Recognizing Jesus

February 2, 2025, Saint Barnabas Lutheran Church, Howard Beach, Queens, N.Y.

Not long ago Martha and Katie and I went to our favorite restaurant. After we were seated, I excused myself and went to the bathroom to wash my hands.

Inside, I was startled to see a tall man bent over the sink. He was scrubbing his face with an excess of hand soap while crooning “Let it Be” in a fulsome, falsetto voice.

I turned quickly to leave the room but the man saw me.

“Sir, excuse me,” he said. He gestured grandly toward the sink and stepped aside. “After you,” he said as soapy water drizzled into his beard.

“No,” I said, “Please finish up.”

The man pulled small scraps of paper towel out of a miserly dispenser and dabbed at his face.

“I got time,” he said. “Waiting don’t bother me. I been in prison three years. Just got out.”

I glanced at the bathroom door and stepped warily to the sink. I let a little water trickle in my hands and quickly shook it off.

“Are you heading home?” I asked.

“I am,” he said. “As soon as I can get the bus.”

“You must be a happy man.”

“Thinking about getting out is all that kept me going.”

I usually don’t offer benedictions in public restrooms, but the guy seemed so joyful.

“God bless you,” I said. “I hope it all goes well from here on.”

“God bless your kind self,” he said.

He continued in the same genial vein.

“Spent all my money on the bus ticket,” he said. “Haven’t eaten today. Can you help me out?”

I tend to ignore requests like that when I don’t have time to think them over.  My hesitation probably stems from conflicting genes I inherited from my paternal grandparents. During the Great Depression, Grandma was famous for doling out samples of her canned meat to starving hobos, while Grandpa was known to defend his larder with a .45 revolver.

I inherited more of Grandpa’s tightness than Grandma’s generosity, but Grandpa never negotiated with an ex-con in a restaurant bathroom.

“Don’t have a lot,” I mumbled, reaching for my wallet. I pulled out three wrinkled dollar bills and gave them to the man.

His eyes crinkled as he grinned.

“God bless you more,” he said, almost laughing. He clutched the money to his chest. “God bless you, man.”

I smiled and backed slowly out of the bathroom.

Martha and Katie were still waiting for our food when I took my seat. I glanced back at the bathroom and saw the man had also exited and was pressing the three dollar bills on the counter. The waiter nodded and brought him a basket of bread. The man stuffed a bread stick into his mouth. He chewed thoughtfully as he packed the rest of the bread into his jacket pocket and walked out of the restaurant.

Soon our food was delivered. I leaned back in my chair and mused how I would tell this interesting story to Martha and Katie. I knew I had time to think about it because Martha was staring intently at her iPhone and Katie was absorbed by a large bowl of macaroni and cheese.
 
Suddenly I had an epiphany, or thought I did.

“I wonder,” I said, picking up my fork, “if I just talked with Jesus.”

Martha glanced at me quizzically.

The passage from Matthew was running through my head.

“I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me.” (Matthew 25:35-39)

Actually, I was fretting about the more negative passage:

“Just as you did not do it to one of the least of these, you did not do it to me.” (Matthew 25:45)

Jesus, I said to myself. I should have sprung for more than three bucks.

I took some solace in the fact that the man seemed satisfied by my grudging largess.

And of course there’s always a chance the man was just who he said he was – not Jesus but a recently paroled convict looking for a meal as he waited for the bus home.

But it doesn’t make any difference because Jesus made it plain that we should treat convicts and strangers as if they were him.

That’s a helpful thing to keep in mind, not only because otherwise we’d treat convicts and many strangers with contempt, but also because it’s not always easy to recognize Jesus.

That is one reason the story of Jesus’ presentation in the temple is so remarkable. He was a 40-day old infant, his face partially covered in swaddling, being carried by working class parents. They must have been like hundreds who came to the temple every day to present their first-born and offer a sacrifice to God, obscure, invisible.

But two elderly strangers, Simeon and Anna, recognized the baby immediately.

Simeon took the baby from Mary’s arms and praised God. With joy in his voice, he uttered the benediction we recite every Sunday, the nunc dimittis,

“Master, now you are dismissing your servant in peace … for my eyes have seen your salvation, which you have prepared in the presence of all peoples, a light for revelation to the Gentiles and glory to your people Israel.”

This is even more astounding than the fact that, out of all the first-born babies who pass through the Temple, the old man knows this one is special. More than that, he recognizes that the savior has been sent not just to Israel but to all the peoples of earth.

