Shame and Honour in the Baptism of Jesus, Matthew 3:13-17 (Ordinary 1 Year A)

Baptism of Christ. Wikimedia Commons, CC Licence 3.0.

Matthew 3:13-17

When David Cameron was Prime Minister, there was a big public debate about ‘British Values.’ Some very conservative Muslims had been accused of undue influence in Birmingham schools to promote militant Islam. Mr Cameron said that anyone living in the UK should abide by ‘British Values’, by which he meant things like democracy, the rule of law, personal and social responsibility, freedom, and tolerance of other beliefs. He cited things like the Magna Carta – although that was a little awkward, as the Magna Carta was an English, not a British document.

Whatever you think of that debate, it shows the reasonable assumption that a nation, a society, or a culture has certain shared values. We may argue about what they are, but the basic idea is sound.

That means, when we come to the Bible, that it is helpful to know about the values of the culture in which a story is placed. Doing that this week with the story of Jesus’ baptism has helped me see it in a new light. The culture into which Jesus was born was

A traditional Mediterranean culture where society stressed honour and shame[1].

Middle Eastern societies have reflected those values of honour and shame right up to modern times. My late father spent a couple of years in Arab countries when he was in the RAF, and I remember him telling me that no matter how much one might disagree with someone from that region, one should never shame them: that was a terrible insult. You should always treat them with dignity and never shame them.

Today, I want us to read about the baptism of Jesus through the lens of honour and shame. It is something we can do throughout the Bible with great profit[2], but today we shall just think about Jesus’ baptism in this way.

Firstly, we’re going to consider shame:

Shame. Wikimedia Commons. CC Licence 2.0.

13 Then Jesus came from Galilee to the Jordan to be baptised by John. 14 But John tried to deter him, saying, ‘I need to be baptised by you, and do you come to me?’

15 Jesus replied, ‘Let it be so now; it is proper for us to do this to fulfil all righteousness.’ Then John consented.

John knows that Jesus is superior to him. Immediately before this, he has been prophesying the coming of Jesus, saying that Jesus is more powerful than him, and that he is not fit to untie Jesus’ sandals (verses 11-12). Whether he fully understands Jesus’ divine status at this point we don’t know, and whether he knows Jesus is sinless we also don’t know, but he does recognise that he is outranked by Jesus. Therefore, he says, he should honour Jesus, not the other way round.

But Jesus does not pull that rank. He takes a place below John by submitting to his baptism. He takes the place of humility, but more than that, he takes the place of humiliation, of shame. Baptism was for those who were ashamed of their sins, and Jesus identifies with the shamed.

Of course, this is a foreshadowing of the Cross, the deepest example of Jesus identifying with the shamed, when he suffered one of the cruellest forms of execution ever devised. But for now, notice that Jesus puts himself alongside the shamed. He could pull rank, but he doesn’t. No wonder the tax collectors and ‘sinners’ loved him.

Shame takes many forms. In part, it is the shame we experience for our sins, if we have any moral compass. Here, by identifying with those who are ashamed of their sins, we see the Jesus who will pronounce divine forgiveness to some of the most outrageous of sinners, those who commit some of the most socially unacceptable sins.

It’s been my privilege on occasion to assure people who have secretly carried the guilt of awful sins that they were too ashamed to admit publicly that God in Christ forgives them. I have seen a burden disappear from someone’s face. And it is all made possible by the Jesus who identifies at his baptism and later at the Cross with those shamed by sin, and who in between those two episodes spends time befriending such people.

But there is more to shame than this. Some people have shamed foisted onto them. These people are not so much those who have sinned, but those who have been sinned against. Somebody else has done something dreadful to them, and they have been told they must keep it secret, or there will be terrible consequences for them. Sometimes, the perpetrator engages in what we call today ‘gaslighting’, where they manipulate their victim to the point of them doubting reality. This is incredibly damaging to someone’s self-esteem. I’m sure I don’t need to elaborate too much.

When Jesus identifies with the shamed, I believe he identifies with these people, too. Jesus is for those who have been sinned against. He has love, compassion, acceptance, and healing for people who have endured such trauma.

The Christian Church is called by Jesus also to identify with the shamed, whether that shame is caused by sin, being sinned against, or some other cause. It is our calling today to bring the love and healing of Jesus to those carrying shame.

