St. Baldrick: Patron Saint of Identity and Vocation Isaiah 42:1-9, Matthew 3:13-17

“Your calling is calling.”
That’s the slogan of the new advertising campaign for Monster.com,
the online job placement company that’s trying to re-brand itself.1
One of the first two ads in the campaign starts
with a lone figure standing beside an escalator.
The soundtrack of the ad begins with a droning hum that turns into a strumming guitar
and continues with the repeated monotonal phrase, “Sleep on…dreaming….”
As the scene develops, the one lone person is joined by others in an urban landscape
of streets and chrome and glass offices.
The scenes become more and more crowded and claustrophobic
and soon it becomes apparent that all the people are moving together,
their feet locked into grooved tracks.

The message of the ad is that everyone is traveling in locked precision
in a dreamy, unthinking, laced-up, buttoned-down, emotionless state
that allows no room for individual creativity,
no room for difference, no room for hope.
But just when this lock-step, droning dreaminess becomes so cloying and oppressive
you can hardly breathe there appears in the picture a new lone figure – a young man.
This young man walks against the grain. He dares to step OUT of the proscribed track.
He doesn’t wear a suit. He has a day’s growth of beard on his chiseled chin
and a glint of resolve in his eye.
He is not locked into a track with everyone else,
but he is free to make his own way,
to step THROUGH the rigid lines of corporate automatons.
He is his own man.
The tag line at the end of the ad is “Find your own path.”

Your calling is calling. Find your own path. These are appealing slogans.
They speak to the question of what you and I expect from our work
but, more than that, they speak to the question of where you and I find our identity.
And IDENTITY is one issue at the heart of our scripture passages today.

Since very early in the life of the church the story of Jesus’ baptism has been celebrated
(along with the visit of the wise men and Jesus’ first miracle of turning water into wine)
as one of what are called the three Festivals of Light.2
They’re called “festivals of light” because they celebrate three occasions
through which God chose to “enlighten” us concerning Jesus’ identity.
The visit of the wise men
reveals Jesus as one who comes not just to the Jews but to all people.
The miracle of turning water into wine
reveals Jesus as one who has power even over the natural order of things.
And the act of baptism and the voice from heaven
reveals Jesus as the one in human flesh
to whom God gives God’s full and unqualified endorsement.

Jesus comes to John at the Jordan river,
in itself a powerful way to underscore the place of Jesus in Israel’s history.3
So many critical events in the life of God’s chosen happened at the Jordan River
and this connection would not have been lost on Matthew’s readers.
Jesus is submerged in the Jordan and when he comes up from the water
he sees the heavens open and the Holy Spirit descending on him
and he and all around hear a voice saying, “This is my Son, the Beloved,
with whom I am well pleased.”
Now, that’s some identification; a sure-enough vote of confidence.
Even having his own American Express card couldn’t have made it any clearer.
The heavens open, a voice booms out,
“THIS IS MY SON with whom I am well pleased.”
Thanks, Dad.

There is in EACH baptism a faint echo of this heavenly endorsement.
Whether you are dunked or sprinkled or sprayed with a fire hose
at the moment of your baptism there is an instant of identification;
a sparkle of recognition in the eyes of everyone watching
that you are not the same old person you were a moment ago.
There is in each baptism a flutter of wings, a stirring of air, a heavenly descent
that, though invisible, adds substance to each person
who receives this divine blessing.
It’s just too bad that the water doesn’t stain the skin somehow;
leave some indelible mark that’s more of a bona fide outward and visible sign
of the inward, invisible grace of this sacrament.

I’ve never had the urge to get a tattoo,
and if pushed I’ll say it’s because of the life-long, hard-core associations
that tattoos bring to my mind.
But if pushed harder I have to admit that at least a little of my reluctance
is based in the fact that I’ve never felt so intensely committed to anything or anyone
that I’ve wanted to permanently mark my skin with the thought.
I mean, if you ink on your bicep your undying love for “Jane” and things don’t work out
you’re pretty much limited to finding a “Janet” to take her place.
Yet, a tattoo has the attraction of clarifying one’s identity.
In that way it’s very much like baptism.