This revelation, before the baby had made his first smile, is why we observe Jesus’ presentation in the temple as a special event that shines a bright light on who Jesus is. Many churches celebrate with candlelight processions, which is why this day is marked in the church’s calendar as Candlemas. Many Christians keep their Christmas decorations up until Candlemas, 40 days after the nativity. The tree is still lit art casa Cruz y Jenks. (And we have every intention of taking it down before Ash Wednesday.)

Simeon cuddles the baby in his arms with great joy, but he knows the path of Messiahship will not be easy, for Israel or the baby’s mother. 

“The child is destined for the falling and rising of many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be opposed so that the inner thoughts of many will be revealed.”

“A sword will pierce your own soul too,” he tells Mary.

Thus we are reminded that amid the joy of Christmas and Epiphany, God has sent God’s son into the world to suffer and die. And Mary, now pleased and amazed by what Simeon is saying about her son, will one day feel pain cutting through her soul as she stands helpless beneath the cross.

The other figure in the temple who recognizes the messiah is Anna, an 84-year-old widow.

The Rev. Doyt L. Conn, Jr., an Episcopal priest from Seattle, sees Anna as a different kind of prophet.

“She is a bit more mysterious, sort of a master, like a Jedi master, like Rey from The Force Awakens,” he says. “Anna fasts and prays like a warrior, strong and indominable, and her mastery of the spiritual exercises, gives her access to the mind of God.  And so, she sees quickly and clearly that the child, Jesus, is the salvation of Israel. And so, without inhibition or hesitation she announces that he is the redemption of the nation.”

Simeon and Anna recognized the infant Messiah because they opened their hearts to God and were guided by God to greet the one who will change history forever.

For us, we have the benefit of scripture and a cloud of witnesses to help us recognize the mewling baby as the Savior who will come into our lives. We are called to seek his presence in all who populate our lives.

Dr. Shively Smith of Boston University School of Theology, suggests the story of the presentation “is a wonderful invitation for our churches to consider the diversity of messages, voices, and locations among us as we celebrate the birth of Jesus as the Christ. The story of Jesus’ birth and early life in Luke makes room … for women and men. It makes room for youth and elder. It makes room for the poor, disappointed, and unsuspecting.”

On this day, February 2, 2025, we understand full well what Simeon meant when he said “The child is destined for the falling and rising of many …, and to be a sign that will be opposed.” Our nation and our churches are bitterly divided over religion and politics. The Rt. Rev. Mariann Budde calls for love, compassion, and acceptance for gay, lesbian, and transgender children, and points out that the majority of immigrants are tax paying good neighbors. Yet many who heard her, many who consider themselves Christian, did not recognize Holy Scripture or the voice of Christ.

Dr. Smith points out that “the good news of Jesus’ birth is that insiders and outsiders of our immediate communities and families can carry the good news of God’s salvation, liberation, acceptance not just to others in the world, but to us as well.”

We need to cup our ears to make sure we are hearing Simeon’s words clearly. The baby in his arms is God’s salvation “for all peoples, a light for revelation to the Gentiles and glory to your people Israel.” But some will rise and fall and some will be opposed.

Let us pray that God will enable us to testify that love, humility, compassion, empathy, and acceptance are the marks of the Christian life. So that at the end of our days, we may say with Simeon,

“Master, now you are dismissing your servant in peace … for my eyes have seen your salvation, which you have prepared in the presence of all peoples, a light for revelation to the Gentiles and glory to your people Israel.

Amen.

Here's the Plan

January 26, First Lutheran Church of Throggs Neck, Bronx, N.Y.

Luke 4:14-21

Jesus addresses the synagogue in Nazareth and, like a good manager, outlines his goals and objectives for the next three years.

But to most of his audience, he is nothing special. He’s a familiar face because, as Luke notes, it “was his custom” to go to the Synagogue on the sabbath. He’s Jesus from the block. The carpenter’s son whose calloused hands are like the hands of most of the people sitting there. 

And, like many in his audience, he is an educated, literate man with an impressive familiarity with Holy Scripture. In my Baptist Youth Fellowship days we’d play a game called “sword drill;” someone would mention a bible verse and the first to find it and read it aloud was the winner. 

Although it’s a bit more cumbersome to unroll a scroll than to flip through pages, Jesus knew exactly where verses could be found. When he was handed the scroll of Isaiah, he unrolled it and went directly to the passage he wanted them to hear.

