Luke 3:16
(NOTE: if you are looking for May 28's sermon, it's the next post down. Thanks!)
John answered all of them by saying, “I baptize you with water; but one who is more powerful than I is coming; I am not worthy to untie the thong of his sandals. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire.”
Many of you know that I am a student in Liturgical Studies. I study—and more importantly, deeply love—Christian worship. I love its high church manifestations, the explicit rituals, but I am a product of the free church tradition.
And my tradition has its own rituals. I love its rituals, the way that its music and baptism and preaching and public prayers and giving and Communion have carried me through life. If anyone tells you that’s not true, that free churches have no rituals, just try to move the doxology out of its appointed place after the taking of the offering. Try introducing Taize or Vineyard music to a Fanny Crosby congregation and tell me there are no rituals in free churches.
And that’s OK—that’s as it should be. Part of what we do when we gather to worship God as groups is that we say there are things that are important for us to do regularly and always in a certain way. The creation and honoring of rituals is part and parcel of Christian worship. In some churches, it’s genuflecting at the cross; in some, the congregation stands one by one during a song of dedication to demonstrate our voluntary individual decision to follow Christ.
For Baptists, our chief ritual is baptism—specifically the baptism of believers and by immersion. In the mid-nineteenth century, when the American frontier was expanding, the Methodists and Baptists did their best at reaching those rowdy pioneer souls. Many chose to become Baptists because of the moving ceremony of believer’s baptism by immersion. It completely rankled the Methodists, so much so that they wrote pamphlet after pamphlet about why Baptist baptism was unscriptural and out of keeping with God’s will. But there is no denying the ritual appealed to the American spirit, an individual decision honored with an emotional, dramatic moment.
In Luke 3:16, we see John doing the same thing. John was baptizing people who had repented. Like baptism today, this was a powerful service and no doubt emotions were flowing as people died to their old ways of living and rose to a new type of life.
The emotions reached a fever pitch, and people began to wonder if this baptizer might not be the Messiah. His response is telling: “I baptize you with water; but one who is more powerful than I is coming.” John was aware his ritualizing, his life of repentance, was good, but wholly without the power that Christ carried. The baptism of Jesus had real and genuine power. One baptized into Christ’s way of living would be set ablaze with new fire: given a completely new life and accepted into a community of real and genuine power through the Holy Spirit. John knew there was a foundational difference between what he could do and what Jesus was going to do. One was just water; but one had fire. Without the fire-power that Christ gave baptism, it was empty.
Liturgical scholars and laypeople alike often love their rituals. And this is OK—rituals help to create community and community is a necessary part of growing as a Christian. And yet we must remember that it’s possible to go through the motions in a way that lacks fire, that lacks genuine power. A Catholic can cross herself and never intend to live under the cross once she leaves that sanctuary. A Baptist can get dunked for the sake of self-actualization and rob that ritual of its true meaning. A Pentecostal can lift up holy hands while holding back the true intentions of his heart. An Episcopalian can open the prayer book and pray, “We humbly pray thee so to guide and govern us by thy Holy Spirit…” while fully intending to follow her own heart’s guidance rather than that of the Spirit.
Our rituals are beautiful, but unless they are lit ablaze by Christ, they will be empty. John the Baptist knew it; do you?
John answered all of them by saying, “I baptize you with water; but one who is more powerful than I is coming; I am not worthy to untie the thong of his sandals. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire.”
Many of you know that I am a student in Liturgical Studies. I study—and more importantly, deeply love—Christian worship. I love its high church manifestations, the explicit rituals, but I am a product of the free church tradition.
And my tradition has its own rituals. I love its rituals, the way that its music and baptism and preaching and public prayers and giving and Communion have carried me through life. If anyone tells you that’s not true, that free churches have no rituals, just try to move the doxology out of its appointed place after the taking of the offering. Try introducing Taize or Vineyard music to a Fanny Crosby congregation and tell me there are no rituals in free churches.
And that’s OK—that’s as it should be. Part of what we do when we gather to worship God as groups is that we say there are things that are important for us to do regularly and always in a certain way. The creation and honoring of rituals is part and parcel of Christian worship. In some churches, it’s genuflecting at the cross; in some, the congregation stands one by one during a song of dedication to demonstrate our voluntary individual decision to follow Christ.
For Baptists, our chief ritual is baptism—specifically the baptism of believers and by immersion. In the mid-nineteenth century, when the American frontier was expanding, the Methodists and Baptists did their best at reaching those rowdy pioneer souls. Many chose to become Baptists because of the moving ceremony of believer’s baptism by immersion. It completely rankled the Methodists, so much so that they wrote pamphlet after pamphlet about why Baptist baptism was unscriptural and out of keeping with God’s will. But there is no denying the ritual appealed to the American spirit, an individual decision honored with an emotional, dramatic moment.
In Luke 3:16, we see John doing the same thing. John was baptizing people who had repented. Like baptism today, this was a powerful service and no doubt emotions were flowing as people died to their old ways of living and rose to a new type of life.
The emotions reached a fever pitch, and people began to wonder if this baptizer might not be the Messiah. His response is telling: “I baptize you with water; but one who is more powerful than I is coming.” John was aware his ritualizing, his life of repentance, was good, but wholly without the power that Christ carried. The baptism of Jesus had real and genuine power. One baptized into Christ’s way of living would be set ablaze with new fire: given a completely new life and accepted into a community of real and genuine power through the Holy Spirit. John knew there was a foundational difference between what he could do and what Jesus was going to do. One was just water; but one had fire. Without the fire-power that Christ gave baptism, it was empty.
Liturgical scholars and laypeople alike often love their rituals. And this is OK—rituals help to create community and community is a necessary part of growing as a Christian. And yet we must remember that it’s possible to go through the motions in a way that lacks fire, that lacks genuine power. A Catholic can cross herself and never intend to live under the cross once she leaves that sanctuary. A Baptist can get dunked for the sake of self-actualization and rob that ritual of its true meaning. A Pentecostal can lift up holy hands while holding back the true intentions of his heart. An Episcopalian can open the prayer book and pray, “We humbly pray thee so to guide and govern us by thy Holy Spirit…” while fully intending to follow her own heart’s guidance rather than that of the Spirit.
Our rituals are beautiful, but unless they are lit ablaze by Christ, they will be empty. John the Baptist knew it; do you?
posted by Rev. Michael Jordan at 12:19 PM
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