Isaiah 43:1-7; Psalm 29; Acts 8:14-17; Luke 3:15-17, 21-22
The Rev. Cameron Partridge
January 12, 2025
O God, you declare your power chiefly in showing mercy and compassion: Grant us the fullness of your grace, that we, running to obtain your promises, may become partakers of your glorious treasure; through Jesus Christ who is alive with you in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God now and for ever. Amen.[1]
Good Morning, St. Aidan’s. This morning we gather on the first Sunday after the Epiphany, the beginning of a season that emphasizes themes of revelation, the manifestation of divine glory, of following that glory with wonder and awe, as we heard in the story of the Magi last Sunday. This time in the Church Year is launched by three distinct stories that we don’t always have a chance to hear on Sunday morning: first, (last Sunday, technically Monday, January 6th) the adoration of the Magi; then (today) the Baptism of Jesus, always the first Sunday after the Epiphany; and finally (next Sunday) the Wedding at Cana when Jesus transforms water into wine. We’ll hear these stories echoed in the blessing at the close of today’s service.[2] I love this time of the liturgical year, not always conceived of as a season, with its variable length, its shifting of color, its stories of wonder.[3] The first Eucharist I ever celebrated, twenty years ago in a frigid Somerville, Massachusetts parish, the heat off and everyone shoved together in their winter coats, was on this Sunday, the Baptism of Jesus. This day is special to me. Yet this year I find myself approaching it differently. I find myself longing for the glory of God that shines out in these stories to reach us and our world in the form of mercy. Mercy and compassion, to use the language of the prayer with which I opened.
This theme rises to the fore in our passage from the prophet Isaiah. Speaking to Israelites in Babylonian exile, feeling forsaken, God addresses the community’s fear and despair directly, reminding them of the divine power that spoke creation itself into being: “Thus says the Lord, who created you, O Jacob, who formed you, O Israel: Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine” (Isaiah 43:1). Nothing in the calamities they faced could undo their fundamental belonging to the God who made them, who created all things and remains present in their midst. When passing through waters, when fleeing fire, God, says, I will be with you. I will be with you. In a previous passage, Isaiah conveys God’s promise to all who feel powerless and overwhelmed: “Have you not known? Have you not heard? The Lord is the everlasting God, the Creator of the ends of the earth. [God’s] understanding is unsearchable. [God] gives power to the faint and strengthens the powerless. Even youths will faint and be weary, the young will fall exhausted” Isaiah continues, acknowledging that in fact human vulnerability and frailty catches up with us all, regardless of age. But, he continues, “those who wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength, they shall mount up with wings like eagles, they shall run and not be weary, they shall walk and not faint” (Isaiah 40:28-31).[4] Isaiah shares a vision of God’s power manifested in creation and shared in deep compassion.
The Baptism of Jesus, centerpiece of the readings assigned for today, underlines the promise of divine presence. All of the gospels share this story with slight differences, because it conveys a crucial moment in Jesus’ life, launching him out into his ministry. Of all the accounts, Luke’s is arguably the most compact. He does not describe Jesus actually being baptized but references the fact that it had occurred: “Now when all the people were baptized, and when Jesus also had been baptized and was praying, the heaven was opened, and the Holy Spirit descended upon him in bodily form like a dove” (Luke 3:21-22a). Uniquely in Luke’s telling, Jesus is described as one among many – all the people – whom John had baptized.[5] Jesus is clearly among us in this moment, one who is not above the fray but in our midst. And into that midst, from above in the bodily form of a dove, comes the Holy Spirit, accompanied by a divine voice declaring Jesus beloved, the Son in whom the divine parent was well pleased. Jesus would be launched from that ground of belovedness to share the liberation of divine love in all that he did – as we will hear in two weeks: “to bring good news to the poor; to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor” (Luke 4:18-19). Jesus’ ministry embodies that. This morning, standing upon that ground, having joining with all the people in the waters of new birth, waters his own presence had stirred and sanctified, we might see a sign of divine solidarity.[6] We might see a vision of God’s mercy and compassion.