Mitzi J. Smith, professor of New Testament at Columbia Theological Seminary in Decatur, Georgia, says she likes to “Imagine that Jesus read the text passionately, boldly, and with conviction, bringing the text to life.”

That could well be because when he sat down, “the eyes of all in the synagogue were fixed on him.” (Luke 4:20)

They would have recognized and appreciated the prophetic words of Isaiah who lived in a time of poverty and oppression. They would have immediately applied these words to their own difficult time.

Professor Smith writes that “Synagogue attendees included ordinary folks, synagogue leaders, Pharisees, and other religious leaders, Gentiles, men and women, people with various diseases, and those considered possessed by demons or unclean spirits (Luke 4:16–33, 44; 6:6; 12:11; 13:11; Acts 14:11). Some scribes, Pharisees, and other leaders and wealthy people occupied privileged seats in some synagogues (Luke 11:43; 20:46).”

Regardless of who they were, each would have welcomed Isaiah’s reminder that God promised to bring them good news, release, and freedom. They were probably amen-ing and nodding approvingly as Jesus sat down.

Until, that is, Jesus said, “Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.” (Luke 4:21). 

And when Jesus noted that they would reject his words because “no prophet is accepted in the prophet’s hometown. Then their approval turned to murderous rage.

Certainly their ire was stimulated by Jesus’ declaration that God’s spirit is on me, he has anointed me, he has sent me. 

They could not accept that mere Jesus of Nazareth had the authority and power to bring Isaiah’s prophecy and God’s promises to fruition.

We can understand. Sometimes it’s difficult for us to accept Jesus’ authority when we apply his words to our day.

What is Jesus saying to us on January 26, 2025?

“He has anointed me to bring good news to the poor.” (Luke 4:18)

Knowing that our hands are called to do God’s work, what has that to do with us?

As we read scripture we can’t miss the fact that God and Jesus love the poor and have anointed each of us to help alleviate their suffering. 

We can begin to help by giving alms and contributing to the Red Cross and philanthropic organizations.

But how far are we willing to go? Do we bring good news to the poor when we advocate raising the minimum wage to a point where workers can afford to live? Do we bring good news to the poor when we advocate better benefits for SNAP – the Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program, formerly food stamps? 

He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives. (Luke 4:18)

As we look around us, we realize captivity takes many forms. People are held as prisoners by warring nations or as political prisoners by Russia, Israel, or Gaza. People are captive to their economic status, their age limitations, their mental health. People are captive to their lack of education, to their ignorance, to their prejudices. 

And, of course, there are literal captives, people who have been convicted of crimes and are in prison. Is Jesus advocating their immediate release? Certainly not.

But perhaps Jesus is calling on us to see the realities of the prison system in the U.S. which has five percent of the world’s population but 25 percent of the world’s incarcerated. According to the Equal Justice Initiative, the U.S. incarcerates its citizens more than any other country. Mass incarceration disproportionately impacts the poor and people of color. Our spending on prisons was $87 billion in 2015 and has dramatically increased since then. 

And recovery of sight to the blind (Luke 4:18)

Jesus made healing blind people look effortless. How are we supposed to do that?

My mother was born with scarred cornea and she was legally blind by the time she was 20. When corneal transplants became available in the 1960’s, my father joined the Lion’s Club to support people with poor eyesight and to help make it possible for my mother to receive the grafts. There are many different ways to bring sight to the blind.

Do we bring good news to everyone who requires expensive treatments or complicated surgeries when we advocate a single payer health care system which is supported by all our taxes and brings health care to all? And, incidentally, takes profit-oriented health insurance companies out of the game?

To let the oppressed go free (Luke 4:18)

Who among us is oppressed? 

Oppression, perhaps, is a matter of degree. Persons of color who are prevented from having equal educational and economic opportunities? Women who receive 75% of the pay of men who do the same job? LGBTQ+ people who are subject to society’s meanness and prejudices? Persons who are banned from bathrooms matching their assumed gender in the U.S. Capitol? Working people exploited by non-union businesses, including Amazon? Here in the land of the free it is sometimes difficult to focus our eyes on oppression. But we recognize it when we see it.

To proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor (Luke 4:19)

The year of the Lord’s favor, or the Day of Jubilee. Juneteenth is Jubilee Day in the U.S. as it marks the end of slavery. Jubilee is as old as Leviticus, an unambiguous commandment of God, has never been followed, and never will be.

