SEVENTH SUNDAY AFTER PENTECOST, July 24, 2022

“Precious and Beloved” (Isaiah 43:1-4)

I wasn’t expecting anything. Along with Warren, my partner in ministry, I was simply trying to model what people were being invited to do at the Longest Night service. First, light a candle in memory of a loved one, and place it on the communion table. Then approach the Anglican or Lutheran priest to be anointed. I felt the touch on my forehead. I breathed in the faint aroma of olive oil. I heard myself named “beloved of God” – shades of the scene of Jesus’ baptism at the Jordan River – dove descending, voice from heaven declaring: “you are my beloved!” In that moment, I knew it was true – not just in my head or even my heart, but in my entire being.

We are precious. We are beloved God. This is our true identity. This is who we really are. Whether we are eight months old like Brendan or in our nineties like Keith. Whether we have the energy and ability to run around like Nathan or find it a challenge just to get out of bed in the morning. Whether we can smile like a whole bunch of you whose faces positively light up or frown and glare at anyone who has the temerity to approach. We are precious and beloved.

Nevertheless, there may be times when we lose sight of this reality. We may come to believe what other voices say about us. Like the Hebrew people in exile. The Babylonians are more than ready to tell them who they are: losers, captives, powerless, expendable nothings in a region dominated by rising empires and marching armies.When the history books are written, they will contain stories of the amazing ziggurats and fabulous hanging gardens of the city of Babylon. At best, the Hebrew people will be a footnote, an after thought. The Hebrew people themselves are feeling anything but precious and beloved. The walls of Jerusalem have been torn down; their temple destroyed. They are in a strange land where people do not speak their language or share their culture or follow their religious traditions. Is it an wonder, they conclude: “God must have turned away from us. We are nobodies without a future.”

It doesn’t require anything as extreme as exile to convey the message: “you are a nobody. You are worthless.” A parent’s angry remark: “can’t you ever do anything right!” A music teacher’s instruction: “Don’t sing; just mouth the words.” A teacher’s sigh as a test paper is handed back, eloquently indicating that nothing more could have been expected from you. An abusive partner’s telling you day after day: “you are stupid”; “you are ugly”; “you are useless.” The eyes of the person with whom you are shaking hands never looking into yours, but roaming the room in search of someone, anyone, more important, more interesting. A bureaucrat of whatever ilk, keeping you waiting for ages – their time is valuable; your is not – and then spending your few minutes together repeating the rules without listening to your particular circumstances.

Such words and actions tend to replay in our memories. These voices may become so internalized that we find it hard to believe we are anything but worthless nobodies. Along comes a prophet with a message from God: “you are precious in my sight.” “Precious” When you hear that word, what do you think of, what images come into your mind? Precious like the British Crown Jewels – the crowns, orbs, swords, sceptres kept in the Tower of London – or an old engagement ring, with a tiny chip of a diamond, a treasured symbol of a declaration of love and loyalty. Precious like a cup of cold, clear water in a hot and desolate land or a container of waterproof matches on a bitter day in a rain soaked camp site. Precious like a deep breath for a person having an asthmatic attack or a moment without pain for an individual suffering from a chronic, debilitating disease.

“You are precious in my sight, and honoured, and I love you.” Just imagine this spokesperson for God saying these words to sad, despairing, defeated exiles. Just imagine these words being addressed to you. During a retreat, we divided into pairs and read this passage to each other, substituting the name of our partner for Israel and Jacob, and adding it after each you: “do not fear for I have redeemed you…; I have called you…; you … are mine.” The impact was amazing. This had long been one of my favourite passages in scripture but I had never heard it quite like this. I wish I could read it that way to each one of you. Short of that, it is good for all of us to hear it especially in the context of baptism.

When I was first ordained, I wasn’t sure how I felt about baptism. From a theological point of view, I wasn’t convinced that baptism was essential. At times in the history of the church, we have gone to great lengths to make sure every baby was baptized, lest if they should die, they would be forever barred from the presence of God. Archie Bunker in “All in the Family” may have slipped into a church with his grandson to put holy water on the baby’s head, but I was absolutely certain and still am, that God’s love is not tied to any liturgical act, and is certainly not bound by any human action or inaction. God’s love enfolds all human beings and indeed all of creation – baptized and unbaptized. Baptism seemed like a ceremony I could live without.

Then came my first baptism Sunday. Standing in Greenridge United Church, dipping my hand into the warm water brought in a thermos – this small clapboard building had no running water – looking down at Jason as the water trickled from his forehead onto his cheeks, something happened. I realized that baptism may not be necessary to secure a baby’s salvation, but we as a community of faith need it. We need it to remind us that we are indeed precious and beloved, right here, right now, just the way we are.Not because we are specially gifted or have done or will do something amazing, but simply because God has chosen to be in relationship with us.

The parents are asked: “what is the name of this child?” and they reply: “Brendan Thomas”. This is not a generic baby – an object to be cuddled and cooed over like some sort of living doll. This is an individual with a name – a name the parents have pondered and chosen. We hear the name and we are reminded that just as second Isaiah sang to the exiles – “I have called you by name; you are mine” – God knows each and every one of us by name and claims us as God’s own. For God, we are never a number or a faceless member of a crowd; we are never just one more student in a class or employee in an office or customer in a store or voter to be wooed and placated. We are unique, named individuals created in the image of God.

As Jesus went down into the waters of the Jordan river so Brendan has been bathed in water. As prophets, priest and monarchs in ancient Israel were anointed with oil so Brendan has been anointed. We may not have seen the heavens torn open and a dove descending; we may not have heard a voice from above announcing: “you are my beloved”. But God does indeed reach out to Brendan and call him “beloved”. What a wonderful descriptive tag – beloved. Too bad in our day and age, it only seems to appear in obituaries – “so and so, beloved … of…” – or in speeches at retirement parties -“so and so, a beloved… in this school, company, organization”. We are beloved. Without pre-conditions, with no strings attached. God reaches out to us in love.

There may be days when Brendan, when you and I don’t feel loved; when we don’t particularly love ourselves and wonder why anyone or anything would want to be bothered with us. But even on those days, we can touch our foreheads which bear the sign of Christ and know that we are precious and beloved. May these words echo in our minds; take root in our hearts and shine forth in our lives. Amen.