It includes prayer as well as action. In Daniel chapter 9 verses 1 to 19, Daniel confesses the sins of his people that led to the Exile in Babylon, even though he personally was not responsible. He identifies with the shamed.

One of the problems Jesus had with many of the Pharisees was that they did not do this. Instead, they made it very clear that they distinguished themselves from the shamed. In Luke 18:9-14 Jesus tells the famous Parable of the Pharisee and the Tax Collector, where the Pharisee begins his prayer with the ominous words, ‘God, I thank you that I am not like other people’ (verse 11). It is so easy for us to fall into that trap, too. We don’t want to be tarred with the same brush as others whose actions are wrong. But Jesus tells us to resist that. Let us come alongside the shamed with the love of God in Christ, rather than setting ourselves up as being above them.

Secondly, we move from shame to honour:

OBE – George 6th. Wikimedia Commons. CC Licence 4.0.

16 As soon as Jesus was baptised, he went up out of the water. At that moment heaven was opened, and he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove and alighting on him. 17 And a voice from heaven said, ‘This is my Son, whom I love; with him I am well pleased.’

Well, can you get a better way of being affirmed or honoured than that? Already, John the Baptist – a prophet – has honoured Jesus. Now heaven speaks, and quotes Scripture in doing so. A prophet, Scripture, and the direct voice of God. Top that if you can.

But why is Jesus being honoured like this at this time? There is more than one way of looking at this.

One is to say that God is honouring Jesus for what he has just done in humbling himself to identify with the shamed at his baptism. God is pleased that Jesus has given a preview of his mission. God honours the way Jesus humbles himself, or ‘made himself nothing’, as Paul was to describe it in Philippians 2. This is God setting his seal of approval on the way in which Jesus will conduct his ministry. When Muslims deny the suffering of Jesus because that would supposedly be beneath the dignity of a prophet, let alone God, we say no: this is the glory of God, that there is no depth too low that Jesus will not stoop to bring salvation.

Another way of looking at the Father honouring Jesus here is to say that this happens just before Jesus’ ministry begins. He will go from here into the wilderness and then he will start his mission. On this reading, God is unconditionally affirming Jesus. If we take this approach, then Jesus goes into the difficult conflict in the wilderness and then into all the challenges of his mission having heard the ringing endorsement of the Father, who had underlined his status (‘This is my Son’) and that he loves him. This could be important too, because if you are going to face difficulty as Jesus was, then what could be better for helping your resilience and perseverance than remembering that you are God’s Son and you are loved?

Is that not something we need, too? Yes, Jesus was the Son of God in a unique way, but we are also children of God in a different way – we are adopted[3] – but nevertheless we have incredible privilege as a result. And we are loved. We are not earning God’s love. It is already there for us to accept and receive.

If we put these two approaches together, we get an application for us. We remember that – as in the words of John – ‘We loved because he first loved us.’ Anything and everything we do as Christians is a response to God’s love for us in Jesus. He loved us first. We only go into our discipleship as those who are already loved, already affirmed, already honoured with that love. We are honoured too by the fact that God has adopted us as children into his family, bearing his name – Christians, little Christs. This is our foundation. We bear the honour of God.

Yet that calling we have, and which we take up bearing the honour of God, is to bear the shame of the world. It is to live humbly among the shamed, witnessing to God’s great love for them, too. We have the strength to do this, not only because God gives us the Holy Spirit but also because he has honoured us with his love and adoption of us.

And further, following this calling to live the love of God among the shame, will rarely earn us the adulation of the world. It will more likely earn us the reproach – and yes, the shaming – of the world, for bringing dignity, belonging, love – and yes, honour – to those who are despised by the world.

Conclusion

We began by talking about the values that different societies have. We have seen that the ways of Jesus challenged the values of his culture. Our society is not the same: it might be that we have more sympathy for those who have been shamed, at least when it has been inflicted upon them.

But even so, if we live out the baptised life of Jesus, identifying with the shamed and sharing God’s love with them because we have been honoured with receiving the love of God ourselves, that will still be a challenge to our world. Some will like it, others will not.

However, as adopted members of Jesus’ family, it is incumbent upon us to follow this calling, when it finds favour with others and when it doesn’t.

May God give us such a deep experience of his love through the Holy Spirit within us that we have the fortitude to do so.