The Day of Jubilee occurs every 50 years. It is a time to forgive debts, free slaves, and return land to its original owners.

You see the problem. If your bank has to forgive your mortgage on the Day of Jubilee, the whole fiduciary industry will collapse. So would the lender of student loans. On the other hand, the house you worked all your life for will, on the Day of Jubilee, revert to the previous owner. If your brother-in-law owes you 50-bucks, you can kiss it good-bye. 

There have been some efforts to at least pay lip service to the Year of the Lord’s favor. For some, it is a time to re-establish relationships with God, each other, and creation (Giubileo 2025); a time to restore identity, especially for the poor (tearfund.org); and a time to address the tendency of debtors to become hopelessly indebted.

In the Nazareth synagogue two millennia ago, and in our hearing today, Jesus has set forth his goals and objectives, his mandate from God the Father, for his time on earth.

He has also presented his mandate for us, God’s workers on earth, for 2025.

Luke 4:14-21, gives us a general idea how that mandate should be carried out. 

For the details we turn to God in prayer.

For it is God’s mandate and it is imparted to us through Jesus himself:

“Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.”

Amen.

More Wine

January 19, 2025, Saint Barnabas Lutheran Church, Howard Beach, Queens, N.Y.

 Jesus is at a wedding. 

This is not strange because we know Jesus likes to party. He knows his critics call him a “glutton and a drunkard, a friend of tax collectors and sinners (Luke 7:34)” but it doesn’t stop him from eating and drinking.

It’s important to remember this aspect of Jesus’ life. It puts a wholesome perspective on Christian living. We are called to love God, love our neighbor, welcome the stranger, feed the hungry, free the prisoner, seek justice, take holy naps, and unwind with a pint of ice cream or a good chianti.

The latter, of course, in moderation.

So we must ask ourselves whether it’s a good idea to ask for more wine at a party after everyone has drunk their fill. Perhaps we have been guests at weddings where it would have been a good idea to close the open bar sooner rather than later.

After my tenure as an editor for American Baptists I spent three happy years as a reporter for a small Philadelphia daily. One night the editor received phone calls from guests at a wedding where a fight broke out. Not just a fight. A brawl. People were arrested and some called the local paper to make their side of the story was on the record. The editor told me to look into it.

I started making calls and, to my surprise, everyone wanted to talk about it. This is not how people normally react when a reporter calls.

I quickly pieced the story together. There was an open bar. The groom was from a large Italian family and the bride was a from a Philadelphia family with roots going back to William Penn.

“The bride’s family wanted the DJ to play Andy Williams music,” a member of the groom’s family told me. “Hey. Moon River at a party? No way!”

“They insisted on Frank Sinatra music,” said a member of the bride’s family. “Who did they think we were? Mobsters?

Unable to compromise, members of the wedding party started throwing fists. I thought this was an inauspicious start for the happy couple. But I wrote it up and the editor printed it under the headline, “Send In the Clowns.”

I think we can safely assume the wedding party at Cana was under better control.

But what would a wedding in Jesus’ day be like?

According to Msgr. Charles Pope of Washington,  D.C., the wedding at Cana would have taken place over several days and the entire village gathered for the celebration. That’s why it’s no surprise that Jesus, his mother, his family, and all his disciples were there.

“The bride was carried in a litter and in procession,” Msgr. Pope writes. “She was beautifully dressed and along the way people sang wedding songs that were traditionally known and largely drawn from the Song of Songs in the Bible: Who is this coming up from the wilderness like a column of smoke, perfumed with myrrh and incense made from all the spices of the merchant? (Song of Songs 3:6) When the procession reached the bridegroom’s house, his parents bestowed a traditional blessing drawn from scripture and other sources. After the prayers, the evening was passed in games and dancing and the bridegroom took part in the festivities. But the bride withdrew with her bridesmaids and friends to another room assigned for her.”

The next day was the feast, “a day of general rejoicing and a sort of holiday in the village,” Pope writes. Gifts were exchanged, songs were sung, and wine was consumed.

Given that the party took place over five to seven days, it makes sense that  all the wine jars would empty before the feast ended.

It’s at this point that John introduces Mary, the mother of Jesus, for the first time. There are no nativity stories in John. The writer of John would have known about the birth narratives in Matthew and Luke and may have assumed they were common knowledge.

