First Sunday after the Epiphany

Isaiah 42:1-9
Acts 10:34-38
Matthew 3:13-17

I began my seminary career at a small Episcopal seminary in Sewickley, in the diocese of Pittsburgh.  The seminary was just across the river from Aliquippa where I was living at the time so it seemed the obvious choice for us as David was studying at Duquesne University.  Unfortunately the seminary was known as a hard line evangelical seminary, at that time strongly opposed to the ordination of women.  Since I had just come from England and this was many years before they had decided that women could be ordained, I thought I would be able to handle the opposition just fine.  Little did I know just how vehement the men in my class could be not against women who wished to study at the seminary but against those who were seeking ordination. There were other women in the school at the time, but most of these women were training work as teachers or for non-profits, so I found myself the target for a lot of snide remarks about feminist women.  The topic of women’s ordination was discussed frequently in class and many times I felt like a lone voice in the midst of a storm.  Oftentimes students would make jokes at my expense and when I objected they would laugh at me in a sarcastic way, asking where my sense of humor was.  It was an extremely difficult time for me personally but I was determined to stay my ground and show them that some women priests could be nice people.  It soon became obvious that the stance I had taken wasn’t going to work.  It really didn’t matter to them whether I was nice or not, in the end I would never be able to change the fact that I was a woman, and they believed that because I was a woman I was not made in the image of God as fully as a man was and therefore should not be ordained. 

One day David and I were taking a walk down the main street in Aliquippa, a distressed steel town near Pittsburgh.  On the radio that morning I had heard a story about six black men who were shot on the steps of a courthouse in Johannesburg.  I started telling David about the story and in the process got angrier and angrier until I was practically shouting at the terrible way these men had been treated.  In retrospect I think that I had subconsciously identified with these six black men so deeply because of the way I was being treated by my fellow classmates at seminary, I was developing a lively awareness of how it feels to be in the minority and part of an oppressed class in society, something I had never before experienced in such an overt way, and something I will never forget.  I identified so closely with the six black South African men who were being treated so unfairly by the whites in their society that a rage welled up inside me, causing me to cry out in anger that one class should be able to oppress another in such a horrible way.

The moment of Jesus’ baptism seems to be the time when Jesus identifies fully with the plight of fallen humanity.  As he stands on the bank watching his people feel and respond to the weight of their sin, heading for the forgiveness promised by the wild figure of John the Baptist, Jesus cannot do anything but follow them into the water, so completely does he identify with the pain of their separation from God.  He plunges into the water and stands before John, ready to repent as all the people before him had repented.  But John is confused.  He knows that Jesus does not need to repent of his sin for Jesus, God’s son, is sinless.  He tries to turn Jesus away and invites Jesus to baptize him instead.  Jesus will not have any of it.  He insists that it is right for him to receive the baptism of John.  He is immersed in the water, not as we are, for the forgiveness of our sins, but as a sign that he has totally united himself with the sin and suffering of the world.  In that moment Jesus declares that he will not stand above his fellow human beings looking down on them, but shoulder to shoulder, where he can help us bear the fears and anxieties of our lives.  Jesus sides with those who know their need of God and declares that God is biased in their favor.  “For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but we have one who has been tempted in every way, just as we are – yet was without sin.” (Hebrews 4:15) 

And with what is perhaps a deep sigh from the heart of God, the kind of sigh you might experience when you see your own child respond with deepest care and compassion to someone who is in need, the voice of God is heard from the heavens, “this is my son, in whom I am well pleased.  Listen to him.”  In this declaration of Sonship, Jesus’ solidarity with the most broken members of the human race was deeply affirmed by God.  Empowered by the Spirit, Jesus was ready to begin his public ministry. 

In the same way, at the time of our baptism each one of us is also declared a son or daughter of God.  Like Jesus we are filled with the power of the Holy Spirit and called into full time ministry in his name.  We are called to a ministry of solidarity with the poor and outcast of the world around us.  Jesus was ready to embody God’s unconditional love for all who would come within the reach of his saving embrace.  We also are called to go into the world embodying the same truth of God’s unconditional love for any who would come to him in faith. 

But solidarity with people who look, or think, or worship in a different way than us is not easy at all.  Most of the time we can bring God’s love to our family and friends and even neighbors.  When we try to reach out in love to those outside our natural sphere we begin to have some problems.  I knew a seminary professor who used to tell his class to imagine they had been invited to a cocktail party at which there were people from all walks of life – professors and janitors, road sweepers and Nobel prize winners -  people of different nationalities and creed, people of different color and race.  Noisy toddlers who cried for the whole evening because it was past their bedtime, people from the street who hadn’t washed in days and elderly people no longer able to make interesting conversation sitting by themselves in wheelchairs.  He told his class in their imagination to walk into the room and see themselves making conversation with the people at the party.  He then asked them who was the first person they were drawn to and why.  He then asked them who were the people they avoided and why.  As we allow ourselves to recognize the people we usually avoid, the people we would rather not engage in a meaningful way we can perhaps begin to change the way we behave towards these people, and learn to love them and have compassion for the burdens they carry as Jesus has already done. 

Someone once said that we love God only as much as the person we love the least.  For the sake of our souls let us all strive to love all people with the unconditional, compassionate love of God. 
And finally, a poem from a book called, “My Name is Child of God, not those people”

A poem written by a poor young woman who raised three children alone, a woman who throughout her growing up years was referred to as poor white trash.
 
My name is not “those people”

My name is not “Those People.”
I am a loving, woman, a mother in pain
Giving birth to the future, where my babies
Have the same chance to thrive as anyone.

My name is not “Inadequate,”
I did not make my husband leave us-
He chose to, and chooses not to pay child support.
Truth is though, there isn’t a job base
For all fathers to support their families.
While society turns its head, by children pay the price.

My name is not “Problem and Case to be managed,”
I’m a capable human being and citizen, not just a client,
The social service system can never replace
The compassion and concern of loving grandparents, aunts
Uncles, fathers, cousins, community-
All the bonded people who need to be
But are not present to bring little ones forward to their potential.

My name is not “Lazy, Dependent Welfare Mother,”
If the unwaged work of parenting,
Homemaking, and community building were factored
Into the gross domestic product,
My work would have untold value.   And why is it that mothers whose
Husbands support them to stay home and raise children
Are glorified?  And why don’t they get called lazy or dependent?

My name is not “Ignorant, Dumb, or Uneducated.”
I got my PhD from the university of life, school of hard everything.
I live with an income of $621 with $169 in food stamps for three kids.
Rent is $585…..That leaves $36 a month to live on.
I am such a genius at surviving,
I could balance the state budget in an hour.
Never mind that there’s a lack of living wage jobs.
Never mind that it’s impossible to be the sole emotional, social,
Spiritual, and economic support for a family.
Never mind that parents are losing their children
To gangs, drugs, stealing, prostitution, the poverty industry,
Social workers, kidnapping, the streets, the predator.
Forget about putting more money into our schools….
Just build more prisons!

My name is not “Lay Down and Die Quietly.”
My love is powerful, and the urge to keep my children alive will never stop.
All children need homes and people who love them.
All children need safety
And the chance to be the people they were born to be.

The wind will stop before I allow my sons to become a statistic.
Before you give in to the urge to blame me,
The blame that lets us go blind and unknowing
Into the isolation that disconnects
Your humanity from mine.
Take another look.  Don’t go away.
For I am not the problem but the solution.
And……my name is not “Those People.”

By Julia K. Dinsmore
From My Name is Child of God…. Not those People,  pub. By Augsburg Books