A sermon for Bloomsbury Central Baptist Church
12th January 2025
Miniature from the Psalter of Eleanor of Aquitaine (ca. 1185)
Luke 3.1-22
Who, in your opinion,
are
the annoyingly simplistic prophets of our time?
Whose voice drives you to distraction
because
it fails to account for the complexity of the world?
Who leaves you shouting at the TV
or
shaking your head in frustration?
Hold that thought, and we’ll come back
to it.
Our reading this morning is often
called The Baptism of Jesus,
yet
the actual baptism is only briefly mentioned.
Much of this passage focuses on John
the Baptist’s fiery ministry
and
the social and spiritual upheaval it heralds.
John bursts onto the scene like an Old
Testament prophet,
crying
out from the wilderness,
dressed
in camel’s hair and speaking words of uncompromising judgment.
His message, at first glance, might
seem harsh, even threatening.
But
beneath his vivid language of fire, axes, and winnowing forks
lies
a profound message of hope:
God is doing something new.
The kingdom of God is breaking into
the world,
and
all are invited to be part of it.
But there’s a catch.
God’s
new thing demands change—real, tangible change.
It’s not enough to hear John’s words
or
to show up by the Jordan River.
It’s not enough to claim Abraham as
your ancestor
or
to rest on the privileges of heritage or tradition.
John’s call to repentance requires a
complete reorientation of life,
a
turning away from “business as usual”
and
toward the in-breaking kingdom of God.
This morning, we’ll explore John’s
proclamation, Jesus’ baptism,
and
what they mean for us in 2025.
Along the way, I invite you to keep
thinking about those voices
—the
prophets of our time who call for change,
sometimes simplistically, sometimes
uncomfortably,
but
always with the potential to reshape the world.
John’s cry for repentance isn’t a
polite invitation to self-improvement.
It’s
a radical, disruptive call
to
reject systems of oppression and injustice.
He proclaims that the world is
broken—profoundly out of joint—
and
that the people, their leaders, and their systems
are
all under judgment.
When the crowds ask, “What then should
we do?”
and
John’s answers are strikingly practical and disarmingly simple:
“Whoever has two coats must share with anyone who has none;
and whoever has food must do likewise.”
“Collect no more than the amount prescribed for you.”“Do not extort money from anyone by threats or false accusation; and be satisfied with your wages.”
This isn’t a theological treatise
or a complex program for societal reform.
It’s about ordinary people doing ordinary things differently:
sharing resources, treating others fairly,
and refusing to exploit power for personal gain.
But John’s message is more than personal
—it’s deeply communal and systemic.
He addresses the structures of society:
the economic inequalities, the abuses of power,
the entrenchment of privilege.
Tax collectors symbolize a system of exploitation that crushes the poor.
Soldiers represent the machinery of Roman oppression.
When John calls them to repentance,
he’s asking them not only to behave better
but also to challenge the very systems they inhabit.
This call remains startlingly relevant.
In 2025, John’s cry echoes in the face of vast economic inequalities,
climate disasters, and geopolitical tensions.
What might his message look like today?
Imagine John standing at the gates of multinational corporations,
challenging CEOs to prioritize sustainability over profit.
Picture him addressing policymakers,
calling for action to address the growing refugee crises.
Hear him speaking to us, urging us to examine our choices
—what we buy, how we vote, how we live—
and how they either support or challenge
the systems of injustice around us.
Repentance, in John’s vision, isn’t just a private turning of the heart.
It’s a public turning of the world
—a transformation of how we live together.
When John confronts the crowd, he doesn’t mince words:
“Do not begin to say to yourselves, ‘We have Abraham as our ancestor’;
for I tell you, God is able from these stones to raise up children to Abraham.”
Their privilege—their status as children of Abraham—is not the point.
What matters is not where they come from
but whether their lives bear the fruits
of justice, righteousness, and love.
This message strikes at the heart of a modern world shaped by privilege.
Privilege is often invisible to those who have it,
but John challenges us to confront it head-on.
Do we recognize the ways in which our lives are shaped
by advantages we didn’t earn?
If we’ve never worried about food or housing, that’s privilege.
If our voices are more likely to be heard,
our opinions more likely to be respected, that’s privilege.
John doesn’t call us to feel guilty about privilege
but to take responsibility for it.
Privilege isn’t a prize to hoard;
it’s a tool to use in service of others.
So what might this look like for us today?
Sharing Resources:
John’s call to share coats and food reminds us to ask,
“Do we live as though our surplus belongs to those in need?”