And suddenly Mary appears to her son and declares, simply, “They have no wine.”

It’s not exactly a request for Jesus’ intervention, but we all know what she means. My mother would also state simple facts and I knew exactly what I should do about it. “This room is a mess.” “There are dirty dishes in the sink.” “There are muddy shoe prints on the kitchen floor.”

These are not simply declarative statements. They are calls to action. And Jesus knows what she is asking.

“Woman,” he says, using a term that sounds a little rude, “what concern is that to you and me? My hour has not yet come.”

Mary, in the style of mothers everywhere, turns silently away, a move calculated to prick the conscience of any first born. She calls the servants and says loudly enough for Jesus to hear it, “Do whatever he tells you.”

It may strike us as odd that the Mary we think of as a humble country girl is summoning servants and telling them what to do. Some scholars speculate that the happy bride and groom are part of Mary’s and Jesus’ family and she feels obligated to make sure the wedding feast goes without a hitch. 

So why does Jesus, the best son any mother could have, seem to hesitate?

Brian Peterson Professor of New Testament at Lutheran Theological Southern Seminary in Columbia, S.C., observes that Jesus sometimes said he would not so something and then do it.

“At the start of chapter 7 Jesus tells his brothers that he will not go to Jerusalem, but then he goes ‘in secret,’” Professor Peterson writes. “At the start of chapter 11 Mary and Martha implicitly ask Jesus to come and heal Lazarus (or at least come to be with them during this difficult time), but he waits for two days before leaving for their home.

“In our text, too, Jesus seems to resist the request of his mother before addressing the situation. In this pattern of behavior, Jesus distances himself from any kind of authority his family or friends might assume over him.”

So Jesus changes his mind. That’s okay. Flip-flopping is not a sin, and in many cases it pushes you in the direction you need to go.

When Jesus does decide to act at Cana, it’s not because he was under family or social pressure to do it. When he changes water into wine it’s an act of grace. And what a lavish act it was.

“The grace that Jesus shows in this scene is an act of overflowing abundance,” Peterson writes. “Though we don’t know how many guests were at this wedding celebration, we might reasonably assume that 120 gallons of additional wine after the guests have had a good deal to drink already (verse 10) was more than enough. The setting of a wedding already engages the imagination of careful readers. It is an event that points to deep relational bonds, intimate connections, and the establishing of family. Such intimacy will be echoed within John’s Gospel as Jesus talks about how the disciples and he will “abide” in each other and how the disciples will ‘abide’ in his love (15:4, 9–10).”

There are many times in our lives when we fall short of things we need. Our medical insurance doesn’t pay all our bills. We can’t afford to send the kids to college. Our employer “right sizes” and we are out of a job. 

The miracle at Cana is not a promise that if we have faith, all these shortages will be filled.

But it is a promise that Christ will be among us and will sustain us through all of life’s travails.

“The glory of Christ is revealed in love, in service, in community, in grace,” writes Professor Peterson. “There is no transfiguration story in John. Instead, Jesus’ glory is seen all through his ministry and is especially revealed as he is glorified in his death and resurrection.1 

“There the wine overflows for us too.”

Baptism of Jesus

January 12, 2025, St Barnabas Lutheran Church, Howard Beach, Queens, N.Y.

Can you remember your baptism?  Who was there? Who said, “I baptize thee…”? What was done later to celebrate your new membership in the family of Christ?

Certainly the majority of Lutherans were infants when they were baptized by the sprinkling of water on their tiny heads. If this was your experience you probably don’t remember your baptism. Some Lutherans, of course, are baptized later in life and, for them, the memory is a blessing.

As a former Baptist, the very idea of baptism tingles all my chords of memory.

Back when I thought Baptists had first dibs on the Kingdom of Heaven, I was convinced that the baptism of Jesus offered a model of what baptism should be.

He was as believing adult.

He was dunked fully in the river. (We have no real evidence of that, of course, but I challenge you to find a Baptist who doesn’t believe it.

In fact, we can even surmise that all the people who came to John’s baptistry to repent their sins were adults.

That’s about all the evidence Baptists need to declare baptism should be for believing adults who knew they were born again. Years ago, I remember the general secretary of the Baptist World Alliance, the late Gerhard Claas – a German who somehow missed being a Lutheran – declare, “I see no infants baptized in my bible!” That’s debatable, of course, because scripture tells us of whole families being baptized. But Baptists held firm to their beliefs, including the notion that Jesus turned water into grape juice.