Maybe somebody ought to market the idea of tattooing a tiny drop of water
behind the ear of every babe-in-arms or every repentant sinner
who gets baptized into the family of God the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.

At least we could do like parents I heard about
who were the kind of parents who did things I wish I’d been smart enough to think of.
Beginning with the day after their children were baptized,
every single morning of that child’s life before being dropped off at day care
or put on the bus for school, one parent or the other would take each child,
make on that child’s head the sign of the cross,
and say, “Remember your baptism, you are a child of God.”
It became such an integral part of each day,
that even into middle school the children would present themselves at the door,
push back their hair and say, “Do me, Mom.”
They felt incomplete without it.

The mark of Baptism is a mark of identity
but it is not JUST a mark of identity.
It is a sign of being chosen, a gift of grace freely extended.
But though it is light as air, it is solid as granite.
Though it rests lightly, it settles firmly.
The mark of baptism is not simply a divine tattoo of endorsement.
The mark of baptism is also a foundation of expectation,
a calling to responsibility.

The story of Jesus coming to John to be baptized created a theological crisis for Matthew.
He alone in telling the story feels compelled to add the part about how John objected
and said that HE ought to be baptized by JESUS.

After all, John’s baptism was a baptism of repentance for sin
and everyone knew Jesus was without sin.
But Jesus responds to John’s objection
by putting his arm around John’s shoulder and telling him to relax.
“Look,” Jesus says, “it is proper for us to do this
for in this way we will fulfill all righteousness.”

Isaiah 42, our other text for this morning helps us understand what Jesus meant.
In his baptism, Jesus was to be confirmed in his identity.
And what is his identity?
Jesus’ identity is that about which Isaiah had written so long before.
He is the one who will conquer, not with force but with justice.
He is the one who will lead, not with intimidation but with compassion.
Jesus had to be baptized,
not to wash away his sins but as an act of solidarity with us.
It wasn’t necessary for repentance,
but as a way for him to climb fully into our skin;
as a way for him to join his identity with our identity.

I was casting around for a way to illustrate what I mean here
and I thought of those people – classmates, friends, fellow workers –
who choose to shave their heads in support of someone
who is losing hair due to chemotherapy for cancer.
I went online this week and found out about St. Baldrick’s Foundation.
It’s the largest fundraising organization in the world for childhood cancer research.
It started as a friendly dare among three guys planning a St. Patrick’s Day party.
They wanted not just to have fun but to benefit the community in some way.
They came up with the idea of having 17 business associates contribute $1000 apiece
on the 17th of March to raise $17,000 for childhood cancer research.
As a gimmick one friend said to another, “Why don’t you shave your head?
People would pay $1000 to see you shave your head.”
In typical “guy” fashion, the friend shot back, “I will if you will,” and an idea was born.
They didn’t meet their goal that first year.
Instead of raising $17,000 they raised $104,000.
That was March of 2000.
Since then their goofy idea has grown to the point that in just eight years
they have had “shaving” events in 46 states and 18 countries
shaving more than 46,000 heads and raising over $34 million dollars.

Think of what it means to a child, someone whose identity is just forming,
to have his or her self-definition distorted by cancer,
and further to be assaulted by going bald at an age when everyone else has hair.
And think of what it means to a child to have friends, family, even strangers
give up their hair in voluntary identification and solidarity with that child’s condition.
It’s not a perfect analogy but it’s pretty close to what Jesus was up to in his baptism;
in his voluntary submission to John’s hand.

And in so choosing to undergo baptism,
he demonstrated to each of us that baptism is more than a mark.
It’s a calling, too.
But it’s not like the Monster.com commercial,
where the hero breaks FREE of the crowd to find his OWN path.
Instead, Jesus’ calling and our calling in baptism
is a calling to exercise OUR freedom by walking WITH those who are still in bondage.
That’s what St. Baldrick would do.

By the way, there’s a shaving event scheduled in Charlottesville on March 29.
Anybody want to dare me?
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1 The advertising cited can be found at http://youtube.com/watch?v=XQAkwPgpsAM
2 Norris, Kathleen, Marked for a Purpose, “Living By the Word.” The Christian
Century. Deceber 25, 2007.
3 Ibid.