[1] Craig S Keener, The Gospel of Matthew: A Socio-Rhetorical Commentary, p131.

[2] See Judith Rossall, Forbidden Fruit and Fig Leaves: Reading the Bible with the shamed.

[3] See Rossall, pp 127-135.

Jesus’ Baptism and Ordination – and ours, Luke 3:15-22 (Epiphany 1, Ordinary Time 1)

These last couple of weeks I have been struggling to shake off a sinusitis bug I have had since just after Christmas, and I’m afraid the consequent sinus headaches have made sermon preparation difficult. Hence, this week I’m repeating a sermon from – oh my – fifteen years ago. The original text is here.

Advent: The Prologue And Relationships: 3, Jesus And Ordinary People (John 1:9-13)

John 1:1-18

Well, it’s that time of year when you can’t escape the Christmas songs in the shops wherever you go. I have a certain sympathy for those shop workers who are subjected to the same songs all day long on an hourly basis. Maybe they think that by the time they’ve heard Slade’s Merry Xmas Everybody for the eighth time that day, it must be close to the end of their shift.

And I grew up, surrounded by those songs. I remember the Slade record coming out, just as I also remember Wizzard’s I Wish It Could Be Christmas Everyday being released, along with Elton John’s Step Into Christmas and many others. Goodness knows, I was an adult by the time Wham’s Last Christmas and Band Aid’s Do They Know It’s Christmas found their way into the world.

But if I were to confess a soft spot for one Christmas single, no, it’s not Mariah or Cliff, but it might be Driving Home For Christmas by Chris Rea. I wonder how many of you will be driving home for Christmas. Or perhaps you are at home and other family members are driving home to you?

Do you look forward to seeing family at Christmas? I do. That sense of the wider family gathering is important to me.

But what we often miss is that Christmas is about family in another sense. John tells us the purpose of Jesus coming is to invite us into the family of God.

Yet many of us missed our own Creator coming into the world (verses 9-10). Even a lot of those who should have known better ignored him or rejected him (verse 11).

12 Yet to all who did receive him, to those who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God – 13 children born not of natural descent, nor of human decision or a husband’s will, but born of God.

So what does it take to become a child of God? Let me recount a story that appears in my book ‘Odd One Out’:

Many years ago, I used to meet a friend in central London and we would go to see movies together. We would always find somewhere to eat first and catch up with each other over a meal before heading for the cinema.

On one of these occasions, my friend suddenly said during the meal, “I’ve got something to tell you.” Putting on my best pastoral expression, I listened carefully.

What my friend said was this: “I was adopted as a child.”

Seeing the look of concern on my face, my friend continued, “Don’t worry, it’s all right, I rather like the fact that I know I was adopted. It means I was wanted.”

And that’s how we come into God’s family. We are not naturally children of God, as John says. So God adopts us as his children. And like my friend, he adopts us because he wants us.

In fact, he so wants us in his family that he sent his Son Jesus to bring the invitation personally to Earth. And when Jesus came, he knew that we had barriers we had erected between ourselves and God.

So Jesus took down those barriers. The shame we feel, rightly or wrongly, over our lives: nailed to the Cross. Our wrongdoing, when we do the opposite of what God loves: nailed to the Cross. Our weakness in the face of the forces of evil: nailed to the Cross.

What is there left for us to do? John tells us it takes two responses: receive Jesus, and believe in Jesus.

To receive Jesus is to receive him and all the gifts he has given us, including what I’ve just described, where he has taken away all the barriers between us and God.

To believe in Jesus is not simply to believe in his existence, but to trust in him. In fact, it is to trust our lives into his hands. Not only does he know what is best for us, he also enrols us on his adventure of making all things new. He has a purpose for our lives when we believe in him.

So this is God’s invitation to us at Christmas: to understand that Jesus has come with God’s invitation to join his family, because he wants us and loves us. And to respond by receiving all that Jesus gives us, and by entrusting our lives to him.

These things bring us into the family of God, and we join our brothers and sisters in the family who support us in our new journey.

Sermon: The Spirit Of Adoption

I’m back after holiday to preach tomorrow morning for the first time in three weeks. Here goes:

Romans 8:1-17

When I was in my early years at secondary school, the girls used to debate who was the dreamiest pop star. Was it Donny Osmond, Michael Jackson, Les McKeown from the Bay City Rollers, or was it David Cassidy?