There are other groups who believe in adult baptism, and it should be noted that this position was not taken lightly. Henry VIII burned anabaptists at the stake. Believers risked their lives to dunk.

Martha and I were both born into infant baptizing churches. Martha was baptized in the Roman Catholic Church in Havana, Cuba, and I was baptized by Presbyterians in Morrisville, N.Y. But as adults we fell among Baptists and thought it good to be re-baptized. 

Over the years as an American Baptist pastor, Martha baptized scores of adults, fully dunking them in church baptistries. One skill she has that you may never witness is her ability to stand facing abnormally tall people, lean them over backwards into the water, and return them to a standing position. It’s a marvel of physics. And a miracle that she never drowned anyone.

Needless to say, our views of Christian baptism have evolved. And I must say that the first time I saw Martha baptize an infant and carry the baby up the church aisles to present her to a Lutheran congregation, I was deeply moved.

Too, we now recognize that the Holy Spirit was powerfully present when we were baptized as infants and there was no need to be re-baptized.

As a member of the World Council of Churches staff I attended a meeting with Latin American Pentecostals in Costa Rica. An intensely evangelical group, Pentecostals have been aggressive in bringing lapsed Catholics into their fold. But a Pentecostal pastor reported that his church does not re-baptize converts who were baptized as infants in Catholic parishes. “The presence of the Holy Spirit is for all time,” he said. “The Holy Spirit does not expire."

For Martin Luther, baptism was an essential step to salvation. We’ve read his words in his Small Catechism: “Baptism works forgiveness of sins, rescues from death and the devil, and gives eternal salvation to all who believe this, as the words and promises of God declare.”

How can water do such great things?

“Certainly not just water,” Luther wrote, “but the word of God in and with the water does these things, along with the faith which trusts this word of God in the water. For without God’s word the water is plain water and no Baptism. But with the word of God it is a Baptism, that is, a life-giving water, rich in grace, and a washing of the new birth in the Holy Spirit, as St. Paul says in Titus, chapter three: “He saved us through the washing of rebirth and renewal by the Holy Spirit, whom He poured out on us generously through Jesus Christ our Savior, so that, having been justified by His grace, we might become heirs having the hope of eternal life. This is a trustworthy saying.” (Titus 3:5–8)

Luther declares, “St. Paul writes in Romans chapter six: ‘We were therefore buried with Him through baptism into death in order that, just as Christ was raised from the dead through the glory of the Father, we too may live a new life’” (Rom. 6:4)

The importance of baptism is founded on the fact that Jesus, who was without sin, demonstrated its importance by being baptized himself.

We know the familiar paintings that depict this scene: John standing awkwardly before Jesus protesting he was not worthy to baptize him; Jesus insisting that he do it anyway.

It’s worth noting, then, that John is strangely missing from Luke’s account. Why? 

Karoline Lewis, Professor and the Marbury E. Anderson Chair of Biblical Preaching at Luther Seminary in Saint Paul, Minnesota, says the answer is hidden is verses 3:18-20 that the lectionary omits. John is in jail. He has spoken truth to power and King Herod doesn’t like it. So he throws the Baptist into a dark hole and throws away the key.

So if John didn’t baptize Jesus, who did?

Of course it was John. The three other Gospels state this explicitly. Mark, the writer of the oldest Gospel, writes, “In those days Jesus came from Nazareth of Galilee and was baptized by John in the Jordan. And just as he was coming up out of the water, he saw the heavens torn apart and the Spirit descending like a dove on him. And a voice came from heaven, ‘You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.”

That’s the old, old story we know so well.

But Professor Lewis believes it is important that we acknowledge John’s absence in this passage in Luke. 

“While John had a major role in the first chapters of the Gospel, including“ the story of his mother and father, his birth, his relationship to Jesus,” she writes, “now that Jesus will be baptized, it’s just Jesus, and there will be no confusing the two … John’s baptism is just with water. But Jesus? Well, that’s with the Holy Spirit and with fire (think Acts 2).

Professor Mitzi J. Smith, J. Davison Philips Professor of New Testament at Columbia Theological Seminary, Decatur, Georgia, also sees hidden meanings in Luke’s version of the story.

