, Jesus stands in solidarity with us – enters our condition, puts on our dirt, in order that the mere sign of outward cleansing (water) can become the instrument and means by which we receive the true spiritual cleansing (by the Holy Spirit).

In his baptism we see Jesus entering our condition, just as he was born into this world, and just as he would hang on the Cross of his death. In this way God in Christ identifies himself with us in every aspect of our existence – birth, life and death – in complete solidarity with us. This is why Jesus is called “Emmanuel” (“God-with-us”). God is with us, and God is for us, even in the depths of our sin as he meets us where we are in our deepest need for reconciliation.