In David Cassidy’s case, they would sing along with a glazed look in their eyes:

How can I be sure
In a world that’s constantly changing?

That others, such as the Young Rascals and Dusty Springfield, had charted before him with the song, was immaterial. It was David Cassidy singing ‘How can I be sure’.

While I’m not trying to suggest that we boys were too superior, given that the music wars for us at that age were between Slade and Gary Glitter, I do want to concentrate on that question: ‘How can I be sure?

It’s a question that has been asked in many ways by many people over the ages. In particular, Christians have asked it this way: how can I be sure that God loves me? Catholics would point to the sacraments as a sign. Calvinists would talk about the promises of God in Scripture – except then someone would say, but how do I know they apply to me as one of the elect, not one of the damned? So some moved on to other supposed signs of divine favour, such as wealth and prosperity.

Into this debate came John Wesley, with his particular doctrine of assurance. One thing Wesley stressed (along with such things as the promises of Scripture) was the work of the Spirit in assuring us we are children of God. And the classic passage about the Spirit revealing to us that we are children of a heavenly Father is this one in Romans 8.

So, then: in what ways does the Spirit affirm and strengthen our knowledge that we are sons and daughters of God?

Firstly, it’s a matter of being led by the Spirit:

those who are led by the Spirit of God are sons of God (verse 14)

Let’s be careful here: language of being ‘led by the Spirit’ has been horribly debased in the church. ‘I feel led’ gets reduced to the most trivial of forms: ‘I feel led to eat a Mars bar’; ‘I feel led to wear blue jeans’, and so on. No: Paul’s point about being led by the Spirit is altogether more serious, and far removed from the frivolous use of the language sometimes found in Christian circles. For what precedes is this:

For if you live according to the sinful nature, you will die; but if by the Spirit you put to death the misdeeds of the body, you will live (verse 13)

We are led by the Spirit in order to be Christlike. The Spirit enables us to resemble the family likeness.

Most of you have noticed how much Mark looks like a redheaded version of me. When he was born, a church member jokingly told me never to take a paternity case to court, because the judge would take one look at me, one look at Mark, and throw the case out with laughter. On the other hand, when I was born, someone next to my mother in the maternity hospital looked at me and said to her, “He doesn’t look like you, he doesn’t look like your husband – what does your milkman look like?”

We expect children in some way or another to display a family likeness. One of the ways we know we are children of God is that over a period of time, we start to behave more like Jesus than we did before.

This is not to say it is easy. Nor is it to expect instant miracles. For ourselves, we may find it hard to detect the changes. I find that the key more often is that others notice the changes in us.

The story is told of a pupil at a school whose behaviour was so bad and so disruptive that the staff no longer knew what to do with him. One sanction after another had been tried. Every punishment and every incentive failed to bring about any change in him. He was as dreadful as ever.

Eventually, the Head Teacher called the boy into his office one day. He said to the young man, “We are at the end of our tether with you. There is only one thing I can think of to try, if you and your parents will agree. I want to adopt you as my own son. You will come and live with me. You will take my surname. Every time you are in trouble, it will be my name that is dragged through the mud.”

The boy agreed. His desperate parents agreed. This was the turning point in the boy’s life. Not that he became perfect, but he knew he was loved and wanted as an adopted son. For it isn’t just the fact that we take on the family likeness as evidence that we are adopted children of God, it’s also that spiritual adoption changes us. It works both ways. Being led by the Spirit is the evidence of adoption, and adoption entices us to be led by the Spirit.

All of which leads to the second strand I want to share with you this morning. If the Spirit reveals to us that we are adopted children of God, then that means we are loved by the Father. Hence Paul says in verse 15,

For you did not receive a spirit that makes you a slave again to fear, but you received the Spirit of sonship. And by him we cry, Abba, Father.

The Holy Spirit not only changes us in holiness more into the family image of Christ, nor only does the impartation of grace motivate us to live differently, the Spirit also enables us to call God, Abba, Father. Not merely reverence, but closeness: you will have heard many preachers tell you that ‘Abba’ is the word a Jewish child used to address their father in tenderness and trust. No wonder Paul goes onto say in verse 16,

The Spirit himself testifies with our spirit that we are God’s children.