“Before Jesus has done anything,” she writes, “before he begins his public ministry in Luke, the voice from heaven publicly announces, ‘I am well pleased with you’ (3:22b). The only thing Jesus has done so far is to humble himself by submitting to be baptized by a man who describes himself as unworthy to untie Jesus’ sandals and who has lived in the margins of society.

Perhaps this demonstrates God giving value to the lowliest in a society where wealth is concentrated in the top 1–2 percent. Maybe this God gives value, purpose, belonging, and a sense of dignity and worth to persons born into social statuses relegated to the bottom of a society. This divine affirmation and confirmation will allow Jesus to unapologetically speak truth to power, to stand in the midst of hostile crowds, and to stand firm before religious and political leaders.”

Thus Jesus’ earthly ministry begins on a high note, with God placing him among the most common people of his time while instilling him with a power and authority that will change the world forever.

And it all begins in water, that is, “a life-giving water, rich in grace, and a washing of the new birth in the Holy Spirit.”

As preachers all over the world are admonishing each of us today, 

“Remember your baptism.”

Come on in. The waters are fine. 

When Magi Visit

 

January 5, 2025, St Barnabas Lutheran Church, Howard Beach, Queens, N.Y.

I have been fascinated by the Magi all my life, even dating back to my childhood when I thought they were “the Magee.” I also thought, as a child, thought the three kings were from an exotic country called OrienTAR.

Seven decades later I’m still intrigued by these peculiar men. In part this is because of the stunning contrast between these glittering guys and the crude farm shed where they bowed their gilded heads to the little peasant laying in a feeding trough. 

Growing up in a tiny hamlet in Central New York State, I know what it feels like when an awesome personage appeared miraculously in our midst. In my little village of Morrisville, Governor Malcolm Wilson stopped by on his way to Syracuse and, according to legend, had a piece of cherry pie in Sautter’s Diner. That was nearly six decades ago and we still talk about it.

But in 1930 a real magus came to Morrisville. Governor Franklin D. Roosevelt motored up route 20 to pay his respects to I.M. Charleton, the director of the Morrisville Institute (now Morrisville State College).

This little known event suggests Morrisville was not the least among the hamlets of Upstate New York. A future world leader discerned the importance of cultivating village intellectuals like I.M. (who, if not a Republican, was one of the few persons in the village who wasn’t.) History does not say whether Morrisville was at the top of FDR’s itinerary, or why he appears to have left the engine running as he sat in his car and charmed the local gentry.

In 1930, no one knew what Franklin Roosevelt’s future held. Still, he was important enough that I.M. Charleton thought it good to stand on the curb and chat with the Gov as he sat in the luxurious car. We know now, of course, that FDR’s paralyzed legs made it necessary for him to sit while I.M. stood, but in 1930 no one thought it was odd. The governor had perfected the art of charismatic sitting.

FDR’s visit may have been the most historic thing that happened in Morrisville during the Depression and possibly for all time. I surmise FDR’s visit was unequaled by anything else that happened in Morrisville and someday a plaque may be placed in the pavement where his oil pan leaked 92 years ago.

I think this isolated event in my home town gives us some small idea what it must have been like for the exalted magi to step nimbly over the hay mounds and sheep dropping to kneel before a lowly newborn. How mind-blowing! How marvelous!

On January 6, Christians around the world celebrate the Feast of the Epiphany, the twelfth day of Christmas that, along with twelve drummers drumming, marks the arrival of the Magi at the manger where Jesus was born. In our household, we observe the traditional Latino celebration of El Día de los Reyes and exchange small gifts in honor of their kingly largesse. But this is not a practice I grew up with in Morrisville, and it is not a universal observance.

Views as to who the kings are, in fact, as varied as the Christendom itself. Some sects, including Jehovah’s Witnesses, excise references to the Kings because they were regarded as sorcerers of Satan. That’s a minority viewpoint, but it does tempt you to look a little closer at these guys.

A handful of scholars believe los tres reyes were precocious astronomers who mapped the stars and studied the passage of planets, but that would have placed them several hundred years ahead of their time. Most observers are convinced the kings were garden variety astrologers, a possibility supported by the fact that they not only looked at stars but believed that celestial bodies had something to tell them – and, more than that, they followed one star for hundreds of miles to find out what it wanted them to know. 

Of course, the moving star of Bethlehem was more likely a migrating planet than a fixed star, but who knew about such realities of astrophysics back then? One thing seems certain: the first thing the kings would have checked in Entertainment Weekly was their horoscope.