Over the last weeks, as tumult in our country’s political life and around the world has caused me to reach out to God for signs of divine mercy, I have found a particular image welling up in my mind, almost involuntarily. It is a painting by a Renaissance artist, Piero della Francesca who lived and worked in 15th century Italy. I recall learning about him in an art history course years ago and being taught to notice how his human figures have an almost columnar quality, sturdy and straight, serene, and firmly planted. As one who has long been drawn more to more monstrous Western medieval imagery – bring on the grotesque! – Piero della Francesca’s paintings had never particularly spoken to me. Yet over the last few weeks his altarpiece Madonna della Misericordia, Our Lady of Mercy, involuntarily popped into my mind. In it, Mary the mother of Jesus stands, a monumental, sheltering figure, holding her mantle out while various figures, much smaller in scale, pray under the shadow of her wings, as it were. She, and God through her, radiates divine mercy. This week I was surprised to discover that my office here at church had a book about Piero della Francesca’s work.[7] How it got there, I have no idea. I appreciated the chance to look at the painting I just described as well as the artist’s rendering of the Baptism of Jesus. Now displayed at the National Gallery in London, Jesus stands in what is a traditional, iconic pose, facing the viewer as John pours water over his head, one foot out of the water and the other ambiguously placed, standing at the river’s threshold. He has that stolid, calm demeanor, trunk-like as suggested by the walnut tree unusually placed next to him.[8] As with the Madonna, a sense of compassion and mercy, of divine grounding and peace, flows out from this image. You can also see a figure in the background stripping in preparation for his own baptism. Jesus’ baptism, while distinct, is also clearly taking place among the people, as Luke’s rendition emphasizes. The rendering of this painting, its landscape and flora as much as the depiction of the people themselves, takes the story out of its original context and places it in local Italian context, reminding us that the waters of the Jordan, the voice of divine love, compassion, and mercy can and does flow wherever any of us and those we love may be.[9] In other words, God is with us. God is present, grounding and sustaining the living and grieving, standing with the struggling and suffering, sharing the divine life of love in the midst of whatever life and the world may throw our way.
Friends, our hearts go out to places of calamity this morning. The fires in Los Angeles are overwhelming to contemplate, and many of us know and love people there who have lost so much. We know communities of faith, including but by no means limited to Episcopal congregations such as St. Mark’s in Altadena, who have lost their buildings, people who have lost their homes and belongings.[10] As a Rabbi Joshua Levine Grater was quoted as preaching to the Pasadena Jewish Temple and Center, which lost its building, “this congregation is about people. It’s about community. The space is in service to something greater, and that can’t be taken away.” And as Msgr. Lloyd Torgerson of St. Monica’s Catholic Church, which also lost their building, shared, “all I can do is walk with them.”[11] This morning, we pray for all who are displaced, all who have died. We have opportunities to contribute toward relief, listed in your booklet and in this week’s Flame that was shared on Friday. As we engage with this tragedy, as we pray for and respond to challenges in places around the country, around the world, and in our own lives, may we be strengthened to answer God’s call to join in consoling and forming anew a world rent in grief. And as we respond to that call, may the power of divine compassion and mercy, launched in love, sustain us and all we know and meet.
[1] Adapted from Proper 21, Book of Common Prayer (New York: Church Publishing, 1979), p. 234 via Bosco Peters: https://www.liturgy.co.nz/reflection/proper21bcp.html
[2] The Book of Occasional Services 2022 (New York: Church Publishing, 2022), 12.
[3] Neil Alexander reflects in Celebrating Liturgical Time, “the use of the term ‘Epiphany Season’ to denote the time between the Feast of the Epiphany, January 6, and the Sunday before Ash Wednesday was perhaps not the best choice. Epiphany is a single day, January 6, and all other days in this ‘season’ are designated as after the Epiphany. Insofar as there is an ‘Epiphany season,’ therefore, it is between January 6 and the first Sunday after. To frame the period, ‘Time after Epiphany’ in Lutheran usage, or ‘Ordinary Time’ in Roman Catholic usage, are better solutions. For the time being, however, we are stuck with the inaccurate term ‘Epiphany Season.’” Celebrating Liturgical Time: Days, Weeks, and Seasons (New York: Church Publishing, 2014), 47. I understand Alexander’s perspective but feel there is something about naming Epiphany as a season, even as it transgresses the usual liturgical definition, that is importantly and uniquely formative. I like the designation as is.
[4] Walter Brueggemann makes this point about God’s consoling, creational power in our passage, as well as a connection to Isaiah 40:28-31 in Theology of the Old Testament: Testimony, Dispute, Advocacy (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 1997), 150-151.
[5] Fred Craddock, “Luke” in The HarperColli9ns Bible Commentary (San Francisco, CA: HarperSanFrancisco, 2000), 933.
[6] Ignatius of Antioch describes Jesus as sanctifying the waters of baptism in his Letter to the Ephesians XVIII, in The Apostolic Fathers, Vol. 1 (London & Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1912, 1998), 193.
[7] Bruce Cole, Piero Della Francesca: Tradition and Innovation in Renaissance Art (San Francisco, CA: HarperCollins, 1991)
Caroline Campbell, “Piero della Francesca: a Quiet Revolutionary,” lecture at the National Gallery, London: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zR24Coi1ZGA
[9] Perhaps the hills of Sansepolcro specifically, or at least the Tuscan hills. Piero Della Francesca, 51. Also, Campbell, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zR24Coi1ZGA
[10] David Paulson, “Episcopal church, 2 rectories destroyed by deadly fast-moving wildfires raging in Southern California,” Episcopal News Service, January 8, 2025: https://episcopalnewsservice.org/2025/01/08/fast-moving-wildfires-threaten-communities-force-evacuations-in-southern-california/
[11] Jody Becker, “Synagogue Congregation Grieves in Borrowed Home After L.A. Fires,” New York Times, January 11, 2025: https://www.nytimes.com/2025/01/11/us/synagogue-los-angeles-palisades-fires.html
Comments