Who have we left?

Podcast

• Listen to this homily

Scripture references

• Isaiah 40:1-5, 9-11
• Titus 2:11-14; 3:4-7
• Luke 3:15-16, 21-22

Reflection

Some of us might think that we're experiencing déjà vu.  The first reading we heard today was also read during the initial weeks of Advent.  Don't worry, you're not losing it. 

Today the Church celebrates the Baptism of the Lord.  Perhaps if we were baptising children at Mass today, there would be a family here with us who would be excited about a significant moment in their lives or in the life of their child, but baptisms won't happen here until next week.  What's interesting though is that this week invites all of us to consider what baptism means  - for us - and lets all be honest: once the water has been poured, once the ointment has been smeared, once the candles have been lit and the ceremony is over, many of us spend little time at all considering the true meaning of baptism ... until of course, another significant moment in life comes along.

Those who have had the opportunity of touring the Holy Land tell us that visiting the river Jordan is one such significant moment.  Groups of people arrive, and at the urging of their tour guides, they all remove their shoes and socks, roll up their pants, hold their skirt hems, and wade into the water.  It's really a thrilling experience to think that you're standing in the same river where Jesus stood, where John baptised him (Lk 3:21).

Jesus got into the river Jordan with other people because his baptism was an inauguration ceremony.  It was the official opening of his public ministry.  There were even speeches made, from heaven, 'You are my Son, the Beloved, with you I am well pleased' (Lk 3:22).  Jesus got into the Jordan for different reasons than others who were there, but he also did this as an act of solidarity with sinners.  He wasn't standing on ceremony.  He was saying, 'I'm here with you and for you.  The Word has truly become flesh'.

When we think about Baptism, about living out the promises that are spoken, about commitment, we can often become judgmental, especially if we focus on human weakness, on the many people who might celebrate baptism one week and then not darken the door of the church again until the next sacrament is to be celebrated.  What would happen if we turned the tables though?

I've had many occasions to be present at the bedside of someone who is dying.  When the doctors have done all they can, when the priest has uttered the words of blessing, when family members have all made their peace, what words can be said?  In truth, at the moment of death, who'se left to take the hand of the one who is dying, to lead him or her to heaven?

In crisis situations, when a single mother has to comfort a sick child in the middle of the night, to whom can she turn for guidance?  When the cancer patient reads the truth in the doctor's face even before a word is spoken, and when those standing by must put on brave faces despite the knowledge that all is not well, whose left to comfort us?

When we're feeling down on ourselves and the zest for life is gone, when in the most engaging company we still feel dismally elsewhere, when no amount of pills will help to pull us together, when every day is a burden and no day is a gift, in the loneliest of places where even professionalism and friendship fail, who have we left?

Christ began his saving mission for us in the Jordan river.  He completed it in his Death, Resurrection and Ascension.  He's there for us all the time, praying for us in heaven, and befriending us on earth.  Even from the day of our own baptism, we have been grafted into him, already sharing in his heavenly life as we continue our earthly existence.  Sometimes, when people say 'be true to your baptism' or 'practice your faith', we think we're doing the Lord a favour.  In truth, it's the other way around: when the chips are really down, who have we left?