Not only in the pages of Scripture but also written on our hearts is the knowledge that we are children of God, dearly beloved children who can address him as Abba.

I have a favourite story I love to tell about this. Several years before I met Debbie, I once went out a few times with a girl whom I used to meet in London. We would have a meal and see a film together. On one occasion, she told me over the meal before the film that she had something serious to tell me. I went into pastoral mode and she said, “I’m an adopted child.”

Endeavouring to be sensitive, I adopted an expression of concern.

“No,” she said, noticing my response, “you don’t need to worry. I’m glad I was adopted. It means I know I was wanted.”

Those words have stayed with me. ‘I know I was wanted.’ I believe we can see our status as adopted children of God the same way. Being adopted into the family of God means we know we are wanted. When the Holy Spirit whispers into our hearts that we are God’s sons and daughters and that we can tenderly call him Abba, we know we are wanted. After all, God set out on a mission of love to draw us into his family. In Christ he even took on human flesh and later died for us. How much does God want us? Jesus opens his arms wide on the Cross and says, “This much.”

What does that do for us? Does it not give us the most amazing sense of security in the love of God? We do not have to be like the girl in a field pulling petals off a flower, saying, “He loves me, he loves me not, he loves me, he loves me not.” The Spirit’s testimony to our adoption through Christ as God’s beloved children gives us a rock solid hope in the love God has for us. Let us never allow ourselves to think that God only begrudgingly has us in his kingdom because Jesus won him around through the Cross. Yes, Jesus died for our sins, but all that he did for us came from the Father’s heart of love for his created beings.

This wonderful love of God, then, is not only meant to be a ‘safe space’ for us, it’s more. The safety that God’s love gives us is then the jumping-off point from which we can leap into great risks of faith for him.

And that takes me neatly into the third and final point I want to make about the Spirit’s witness to our adoption into the family of God. It’s about our inheritance as God’s children. Verse 17:

Now if we are children, then we are heirs— heirs of God and co-heirs with Christ, if indeed we share in his sufferings in order that we may also share in his glory.

Parents who care for their children will make provision for their future, as much as they reasonably can. Our wills lay that out for Rebekah and Mark, not only financially, but also we considered their care, should we die before they reach the age of majority. All being well, they will have an inheritance.

The curious thing for the children of God, though, is that we have an inheritance, even though there is no remote possibility of our heavenly Father dying! We shall inherit the glory of a resurrection body (verse 23) along with our great elder brother, Jesus. It will be our inheritance to reign with him in God’s new creation.

And that knowledge holds us in good stead now. For while the certainty of God’s love for us enables us to dare great things for him, we also know that daredevil faith leads to suffering, just as it did for Christ. Just as Christ suffered, so shall we. But just as Christ had an inheritance to anticipate and it kept him going, the same is true for us. As children of God, we have an inheritance with Christ. We have an eternal destiny in the purposes of God, and so when difficulty or opposition comes our way now, we need not keep our eyes fixed purely on the trials of the present: we can look into God’s great future and remember what our heavenly Father has willed for us – a will we inherit not when he dies (which he won’t) but when we die.

In this, we have something that not everybody has. The story is told that during Jim Callaghan’s tenure of 10 Downing Street in the 1970s, he had one particularly tortuous meeting about the Troubles in Northern Ireland with Ian Paisley. Callaghan and Paisley could not agree about anything in their conversation. Eventually, exasperated, Callaghan said, “Surely we can agree that we are all children of God?”

“No,” thundered Paisley, “we are all children of wrath.”

To our ears, that may seem a typically severe Ian Paisley statement, and in one sense it is. But Paisley was right that not everyone is a child of God. While we are all God’s offspring in the sense that we owe our existence to him, not all are adopted into his family. That happens by his grace to those who entrust their lives to him in Christ.

And when we do that, we receive the love God has been longing to pour out on all (which may be obscured by a term like ‘children of wrath’). We are adopted, because he so wants us in his family and not outside, and we can take risks because we have that great security. And we are guaranteed an inheritance that means we can cope with the setbacks and the resistance to our faithful living, because we know what the Father in his love has for us.

This is what the Spirit of adoption does, in revealing the Father’s boundless love to our hearts.

Create a website or blog at WordPress.com

Up ↑