I was stumped by what to title this sermon.  I’m never sure people pay much attention to sermon titles anyway.  Do you go for clever or serious?

Some question the wisdom of using titles at all.  Maybe sermons don’t need titles, though I have heard sermons that could have used a good title and others when it really didn’t matter. This morning I landed on Baptized though I thought about using Inspired, Contested, Proclaimed or something close to that. But I settled for Baptized, which is, after all, what we all are. 

My awkwardness in finding a sermon title reflects a Presbyterian prejudice—while we ordain our ministers they are no different than any other follower of Jesus Christ.  All followers of Christ are ordained.  All followers are set apart, commissioned to proclaim Good News. We’re ordained when we we’re baptized.  Presbyterians don’t rank Christians.  We don’t have classes.  I know it’s tempting—you’ve got regular members, then deacons, elders,  DCEs,  then ministers—and beyond ministers, you’ve got missionaries. And beyond missionaries you’ve got church secretaries. And beyond secretaries—Music Directors!  (Ryan, there is a pecking order, which you’ll soon learn trumps everything the Book of Order and John Calvin say.)

I want to bring a word to Ryan on the day of his ordination, but also a word to the whole church, to all of the baptized.  Ryan knows this day is not all about him. It is about us or rather today is about God’s Good News in Jesus Christ. So, what I want to say about ministers also applies to members and vice versa. This is a day about the Baptized—those inspired, tested, and sent to proclaim Good News.

 

There was a time when expectant mothers referred to baby’s first movement as quickening.  I had always heard that—quickening. I thought it meant a little hiccup.  Not with our youngest.  You could see Sean’s elbows, his knees.  It looked like a basketball game going on in there.  We still use the expression in the Apostles’ Creed—“He shall come to judge the quick and the dead.”  The quick are alive.  They’ve got Spirit.  People who give up the ghost are dead.  They are spiritless.  The quickened are alive.

When Ryan is ordained, at the moment of his ordination, hands will be placed on his head by those previously ordained and he will be quickened.  Those commissioned for this purpose are not giving Ryan something he doesn’t already have.  They are not giving him God’s Spirit as if the Spirit was theirs to give. Rather, the Commission will recognize what God has already done or what God did on the Day of Pentecost—“In the last days it will be, God declares, that I will pour out my Spirit upon all flesh, and your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, and your young men shall see visions, and your old men shall dream dreams.  Even upon my slaves, both men and women, in those days I will pour out my Spirit; and they shall prophesy.” 

Forty years ago, the Charismatic Movement swept through the Presbyterian Church.  Charismatics were disappointed with the church. In their view, it lacked verve, pizzazz.  Charismatics were all about enthusiasm, life, spirit. But in many places, charismatics tore churches apart.  Splits often resulted from their testimony.  For all of their good intentions, Charismatics tended to cleave Christians into two kinds—those with Spirit and those without. 

A similar division exists among evangelicals today.  Evangelicals talk about renewal, transformation, conversion, being born again. In Colonial America, the term was awakening, suggesting that there were sleeping or unconverted Christians, which would be us and most mainline Christians today.

Presbyterians and mainline Christians aren’t sure what to think.  We’ve let charismatics and evangelicals dictate the terms of the conversation. I think we should change that. I think we need to take back the Spirit.  All Christians have the Spirit.  All who are baptized have received the Spirit. 

At the risk of over-simplification, the crux of the matter is passion.  To their credit, evangelicals and charismatics recognize that following Jesus is or should be all-consuming, the driving motivation, the core, the center of who we are as human beings, the thing we’re most passionate about.  Presbyterians, meanwhile, like their religion cool, intellectual, circumspect, proper, safe, polite, pleasant, reasonable, convenient, compartmentalized.  Presbyterians could use a little fire.  We could use passion, commitment, discipline, inspiration, call it what you will—devotion, enthusiasm. And I don’t mean just emotion, but that too.  We need God’s Spirit.

Ryan was a swimmer in high school.  Ryan, did they start your races with electronic horns—you know the kind, like you hear in the Olympics today?  Did they have that back in your day?

We didn’t have swimming in my high school, but I did run track and just so you’ll know how long ago that was—we ran on packed cinders and wore spiked shoes and a gun that fired blanks was used to start races.  I mostly was a shot putter and discus thrower, but coach made me run the 880, which is a terrible race for an offensive lineman.  Anyway, I occasionally got to hear the gun go off and away we’d go. I saw the fast guys for the first hundred yards and after that it was “see ya later.”

Ryan, your race begins today not with a gun shot or a horn blast, but a voice.  It’s the same voice heard when you were baptized: “You are my Son, the Beloved, with you I am well pleased.” 

