Sometimes when everything around us seems mired in chaos and disorder, it’s best to go back to the beginning and hear the story again. Once upon a time, in the beginning, God began to create. Tradition tell us that this act of creation was from nothing. Scripture describes the emergence of a recognizable, visible creation from a formless void. God forms, first, light and then separates it from the darkness. Genesis tells us that in creation, God took nothingness, unorganized darkness and chaos, and gave it shape and order.
Over the formless waters, over chaos, the Spirit of God brooded. It is a haunting image of order emerging from a monolithic mass of disorder, whatever that may be. Over this, the Spirit moved and hovered, calling out variety, diversity, and ultimately, structure.
It is a compelling image, even if exactly what transpired is unclear. To this image of creation, the 4th century theologian Ephrem of Syria supplied his own wondrously vivid description. He said that, in the beginning, the Holy Spirit “warmed the waters with a kind of vital warmth, even bringing them to a boil through intense heat in order to make them fertile.”[1]
This captivating image calls to mind the slow boil of a kettle, as you hear the molecules of water moving more rapidly, ending in a loud hiss. It’s the warming of bathwater before a relaxing bath that soothes the body. It’s the fullness of life growing out of something that seems to lack any sign of life.
When we gather at the font for a baptism, as we did just a couple of months ago, we recall in our prayer over the water, God’s Spirit moving over creation in the beginning. As this prayer is uttered, it’s as if the water in the font becomes energized. We begin to realize the latent power in the water before us. This is the water that can restore life to a thirsty body, and this is the water that can bring death when someone has too much of it.
We are told that this is the water of creation, the water of the Red Sea, even the very water of the Jordan in which Jesus was baptized. Baptism is tied back to creation. Baptism is an act of creation. By the power of the Holy Spirit, the waters are given a “vital warmth” so that they might become fertile. This is the point. These waters are meant to become full of life so that they might bestow life. The waters of baptism are meant to transfer the dynamic energy of life within them to our very lives. In baptism, we are to die to stagnant death and rise to a life of vibrant service, fertile lives radiating the “vital warmth” of the Spirit’s presence in them.
In baptism, we see the chaos of our lives given order by the breath of God. The unorganized voids of our lives, where there appears to be no manifestation of God’s presence shining forth, are warmed, set into motion, so that they might take shape in Christian service.
But notice that when God summons creation into being, it is from a monolithic formlessness to a vast variety of shapes and forms. Paradoxically, the creation of order does not bring sameness, but instead creates order out of difference. The energy of God’s breath brooding over the waters of creation warmed them to incubate[2] energized life, not frenzied chaos.
Once upon a time, we knew our collective story. We understood where we came from, what we were to do, who we were to be. Somewhere in our past, we had structure in our lives, in our government, in our civic affairs. Somewhere in the past, the Church herself knew that she had to manifest God’s truth in the world, not out of the world.
But I think we have forgotten much of this story. In the past few days, we have seen attempts to dissolve the structures of democracy. We have seen attempts to wreak disorder where there is supposed to be order in government. We have beheld chilling violence to lives and to a revered, iconic building by some who call themselves Christians. We have witnessed the destruction of life itself.
The wrong kind of energy, an evil kind of energy, was deployed on Wednesday on Capitol Hill, an energy and action channeled into violence, discord, and hatred. People in positions of public trust and power heated the waters of hatred. Some in the Church did the same. They warmed the waters of civic life with a misdirected heat. The molecules energized into motion and the waters boiled with rage. It was, oddly, an unordered movement unified around sameness, the sameness of vitriol and blind defense of a monolithic claim to power. It was a movement from order to disorder, from creative freedom to stagnant chaos.
I suspect that a caldron of fear is at the root of what we have seen this week. Much of the sin and evil that disorders the creation of our lives is rooted in fear. There is the fear of losing control and power. And when fear arises, the human self goes into a reptilian mode of self-defense. We find ourselves, in fear, turning inward on ourselves, and outwardly manifesting aggression and antipathy for others, because we are scared of losing what we have, as if God doesn’t have enough to provide for us. We are afraid of losing our money, our jobs, our friends, everything that is dear to us. Our frail humanity instinctively wants to claim power for the shaping of our own lives, for the shaping of others’ lives, and for getting what we want.
