Baptism

Gospel
Luke 3.15-17,21-22

(In the wilderness John proclaimed a baptism of repentance.) 15As the people were filled with expectation, and all were questioning in their hearts concerning John, whether he might be the Messiah, 16John answered all of them by saying, ‘I baptize you with water; but one who is more powerful than I is coming; I am not worthy to untie the thong of his sandals. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire. 17His winnowing-fork is in his hand, to clear his threshing-floor and to gather the wheat into his granary; but the chaff he will burn with unquenchable fire.’

21Now when all the people were baptized, and when Jesus also had been baptized and was praying, the heaven was opened, 22and the Holy Spirit descended upon him in bodily form like a dove. And a voice came from heaven, ‘You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.’

Sermon by Martin Warner, Bishop elect for Whitby

TODAY’S Gospel reading is the second in a series of three that make up the Epiphany of Jesus. His baptism follows the revelation of him to all the nations of the earth, represented in the persons of the Magi. Finally, the wedding at Cana will reveal a definitive glory — but more of that next week.

Meanwhile, we continue with our reflections on how the visual medium of art can assist our understanding of the Epiphany as the showing-off of Jesus in his true identity.

Luke’s immediate account of the baptism is distinctive in making no reference to John the baptiser. Skilled in the art of storytelling, Luke narrates the baptism as though we were witnesses to the inner experience of Jesus himself. Jesus is praying. In this regard, the context is similar to the Transfiguration (Luke 9.29).

We, the hearers of this Gospel story, are admitted to a moment that tells the story of the work of the Holy Spirit. Luke alone refers to the Spirit in this way, telling us more than the other Evangelists do about the work of the third person of the Trinity.

He sees that in the mystery of our redemption, and in the life of the Church, the Holy Spirit prepares and completes the work of Jesus.

The Evangelist’s point is neatly summed up by the third-century theologian Origen: “Christ is born; the Spirit is his forerunner. Christ is baptised; the Spirit bears him witness. Christ is tempted; the Spirit leads him up. Christ ascends; the Spirit fills his place.”

It is probably fair to say that we in the West tend to be reticent about the work of the Holy Spirit, and consequently about the life of the Trinity itself. The functions and images of God as Father and creator, as Son and redeemer, are reasonably clear. But it is more difficult to assess what the work of the Holy Spirit looks like. Perhaps this is where the artist can come to our aid.

Matthew, Mark, and Luke describe the Holy Spirit as being like a dove, descending and alighting upon Jesus at his baptism. This is so familiar that we think little of it, unless, that is, we ask the artist’s question: why a dove?

When we try to answer, the precedents for the use of this particular image become less clear. It is tempting to refer to the sweeping of the Spirit over the waters in creation (Genesis 1.2), but the words used in Genesis do not suggest the hovering of a bird. The dove in the story of the great flood (Genesis 7.10-11) is another possibility, but there is no other reference to the flood. The simplicity and innocence of the dove, acknowledged by Jesus (Matthew 10.16), is another possible motive for choosing the dove, but these are not themes that dominate at the baptism.

This complexity that emerges by way of an answer to the artist’s question comes close to the very nature and work of the Holy Spirit. The Spirit is that subtle, elusive communicator, best described, perhaps, in biblical references to Wisdom. The Wisdom of Solomon says she is “unique, manifold, subtle, mobile, clear . . . she is the breath of the power of God . . . while remaining in herself, she renews all things” (Wisdom 7.22, 25, 27).

The Holy Spirit is the force of imagination by which what is complex, mysterious, and familiar only to God finds expression in our human language and experience. The Holy Spirit is God living dangerously in time, and this is where art helps us to understand the significance of the descent of the Holy Spirit upon Jesus at his baptism.

Mark Wallinger’s Ecce Homo (below) is perhaps one of the most explicit and evocative images of Jesus in contemporary art. Its unveiling in 1999 on the fourth plinth in Trafalgar Square hinted at the manifold, mobile subtlety of the work of the Holy Spirit. Without doubt, that work presents the incarnate God in fragility and danger.

Jesus stands semi-naked, his hands bound behind his back. There is nothing that suggests his divinity, but the crown of barbed wire identifies, unmistakeably, that this is the son of God, the beloved, in whom God the Father is well pleased. It is an image that conveys Good Friday and judgment by Pontius Pilate: it also articulates what we now know was happening in the Jordan at the revelation of baptism.

In the Jordan, in the wilderness of temptation, on the mount of Transfiguration, and in the garden of Gethsemane, Jesus prays. This prayer takes him into the mystery of his self-offering to the Father, consummated on the cross at Calvary.

Here, Jesus is fully revealed as himself, in redeeming creation, the work of the life of God the Holy Trinity. The Father’s voice attests the identity of the Son in baptism, as in the transfiguration, because, in Jesus, the true character of being God — self-giving love — is seen.

This feast of the Lord’s baptism is our festival, too. It celebrates in our fragility an aptitude for receiving the breath of the power of God. Come, Holy Spirit.