The life and death of Jesus Christ tells us that God is pleased with us, that we are Beloved children of God.  We are beloved not because we’ve earned the designation or deserve it.  We are beloved, period.  This is a very confusing part about ministry and a very confusing part about being Christian.  Most everything in our world tells us we’re worth only what we produce.  We are as Marx said the “product of our labor.”  We are worthy when we’re useful.  We’re worthy when we work hard. We’re worthy when we’re good or when we do good things.  It’s hard to get it through our thick heads and hard hearts that in God’s eyes we are worthy, period.  We’re worthy because God says we are. 

Mark says when Jesus was baptized the heavens were “torn apart.”  It’s a violent image but then God can seem so far away, so distant, so uninvolved—something must be torn for God to come near.  Mark says the sky was ripped open and down came the Spirit like a dove. It was then that Jesus heard the voice that began his race:  “You are my Son, the Beloved, with you I am well pleased.”  That’s what baptism tells us. And that is what ordination declares—we are God’s beloved.

But bear in mind, this designation, this claim is not uncontested.  The very Spirit who names us beloved, sends us into the wilderness.  Again, Mark uses a violent word—the Spirit drove Jesus into the wilderness.  Ministry is inspired. It is Spirit-filled, but it is also contested.  Ministry, as discipleship itself, does not exist in a contest-free zone.  Discipleship is contested.

 

I’ve been in Ryan’s office.  He has some nicely framed diplomas—even has his name on the office door—Ryan Jensen.  And after today it will the Reverend Ryan Jensen.  Enjoy today, Ryan, but know that Monday’s coming.  I know; you’re off tomorrow.  And you deserve it and should enjoy it.  But Monday’s coming.  There’s always Monday—moon day, the day in the wilderness when you will be tested. Mark doesn’t specify the nature of the temptation. Unlike Matthew and Luke, Mark leaves a blank about temptation which I want to fill it in with some wild beasts that may appear come Monday. And these are in no particular order. 

The first is hubris or the beast that leads you to believe that ministry is all up to you. You are important, Ryan, but not that important. Government Street has done just fine for 175 years without you and it will be fine when you have joined the Rouge’s Hall of Fame.  Don’t take this personally, but God is able to run the church without you or me or any of us. That doesn’t make us any of us less beloved, but it does mean we can take our bad days with a grain of salt and our good days with much less pride.

Secondly, watch out for cynicism.  Cynicism will eat your lunch. It’s the age we live in—maybe we have too much information and not enough wisdom or maybe too much affluence and not enough expectation, but don’t get bitten by cynicism.  Learn to be surprised. Live to be surprised by ordinary people and by God’s goodness which shows up in the most unlikely people. Say no to cynicism.

Thirdly, say No to optimism. Say No to the notion of progress measured by numbers.  You will be tempted to count noses. All preachers are—more is always better. Bigger is always better. It’s the spirit of the age and a beast in the wilderness.  Success can’t be quantified.

Fourthly, guard against burn out and freeze out.  Most of us know about burn out.  Freeze out is less familiar but no less dangerous and from my observation more prevalent.  Frozen ministers stop taking chances. Frozen ministers stop reading books. Frozen ministers major in minors.  Frozen ministers get cold feet when taking prophetic stances so they take them not at all or timidly when disguised as disgust or chagrin.   Frozen ministers are more concerned with being right than being gracious and regularly confuse graciousness with being nice.  Don’t do that. And don’t be afraid of being rejected or successful.  Frozen ministers do both.  Stay warm.  Stay by the fire. There are beasts in the wilderness.  Ministry is always contested. But God also sends help.  The angels will “wait” on you.

 

Last thought . . . proclaim the good news. 

I read recently that by age forty the average American will have seen or heard one million commercials.  A million!  That’s hard to believe. That’s a lot of words.  Our age has no shortage of words.  And that doesn’t count the millions and millions of words we’re bombarded with daily from news media, movies, books, records, cell phones, ipods, the Internet.  It goes on and on.  How can a preacher get a word in edgewise?  How can witnesses proclaim?

Very simply, we point.  We tell people—“Look over here.  See this one. Listen to this One.  This is the story.  God so loved . . .”

I think it was Barth who said that people come to church with one question on their minds:  “Is it true?”

As a witness to the truth, your task is not to flatten God’s truth so that it fits our minds.  Nor is it to puff up God’s truth as if God’s truth needed amendment.  Our calling is to testify. Testimony is always particular which means it must always be in your own words.  You can’t find neutral ground to proclaim the gospel. That ground doesn’t exist.  Gospel truth is always particular or to use Paul’s language it is scandalous.  The story we tell is universal but it is first particular—“In those days Jesus came from Nazareth. . .”  The gospel we proclaim begins there. It begins with Jesus not with some universal idea of love or justice or human rights, important as those ideas are. Rather, proclamation begins with Jesus. 

To proclaim Good News you must begin with Jesus.  Tell his story in word and sacrament. It is News because it is about Jesus and it is Good because Jesus is God’s word. Proclaim that Word. Be inspired by that Word.  And let that Word be your strength when you contend with beasts.  “The time is fulfilled, the kingdom of God has come near; repent and believe in the good news.”  Amen.