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February 1,'09
Matthew 18:10-14; John 15:12-17
It was a year ago that my family took a trip to Israel. We began by driving south, visiting Ashkelon by the sea and skirting past Gaza as we turned east. Tim and I had been there before but Daniel and Jeanette had not. We meant to take all our children to the Holy Land when they turned 13. Tim took our son Joel to Israel when he turned 12. For Daniel, the trip to Israel when he was 13 came apart when war broke out in the Persian Gulf and all flights were cancelled to Israel. Tim ended up taking him to Ireland for a Celtic journey and visiting Carrick-named places. Jeanette’s 13 year old trip was rerouted to Guatemala on a medical mission trip with mom. Israel was a bit risky for a mother and daughter team traveling alone.
But in February last year, we toured as a family. It was important for Tim to take his children before he committed to taking other people on pilgrimages to Israel. Once there, we visited many sites. I am always amazed that once inside Israel, it all seems so peaceful everywhere. When you visit the holy sites, you go in one way for the entrance and another way out. When you exit you are taken through a gift store. There they hope you will empty your wallet a bit by buying souvenirs. At the garden tomb store I saw a small bottle of Virgin Galilee Olive Oil. Of all the trinkets and beautiful items in the store, I felt a real urge to get this bottle. Anointing oil made in Jerusalem.
After February came March. My father came to Alaska to see the Iditarod. It had been a dream of his for many years. He was failing quickly because Parkinson’s was taking over his body. He was wheelchair bound. Yet he came, on the plane, with a caregiver. My mother stayed home to enjoy a break. As many of you know, my father lasted through the weekend, barely. On Monday he had a high fever that ended him in the hospital with pneumonia. He never went home to Vancouver but died in Alaska in our home 16 days later with my mother and all of my family at his side. It was holy week. On the last day of his life Tim remember the little bottle of Virgin Galilee Olive Oil on the shelf in my study. He went over and got it and anointed my father on his forehead saying: “Edward Haynes, remember your baptism.”
“Remember your baptism.” That was the perfect words for my father. My father had been scared to die, partly because he had been told he needed to give his life to Jesus. My father was an elder in the Presbyterian church and had made a vow publicly that Jesus Christ was his Lord and Savior. But those in another Christian tradition did not feel that was enough and let him know. My father was baptized as a baby. His parents brought him up in the Christian faith. He wore the symbol on his forehead of baptism reminding him that he was Christ’s; that he was a child of God. And then at his death, he was reminded of whose he was. No fear. You are going back to where you came. Remember your baptism.
Macrina Wiederkehr is a member of the St. Scholastica Monastery in Fort Smith, Arkansas. She is not related to our Wiederkehr’s here in this congregation. But she tells of an old story that goes like this: “Every time a child is born, an angel takes it under its wing and whispers divine secrets to it. The angel hints of its divine origin and fills its soul with mysteries from heaven. As the child grows, the angel’s message remains buried in the depths of its being, evoking an infinite yearning in its soul. And so the child moves through life with a haunting memory of some hallowed truth once known but now forgotten.” Matthew 18:10: “Take care that you do not despise one of these little ones; for, I tell you, in heaven their angels continually see the face of my Father in heaven.”
The poet William Wordsworth speaks this same truth using different words: “Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting: The Soul that rises with us, our life’s Star, Hath had elsewhere its setting, And cometh from afar: Not in entire forgetfulness, And not in utter nakedness, But trailing clouds of glory do we come From God, who is our home: Heaven lies about us in our infancy!”
We are a child of this story and of this poem. Tristan, who will be baptized today, is a child of this story. As we witness his baptism this morning, it is a time to remember those sacred truths buried in our soul. We can’t force the remembering. But sometime, in a quiet place, God may teach us this ancient wisdom, for there are some things we can learn only in silence. The human heart longs for the divine! This is our invitation to spiritual growth.
Some years ago the Presbyterian Church put out a series of books about the foundations of the Christian faith. One book on Christian Worship talked about the sacraments: Baptism and Communion – both of which we will participate in today. One chapter is entitled: “Baptism – The Church’s Front Door.” I liked what it had to say in regard to baptism. A person may become a Christian by a sudden conversion experience or by a gradual shift in their faith that climaxes in a firm commitment or by growing up in the faith and never having a conscious awareness of being anything but a believer, but regardless how one becomes a Christian, they all enter the church through the door of baptism. Surely some come to faith, with baptism following. In other cases, parents carry their infant children to church for baptism, followed by nurture and education that leads to faith. In either case, baptism is part of faith.
In regard to understanding why we baptize infants, perhaps it helps by asking this question: “Should we consider our children to be out of the community of faith until they deliberately and self-consciously choose to be in? Or should we consider them in until they may, perhaps, choose to be out?” (Christian Worship, Ronald P. Byars, pg. 51.) The first converts of the Christian faith were Jewish Christians. They considered their children to be in, members of the community of Israel, from birth. And so do we. We consider children of parents who are a part of this church to be in too. They are all part of this family of faith. And thus, you all are their Aunts and Uncles, Grandpas and Grandmas, Cousins, Brothers and Sisters in the faith, all adopted into the family of God. I really like that.
Baptism is best understood as a gift. Whether for an adult or for a dependent child, baptism represents God’s freedom to choose whomever God will choose.
The God whom we know in Christ makes the first move. “It may seem to the adult convert that he or she is the one who has done all the choosing. But on reflection, it seems rather that God has been at work in our lives since before we were looking for God, or in a position to choose one way or another. Jesus told a story about a shepherd who had a hundred sheep to take care of. At the end of the day, it was the shepherd’s job to guide the sheep back to the shelter of their fold. Before securing them for the night, the shepherd had to take inventory. Counting carefully, he discovered that there were only ninety-nine sheep. One was missing. The story doesn’t tell us anything about the circumstances, but quite possibly the missing sheep had no fear or anxiety at all. It may have been quite content to continue munching the green grass, without even noticing that it had been separated from the others.”
“In Jesus’ story, the shepherd goes out to search for the lost sheep. When he finds it, he tenderly lifts it to his shoulders and carries it back to the shelter of the flock. This story is about God’s ways with us. It wasn’t the sheep who went looking for the shepherd. God comes searching for us – even when we are entirely oblivious to the fact that we need to be found. God refuses to stop looking until God finds us. Even if the sheep had become aware of its separation from the others, and begun to look around to see if she could find them, the shepherd had already set out in search. We may choose God. But behind our choosing is God’s choosing. ‘You did not choose me but I chose you. And I appointed you that you should go and bear fruit....’” (Christian Worship, Ronald P. Byars, pg. 57, 58).
Tim mentioned being in Fairbanks two Saturdays ago where he was involved in an installation service for the new pastor at University Presbyterian Church. Besides the sermon, Tim also did the charge to the pastor. Part of that charge, remembering that it was his Grandfather that had baptized this new pastor many years ago, Tim again said the words: “Sandy, remember your baptism.” They are powerful words. Remember whose you are; from whence you came; who created you wonderfully and beautifully; who will call you home some day. Remember your divine beginnings. For you are God’s child and you wear the mark on your forehead.
Today as we baptize Tristan, remember your baptism. If you were baptized at the age of Tristan, than of course you cannot remember the act. You just know of the promise told to you by your parents, or family members, or your church. We do not remember by our memory, we remember by our heart. God chose you because he loves you. Amen.