And so, ultimately, we find ourselves becoming afraid of God himself, because God is the one who is constantly renewing our lives and giving shape and order to the chaos within them, and we resist the imposition of that order, even though it’s good for us. But God is the only one with real power. And when God is in control, we are not. When God is in control, shaping us and molding us from disorder to order, we have to part with those harmful things that have become our idols and dear possessions. It is painful.
We are also afraid of losing the individuality of ourselves. We do not want to be the same as others, at heart, and we worry that when God shapes our lives, we will lose our identity. But when God takes control and molds us as a potter molds clay, we will find ourselves, more and more, becoming the unique selves God created us to be.
When we find ourselves thrown into existential mayhem, we must return to the beginning. We must start over. We must tell our story again. Today, we return to the beginning of creation and to the beginning of the new creation of our lives in baptism.
Once upon a time, there was a man who held great power but who stooped to the depths of powerlessness to show us how to live. Once upon a time, he was baptized by John. His baptism was not intended to erase any sinfulness on his part, because there was none. In his baptism, God affirmed his unique status as his beloved Son. But his baptism is an example that shows us in whom we are baptized. It is to show us in whom our lives are given order from their chaos, and whom we are to follow. It is to show us how we are to grow into the likeness of God, in whose image we were formed.
Jesus’ baptism was performed by John, whose baptisms were of repentance. Here is the clue for beginning again. Here is the clue for cooperating with God in the renewal of our lives. When we have reached a stalemate of chaos and disorder and the threshold of darkness, the answer is simple but difficult to enact: repent and turn back to the light.
It would be a violence to the Gospel itself for those of us who proclaim to be Christians to fail to tell our story, especially right now. Those of us who believe in God’s vision for the world are precisely the ones left standing who can remind the world of our story. Our story tells us that when we think that all is lost and that we have messed up beyond repair, God gives us yet another chance. There is no end to these additional chances. But we must do one thing: we must tell the truth. We must own that we have sinned and done what we should not have done, or failed to do what we should have done. Sometime the latter case is the most profound sin.
We also know that in spite of our baptisms, our lives will disintegrate, yet again and again, through our own failings, into disorder, sin, and darkness. This is the human condition. Baptism is not a vaccine for sin but a call to constantly renew the creation of our lives with God’s help and power.
It is never easy to acknowledge fault. It takes a great deal of courage to do this. But telling the truth, in word and action, is at the heart of our story. On the other side of the brave step of truth-telling is a redeemed future. And in this future, with God’s help, anything can happen.
When we turn to the light, we see as in the baptism of Jesus, the heavens part and the Holy Spirit breaks into our lives ready to brood over them and give them shape and order. That Spirit breaks into our world and broods over every font and pool of water in Christendom, ready to give the waters of our lives a vital warmth and make them fertile.
Once upon a time, if we remember our story, the Holy Spirit hovered over the water of our lives and warmed its molecules, summoning truth from the chaos of falsity and lies. Once upon a time, that same Spirit mobilized us into vibrant service and action to preach good news and spread peace.
Once upon a time, God gave order to disorder and created all manner of things and called them good. Now is the time to revisit this story. Now is the time to go back to the beginning of our story. Now is the time for God to tell this story again in our lives. And now is the time for us to tell this story to the world.
Sermon by Father Kyle Babin
The Baptism of Our Lord
January 10, 2021
[1] Ephrem the Syrian, “Commentary on Genesis 1,” cited in Ancient Christian Commentary on Scripture: Genesis 1-11. Ed. Andrew Louth (Intervarsity Press, 2001), 6 (quoted https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/baptism-of-our-lord-2/commentary-on-genesis-11-5-3)
[2] This is also Ephrem of Syria’s word describing the Spirit moving over the waters in the act of creation.