Sermon

Earlier this week, I saw on the news that it was the 40^th anniversary of the release of Bruce Springsteen’s “Born to Run” album, which was a timely bookend to this very nostalgic summer for me.    I can remember taking my copy of that album, bought on the day it was first released, with me when I began seminary in September 1975.   It got a lot of play in those early formative days of my seminary studies as well as over the past week, as listening to it from start to finish, prompted within me many memories and emotions.

As I mention, this has been a nostalgic summer for me.   Earlier this year, I was asked, and eagerly accepted, the chance to officiate at the baptism of a old seminary classmate’s grandson.   And so earlier this month, it was a blessing for me to do that at the Eisenhower Chapel on the campus of Penn State University, where my good friend taught for many years and where his children, including the baby’s mother, attended college.    In the days leading up to the baptism, my friend Skip and I joked over email about the hours we spent listening to music like “Born to Run” and watching football between classes, never envisioning the day when we would have grandchildren, let alone attend their baptisms, wondering where the time went.

Several years ago, the Christian Century, one of the finest publications of contemporary Christian writing and thought, published a series of articles over a period of one year entitled, “How My Mind Has Changed.”   A number of different Christian writers, theologians, pastors, and educators offered their perspective on how their thinking had changed over the course of their lives and careers.  It was quite popular and drew great responses from the readers, eventually leading to the publication of the series as a book. 

In the days leading up to and since I baptized young Owen on a warm sunny Saturday earlier this month, I’ve thought often about the years since I began seminary and how my mind has changed on a number of faith-related matters, including baptism.

Ironically, there was a God-moment, one of those encounters in the course of a day, that gets your attention and holds on, at the end of this special weekend with my old friends.   On Sunday morning, all the families gathered to have one last breakfast together at the Original Waffle Shop, a well-known restaurant in State College.  This was the last time everyone would be together as the baby and his parents were headed back to North Carolina, and one extended family was returning to Rhode Island, the other staying in State College.   After we all had our fill of waffles and coffee, and as the clock was ticking, with most of us looking at a long drive ahead of us that day, it was clear that it was rapidly becoming time to say good-bye.   And very naturally, and very beautifully, as the ten of us all sat about the large table, young Owen was passed from one adoring relative to the next.   Grandparents, godparents, aunts and uncles, everyone wanted one more quality moment with the little one, one more moment to gaze into his clear bright eyes, to coax a smile, to nuzzle, kiss, hold him, to caress his soft hair.   It would likely be a few months for some to see him again, and as we all know, there can be many changes in those early formative months.   And so, one by one, Owen got passed along around the table, each person grateful for that sacred moment of holding him once more.

When we exited the restaurant, lingering about, savoring time together and avoiding the inevitable good-byes for as long as possible, an elderly man, who had been sitting near us in the restaurant, approached us.  First he asked who the baby’s mother way, to which Jenny, Owen’s mother replied, “I am.”  He smiled at her and commented, “You all were passing that baby around like he’s communion.”   It was an odd and unexpected remark, but in the days since, I’ve come to see it as an incredibly rich one.

In our Protestant tradition, we affirm two sacraments, baptism and communion.   Two ways, which Jesus calls us to do as acts of faith, that recognize his divinity and presence in our midst.   Baptizing in the name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit, and sharing the sacred meal of the broken bread and the shared cup in remembrance of him.  

Our standard definition of a sacrament is that it is “an outward and visible sign of the inward and invisible grace of God.”   In baptism, the words, water and actions seek to remind us of the death and resurrection of Jesus, being in a symbolic way, a visible witness to the power of God’s love that conquers all things and leads us to eternal life.  

But the gentleman’s passing comment has led me over the past month to give increasing thought to how my mind has changed in relation to baptism.   In their own way, children are sacraments to us, visible reminders of hope and life.   Taking on the responsibility of rearing children is one way of affirming our faith and hope for the days to come.  And today, we hear very clearly, Jesus’ call to affirm and bless the children in our midst.

Infants are new life in our midst, a constant reminder that the goodness of God’s creation is continuing.   They are visible reminders of purity in life, their eyes clear and bright; visible reminders to us of how we once were, before life changes, shapes and ages us.  

