Belovedness as a Way of Life
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January 12, 2020“Just as he came up from the water, suddenly the heavens were opened to him and he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove and alighting on him.” (Mt 3:16)
Without for a moment wanting to show ingratitude for having been born to a Catholic mother and baptized as an infant, I must say I harbor some envy for those who have chosen and experienced baptism as adults. An infant is immersed in the waters of death and raised to new life without even realizing it. The sacramental act is complete, and the child’s life is changed forever, but it leaves no trace in the memory. It will be something learned about later, most likely taken for granted and perhaps never plumbed for meaning. It only recently occurred to me to ask about the date of my baptism in order to keep a memorial of it. In doing this I can retroactively choose it and so ratify the choice my parents made on my behalf.
This feast is a memorial of baptism for everyone. Even if we did not consciously experience our baptism, and even if we don’t remember the date, we can still revisit it today. We can still walk to the banks of the Jordan to meet John, strip off and step into the river, feeling the water cold to the skin, sand between our toes and gravel under our feet. As we wade deeper, we stumble over rocks and plants begin to wrap around our ankles. When the water reaches above our waist, a hand on our shoulder brings us to a halt and steadies us against the current. This is the moment. Do or die. Die so that we may live. With chattering teeth and pounding heart we nod our readiness and John pushes us down, not roughly, but resolutely. We plunge downward, lose our footing and surrender to the dark, swirling waters, silt in our eyes, weeds about our head and a rushing sound in our ears. Helpless now, we can’t be sure we will again see light and air and life.
This is not just a washing, but a drowning. Death to the old man. Death to the Egyptians in pursuit. Let the whole world of fear and distrust, malice and cruelty, envy and pride and all that God did not intend be submerged beneath the waters of the flood. Let the primal waters of chaos be swept once again by the Spirit of God and let creation be made anew.
“Do you not know that all of us who have been baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into his death?” (Rm 6:3)
Christ’s baptism in the Jordan is a symbolic pre-enactment of his death and resurrection. John protests his unworthiness to baptize his Lord, but it is deemed fitting that God in the flesh should stoop before his creature. In the very act of solidarity with human sinfulness, in which he takes upon himself the wages of sin, which is death, his divine identity and oneness with the Father and the Spirit is reaffirmed. Isaiah cried: “O that you would tear open the heavens and come down” (Is 63:19). On this day, his prayer is answered with threefold insistence. God’s Son has come down, down, down to the bottom of the world, he has sunk to the realm of the dead. From there he is raised by the hand of the Father. From the now opened heavens comes the Spirit like a dove descending, and the Father’s voice is heard: This is my Son.
A strong pair of arms grasps us by the shoulders and pulls up, against the dead weight of our body, the weight of water, the weight of sin and death. We break the surface and gasp our first breath of air like a newborn. We feel disoriented by the sudden lightness of our limbs and ease of respiration, the brightness of day and the quiet lapping of water at our feet. As we catch our breath, we notice a brushing, almost a tickle, as if of wings across our forehead and a light touch on the head: a touch that tells of tenderness. A voice echoes inside: my child, my chosen, my dear one, my beloved, with you I am well pleased.
To be the beloved child of God in whom he is well pleased, we need to live under his gaze constantly. We must be reminded over and over again of how he looked at us on the banks of the Jordan. Even though he has been looking at us this way our whole life and we, from time to time, looked back as if through an open sky to meet his gaze, to be his beloved, yet we keep losing this sense of belovedness. Sent as we are to live as children of God in the world, belovedness must become a way of life for us. We must find ways to remember and relive our baptism daily, so as to go forth acknowledged by the Father and touched by the Spirit, likewise to touch and acknowledge those we meet. Every Sunday at Mass, we receive a holy water blessing in memory of our baptism: let us take this grace consciously into the week ahead. Every day after Compline, we receive a holy water blessing in memory of our baptism: let us take this grace into the darkness of each night and rise each morning with his touch on our forehead and his words in our heart: my child, my chosen, my dear one, my beloved.
“Look on us, O strong protector, and see the face of your Christ.” (Ps 84:9)
Image: David Bonnell, www.bonnellart.com
