Let's Get Soaking Wet

March 31, 2018

Easter Vigil

This Great Vigil of the Paschal Feast, set within the context of the first mass of Easter, takes it meaning and gets its impetus from the liturgy of Baptism, as well as from the rites of empowerment that come in Confirmation and Reception. Just as the Almighty delivered our forebears from slavery in Egypt—through the waters of the Red Sea—to the grace and glory of a Promised Land; so tonight we recall our own exodus from the slavery of sin—through the waters of baptism—to the grace and glory of a spiritual Promised Land—a place where it is “no longer I who live,” thank you Jesus, “but Christ who lives in me.”

Let me say a word or two about baptism. Over the years as first-hand experiences of Jesus’ death and resurrection gave way to fossilized institutionalization and stultified liturgical practice—for which the Church is notorious at times—the focus and import of Christian baptism changed. It gradually waned in its power to drawn in the rapscallions of this world, or to invigorate spiritual searchers and seekers, or to call a halt to those backsliding into Perdition. Our fundamental rite of belonging no longer came across as rescue for the wearied soul, a hospice for those sick and tired of being sick and tired; a refuge for those desperate for relief.

At last week’s ordination of transitional deacons in the diocese of Arkansas, I heard Bishop Benfield say that when he travels the diocese and administers baptism and confirmation, the after-service conversation is very seldom the utter relief that comes with renouncing satan and all his works, or the unparalleled excitement of finding a new life in Christ, or the safe and secure feeling that results from deep and lasting connection within this eclectic family we call the Body. “More often than not,” the Bishop quipped, the after service chat devolves into the beauty of Christening Gowns, and how exquisitely they are sown, and how such intricate stitchery is becoming a lost art.”

Not too long ago at a stewardship conference in the Diocese of NY, I heard similar sentiments expressed by Fr Martin Smith, American priest and author. Of all things at a stewardship conference, Smith highlighted baptism as the arena where our thoughts on being stewards need be focused. He turned that particular group of Every Member Canvassers on its ear when he quipped that baptism had “shriveled up into being a family christening ceremony for babies—in fonts that have no depth. In fonts that are more like shallow birdbaths than ice cold and deep running rivers. And what that does is make it possible for you and me and the congregations we serve to pledge allegiance to a religious culture of shallowness—a shallowness in which no one is expected to go down into the depths of anything; and consequently no one rises into the heights of anything either.” With a group of people expecting him to propose some new highly-successful way of passing out pledge cards, notions of birdbath spirituality threw us for an ecclesiastical loop. His words “hurt good” and impelled us to go out there into the streets of Manhattan, exercise our stewardship of this heavenly treasure called Jesus, and serve him in all persons, loving our neighbors as ourselves. 

If and when I find myself trapped in this culture’s vapid and shallow spirituality in which Jesus is only vaguely experienced as a remote presence, or an insurance policy, or a product endorsement, or the reason for bequeathing a christening gown, then I don’t have the tools, the spiritual arsenal, necessary for dealing with life, i.e. life on life’s terms, not always on my terms. I think of such happenings as the recent nightmare of another school shooting; the recurring intransigence of lawmakers who balk at providing correctives to such horrors. I consider the abject fear experienced by nations like Syria who are subjected to daily attempts at annihilation by tyrannical despots. And how my heart is so deeply rattled by the resurgence of all the phobias we thought were diminishing in strength, most especially racism. I now live again in a part of the country where “inclusion” of our gay and lesbian population is up for grabs one more time, where it’s becoming ok to put a sign on the door of a shop that reads, “no gays allowed.”

I don’t know about you, but a this stage in my short and uncertain life, I do not feel I can afford to slog around birdbaths anymore, even if they be Christian birdbaths. In six weeks, I’ll have my first run at being a grandfather, and not too long thereafter, I’m sure that baptism of my soon-to-be-hatched beloved will be the order of a day. I do hope my son and daugher-in-law find a suitable christening gown, maybe one that’s exquisitely stitched. I hope even more that I hear accountability spoken at that liturgy, that someone will ask me certain covenantal question that I want to shake me by the scruff of my neck until my teeth rattle: “Stuart, as you reaffirm your own baptismal covenant at this event, Will you continue to proclaim by word and example the Good News of God in Christ?” And “Will you strive for justice and peace among all people, and respect the dignity of every human being?’ And will you hold that tiny little hand of your grand baby and take her with you.

Spiritual writer Anne Lamott has a thing or two to say about baptism. As some of you know, she’s one who is not known for mincing words or pulling punches. “Christianity is about water for God’s sake,” she remarks. It’s about immersion, about falling into something elemental and wet. Most of what we do in worldly life is geared toward our staying dry; looking good, not going under. But in baptism, in lakes and rain and rivers and tanks and fonts, you agree to do something that’s a little sloppy because at the same time, it’s also holy and absurd. It’s about surrender, giving into all those things we can’t control; it’s a willingness to let go of balance and decorum and get drenched.” I just love Anne’s notion of getting drenched for Christ’s sake. 

Good Lord deliver us from the birdbath; baptize us instead. Immerse us in waters of life that go way over our heads. Birdbath spirituality is one so shallow it cannot help but let us down when typhoons blow, and madmen assassinate; and tyrants annihilate; and presidents prevaricate; and the devil prowls around like a roaring lion not only seeking someone to devour but darn well doing just that. God save us from birdbaths and the spiritualities that create them; baptize us into Christ; drown us, do us in, raise us up, give us the strength to cope, an integrity to stand tall, a life that matters, and friends & companions who hold us close us till death do us part. 

Here’s a suggestion. Before you leave tonight, come up here by the font, scoop out a handful of this holy water, and literally douse yourself with an all-too-certain reminder that it is no longer you who live, but Christ who lives in you. As you get soaking wet in Jesus, recall that you have been united with him in his death so that you can be united with him in his Resurrection. As our dismissal directs, then go forth into the world, rejoice in the power of his spirit, and just see what this new identity you carry can do for a sin-sick and soul-weary world; a world that is sick and tired of being sick and tired; a world desperately needing to meet up with the likes of you and me in our re-conditioned, rehabilitated, resurrected, and utterly drenched conditions. May God who has give you the will to do these things; now give you the strength and the power to carry them out.