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The gospel story about Jesus’ baptism seems so remote from our own experience – the spirit descending like a dove, the voice from heaven
proclaiming Jesus as God’s beloved son – it’s a whole lot different from baptism as we know it. And so it is hard, perhaps, to recognize,
in this story, something every single one of us needs – something we all crave, and, if we never get it, we miss it for ever. That something
is a parent’s blessing, a sense, over time, or even in a few fleeting experiences, that we have a father or mother’s absolute, unconditional,
unmerited regard. Most of us get this, and most of us, as parents, give this to our children. In fact, we mainly notice the importance of
such affirmation only when it is absent.
But I venture to say that beyond this craving for parental acceptance is an even deeper longing. That longing is for acceptance by God, a
longing to be blessed by the ultimate source of life and love, however we understand that. We might see the story of Jesus’ baptism as a
symbolic representation of our own experiences of profound blessing, whether from God or from a parent.
A woman told me of a devastating session with her therapist. She was then in her late 40’s and beginning to come to terms with a failed
marriage. As background, she described to her therapist her mother’s fearful, guarding presence, her inability to affirm her daughter’s
passage into adolescence. The therapist commented, very quietly, “Your mother never blessed you.” His words unlocked the floodgate of
her tears – ringing so true, so deep – the painful, painful realization that indeed she had never felt blessed by her mother. All her
later insecurities and dumb choices seemed connected at least in part to this unmet need for acceptance. We do need the experience of
being loved unconditionally by our parents, and I believe this is rooted in the deeper need for a more transcendent grounding. How much
does a need for God’s blessing, even if we don’t, or can’t acknowledge it, plague our own passages through life? With the help of
therapy and some unfolding experiences of being truly loved for herself, the troubled woman gradually gained the self-regard and sense
of blessing that she had for so long missed. She was able to make better decisions, both personally and professionally, and, slowly, she
came to see what she was beginning to call God as the source of this blessing.
But this kind of blessing is not the whole story – not for Jesus and not for us. In three of the four gospel accounts, Jesus’ baptism
leads him immediately into the wilderness – to forty dark days of deprivation and testing. He emerges to begin his ministry only after
facing the devil, within and without. Despite God’s blessing at his baptism, Jesus must contend with temptations which afflict us all –
temptations to arrogance, to rely solely on ourselves, or to succumb to power lust. In the wilderness, Jesus is humbled; he accepts
limits, and only then ventures forth.
Given these gospel accounts, I find James Carse’s startling take on Jesus’ baptism to be hugely insightful and far more stirring. Here
we have a humbling in place of a blessing. Jesus’ initiation into his life’s work is presented as a real drowning – he slips and is
engulfed and swept away in the river, finally washing ashore – chastened in the face of his cousin John’s taunts. A torrent versus a
dove, humiliation versus glory.
What is Carse up to? And why would we read such a shocking account of the archetypal baptism in church? I think it may be that our
times of downfall, failure and betrayal are just as important as our times of blessing in equipping us for living fully. These times
are important baptisms in their own right. Sometimes it is only through such times that we are born into real life, born into the all
of it.
I remember keenly the first time I was humbled in such a radical way. I was a very young, insecure bride, and all my attempts to be
a perfect wife in that first early marriage were met with massive betrayal. I remember being down on my knees alone in our small
apartment in Arlington, sobbing as the realization sank in that I could not earn and keep the love of another human being by my own
efforts. I couldn’t depend on someone else to make me feel fine about myself if I just tried hard to act right. It was the first
time in my young life when something really big, something I desperately wanted, was beyond the reach of my own determination and
will power to achieve. I was profoundly humbled; I was brought low.
Whatever affirmations I had known were now joined with failure. It was actually that experience that began my long process of coming
to understand grace and eventually becoming a Christian. I had to give up the illusion that by getting things right I could guarantee
that my life would work out. This is an illusion that plagues our culture, that plagues too many of us, but it is false. Doing our
best, and getting things right are important, but they will not save us from tragedy and pain and times of helplessness. We need the
chastening effects of failure to get this, and so it seems true to me to regard such failures along with blessings as essential gifts –
necessary to our spiritual health.
A clergy colleague once commented to me that “everyone needs to be adored”. Yes, we do, at least some of the time. But along with
this we need to face our limits and be brought to our knees, at least once in a while. It is out of both of these – blessing and
downfall – that we are equipped for living. They are both gifts. One assures us that we are beloved, the other lets us know we
can undergo a lot of very tough stuff and not fall apart. We need them both.
I’m thinking of Barack Obama now as he moves towards his inauguration – guaranteed to be the mother of all blessings – the adoration
of millions of people around the world who look to him in hope even in the face of so much uncertainty. I think the story of Jesus’
baptism looks totally pale compared with the pomp and majesty and sheer glory of January 20th! That day should arm him well as he
begins the most important work of his life. But he will also need, and undoubtedly will have, experiences like the ignominious
floundering in Carse’s baptism story – hopefully only a very few. I think we need to respect this reality. Obama will fall short,
and his halo will begin to tarnish. The time of testing will come. Can we allow for missteps, give him room to learn and solidify
trust and gain wisdom first hand? Or will the promise he shows now be worn away and beaten down by media attacks and partisan wars?
We have, as a nation, blessed this man with our vote. Can we now support him as begins to govern and not be too quick to turn on him
when our many problems threaten to drown him? Can we have patience, make room for mistakes, and be realistic in our expectations
of this young president?
And, more importantly, really, can we be that way with ourselves and with one another? Can we be generous in blessing and compassionate
in the face of failure? Can we give and receive blessings as gifts? Can we judge our own and others’ failures as gifts - opening doors
to new growth? That is where we need to start. It is an experience of marvelous grace to realize that we don’t have to count on ourselves
for all our successes or blame ourselves for all our failures. This takes an element of faith, and it’s really hard in a world which
seems to dictate that all of our successes and whatever love we have must be earned, and all of our failures must be causes for condemnation.
None of us can live into the fullness of all we can be without the gifts of both blessing and humbling. Amen