The term magi, from magus, is a reference to the priests of Zoroastrianism, who studied the stars and planets and made elaborate charts to work out what their movements portended in the currents of human life below. The three magicians from the east didn’t become “wise men” until the 16th and 17th century, when scholars who wrote the King James Version of the bible decided to call the magi “Wise Men.” Elsewhere, the drafters of the bible used the same word to denote “sorcerer” or “sorcery,” notably in reference to Elymas in Acts 13:6-11, or Simon Magus in Acts 8:9-13.

Matthew does not identify the three kings, or magicians, or wise men, but thanks to long standing church tradition, we call them by name: Melchior a Babylonian scholar; Caspar (also Gaspar, Jaspar, Jaspas, Gathaspa, and other variations), a Persian scholar; and Balthazar (also Balthasar, Balthassar, and Bithisarea), an Arab scholar.

Everything else we know about the kings is circumstantial. One reason we know they were important is that when they dropped by the palace to pay their respects to King Herod, the King took time to meet with them. This was either a professional courtesy to his fellow kings, or – as Matthew tells it – Herod had heard the rumors that a king of the Jews was about to the born and he invited the three sorcerers in to find out what they knew. The wily Herod asked the three to let him know when they found the lad, “so that I may go and pay him homage.” 

But the kings were smart enough to know Herod was setting a trap for the baby – Matthew says they were warned in a dream – and they “left for their own country by another road,” evading Herod and his agents. Herod realized he had been duped by the kings and, according to Matthew, ordered the death of every new born male child in Bethlehem.

No one knows what happened to the kings after they returned home, although there are many interesting legends. Some believe one of the magi was baptized by St. Thomas, the “doubting Thomas” of Scripture, while he was en route to his missionary tasks in India. Both the Mar Thoma Church and the Malankara Orthodox Syrian Church of India trace their origins to the first century visit of St. Thomas to South Asia.

But it was Saint Gregory the Great, who reigned as pope from 590 to 604 C.E., who placed the traveling wise men in their proper historic perspective. In one of those rare sermons that is remembered for 1,500 years, Gregory stressed the fact that the wise men, having searched for and discovered the Christ, took a different road and never retraced their route.  

“Having come to know Jesus,” he said, “we are forbidden to return by the way we came.”

Despite all the mystery and speculation about whom they really were, the three magi continue to preach a powerful message across the millennia. They were three non-Jews whose minds and spirits were open to powerful spiritual currents, including cryptic indications that a powerful monarch was about to be born to the Jews, a group they might have dismissed as a relatively minor sect in the Roman and eastern worlds.

When the three sorcerers perceived a unique sign in the heavens, a bright object that appeared to move ahead of them, they followed it out of intellectual and metaphysical curiosity.

As they pondered the heavenly sign that moved before them, they consulted their charts and concluded it was leading them to a rendezvous with an infant whose power and significance exceeded all they ever knew.

En route to Bethlehem, they decided to mark the occasion with significant gifts to the baby king: gold as a symbol of kingship on earth, frankincense as a reminder of God’s presence, and myrrh, an embalming oil, as a symbol of the death that would be required to bring the prophecy to fruition.

When they arrived at the end of their journey, these wise men born to riches did not hesitate to enter a rude, odiferous barn, because they knew the power and glory that resided in the human baby resting in an old feeding troth.

They came from afar and they knew who they were seeking and when they arrived they worshipped the baby in the troth.

When they met Jesus, they knew their lives must be changed forever. And they chose a new road for passage, having decided that they must never again retrace the steps that had brought them to this radical encounter with the son of a God they were only just beginning to know.

The very presence of these three splendid strangers must have amazed the parents of Jesus and astonished other witnesses in area. The visit of the obviously important Magi would have been regarded as a sign that something big was happening – just as Franklin Roosevelt’s 1930 appearance in Morrisville was a sign of something big.

But the glistening kings knew something that may have temporarily eluded others: they knew the magi were not the most important presence in the tiny barn.

That honor belonged to the smallest person in the room, the feeble infant still struggling to find the strength to lift his head.

It was the baby that the wise men came to see, and once they had seen him, their lives were changed forever.

And as we watch them in our minds eye, three kings stepping out on history’s stage, choosing a new route of enlightenment and understanding, may we all be eager to follow them and the star that brought them to God’s salvation,

westward leading,
still proceeding,
guide us to thy perfect light.