One of the formative thinkers and writers for my still evolving faith is Matthew Fox.   A former Roman Catholic priest, one of Fox’s first book that got the attention of Vatican officials and others was entitled Original Blessing.  And in this book, Fox challenges the traditional thinking of original sin.  So much of traditional thinking in faith centers on our brokenness, the sin that leads us away from God and calls for reconciliation and a Savior.  In orthodox thinking, a baby is born into a state of sin, needing salvation and the rite of baptism to cement their place in God’s kingdom and favor.   Fox challenges that, asking us to consider children not as symbols of original sin, but symbols of original blessing, one more sign of God’s continued love for us, one more moment of the goodness of creation and our place in it, one more sign of hope for the days to come.

In his book, If the Church Were Christian, Philip Gulley reminds us that there are two creation stories in the book of Genesis.   The first tells of God simultaneously creating man and woman, at the same time.  (read Genesis 1: 26-28).   The second tells the story of Adam and Eve, of the initial act of disobedience in sharing the apple, and the banishment from Eden.   The first tells a story of gender equality, of encouragement to fill the earth and subdue it, a wonderful affirmation of sexual intimacy; of God calling us to responsible stewardship of the earth and the continued blessings of God.  The second tells a story of Eve being born from Adam’s rib, an implication of subservience, of their disobedience, their hiding in fear from God, ashamed of their bodies, their banishment from the goodness of Eden.   Gulley and Fox raise the question in their writings---how different would the church be, and how different would our way of seeing the world and understanding of God be, if the first creation story was seen as the primary one rather than the second creation story.   Is it too late to begin to craft a faith that reflects that more affirming creation narrative? (Gulley, pp 38-39)

When we affirm children as being walking, talking, crying, shrieking, cooing, laughing, smiling sacraments in our midst, I believe we see the covenant promises we’ve made today, to nurture and support parents in the critical work of nurturing spirituality and faith formation. with a new priority.   We realize the high calling of nurturing the sacred gifts of God in our midst in ways that reflect the wondrous, abundantly gracious way of God towards us.

Perhaps the one element that binds the sacraments together—baptism, communion and children in our midst, is that they all serve to enable us to value God and life in our daily lives.    In baptism, we remember Jesus’ call to ritual cleansing, a very visible way to proclaim the wonders of renewing grace in our lives and in our midst.   In communion, we remember Jesus’ call to remember him in the acts of breaking and sharing, vivid reminders that in life, we, like the bread which we break, will be broken, and that we, like the cup we share, will be united, supported and nurtured by others on our journey.  And the sacrament of children, very visible signs of God’s original blessing, serve as reminders of both the hope God has for us and all the world, and the blessing of wonder and joy in the creation we glory in.

I began this sermon today referencing the “Born to Run” album, released 40 years ago this week and how that has awoken within my mind and heart, memories and emotions over many years.   Now I’m not about to advocate the possibility of a classic rock album being a sacrament, (although if any album would qualify, that one certainly would,) but another quality of sacraments is the ability to help us transcend time.   Just like attending weddings often prompts guests to remember their own weddings and their own commitments, and like attending funerals often prompts us to consider our own mortality and how we are living today, so too do sacraments bless us with the chance to remember the promises once made on our behalf at our baptism, the times and settings when we have shared bread and the cup with others, and the wonders, hopes and joys of new life in our midst, as was witnessed on that day when young Owen was passed from one to another, like communion.   New life that moves us to speak in baby talk or whatever way we can to prompt a reaction, a connection, because I believe in a holy, primal way, connecting with new life helps us to connect with the Creator of all life.

For today, let us consider babies as sacramental, visible signs of hope in our midst; assurance that the wonder of creation is continuing; the ones who make us young again and prompt wonderful feelings within.   And they are the blessings that draw us out of ourselves, moving us to sacrifice freely, to become ever protective and sensitive, and more determined to craft the world they will live in.

Thanks be to God for all the outward and visible signs of grace and hope in our midst.  May we always hold sacred that which Christ has called us to and may we be blessed to live lives worthy of the precious gifts of God in our midst.   Amen.