Challenging Systems:
Like the tax collectors and soldiers,
we are called to examine the systems we participate in.
Are we complicit in perpetuating injustice?
Amplifying Voices:
Privilege often comes with a platform.
Are we using our voice to amplify the cries of the marginalized,
or are we staying silent?
John’s message is deeply uncomfortable.
It forces us to see how privilege can insulate us
from the realities of others’ suffering.
But it also invites us into something new:
a life where privilege becomes a means of blessing,
a life oriented toward the common good.
At the heart of today’s passage lies a profound moment:
the baptism of Jesus.
But it’s a moment that raises questions.
Why would Jesus, sinless and divine,
choose to undergo a baptism of repentance?
Why would the one who embodies God’s love and justice
step into the waters alongside sinners, tax collectors, and soldiers?
The answer lies in the nature of Jesus’ mission
and the heart of God’s kingdom.
Jesus’ baptism is not about his own need for repentance.
Instead, it is an act of solidarity—
a deliberate alignment with humanity’s brokenness
and a declaration that God’s saving work includes everyone.
By stepping into the waters of the Jordan,
Jesus identifies not with the privileged and powerful
but with the ordinary, the marginalized, and the oppressed.
He joins the tax collector burdened by the guilt of exploitation,
the soldier questioning his complicity in violence,
and the ordinary person wondering how to live rightly in a fractured world.
This act of solidarity is radical.
It flips the script on how we understand God’s power.
Jesus doesn’t come as a distant ruler or a condemning judge.
Instead, he comes as Emmanuel—God with us.
He steps into our mess, our struggles, and our pain,
showing us that God’s love is not reserved for the perfect
but is poured out for all, especially those on the margins.
As Jesus emerges from the waters, the heavens open,
and the Spirit descends like a dove.
A voice declares:
“You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.”
This moment is rich with meaning.
It’s not just a personal affirmation for Jesus;
it’s a revelation of God’s kingdom.
The heavens opening signify that God’s presence
is breaking into the world in a new way.
The descending Spirit points to empowerment for mission,
and the voice from heaven announces Jesus’ identity and purpose.
The words, “You are my Son, the Beloved,” echo Psalm 2,
where the anointed king is declared God’s Son.
They also resonate with the servant songs of Isaiah,
where the chosen one is upheld by God
to bring justice to the nations.
In this moment, Jesus is revealed as both the messianic king
and the suffering servant
—a leader who will bring justice
not through force but through self-giving love.
This scene is deeply subversive.
The Spirit descending like a dove
contrasts sharply with the Roman eagle,
a symbol of imperial power and conquest.
God’s kingdom is not about domination but about peace.
It’s not about ruling through fear but about transforming through love.
Jesus’ baptism isn’t just an act of solidarity;
it’s also a moment of transformation
—not for him, but for us.
In his baptism, Jesus sanctifies the waters,
making them a symbol of new life.
He shows us that the way into God’s kingdom
is not through privilege or power
but through humility, repentance, and renewal.
This transformation is not merely individual.
It has profound communal and systemic implications.
Jesus’ baptism marks the beginning of a ministry
that will challenge the status quo,
confront systems of oppression,
and proclaim good news to the poor.
It is a call to reimagine the world,
to see it through the lens of God’s justice and mercy.
For us, baptism is both a gift and a responsibility.
It’s a gift because it declares that we, too, are God’s beloved children.
It’s a responsibility because it calls us
to live out the values of God’s kingdom.
Baptism invites us to participate in the ongoing work of transformation
—to turn away from the “business as usual” of the world
and to embody the radical love and justice of Christ.
As the Spirit descends on Jesus in the form of a dove,
we’re reminded that God’s power is not coercive or violent.
The dove, a symbol of peace,
contrasts with the fiery language John uses earlier in the passage.
Yet the two are not opposed.
The fire of God’s judgment and the peace of the dove
are both part of God’s work in the world.
The fire burns away the chaff
—the selfishness, greed, and injustice that distort God’s creation.
The dove points to the renewal and peace that come
when God’s kingdom takes root in our lives and communities.
Together, they show us that God’s work
is both purifying and restoring.
When we follow Jesus through the waters of baptism,
we, too, receive the Spirit’s call.
We are invited to let the fire of God’s judgment refine us,
burning away what does not belong,
and to let the peace of the dove shape how we live in the world.
So the baptism of Jesus is not just a historical moment;
it’s a declaration of the kind of life God calls us to live.
It’s a life of solidarity with the marginalized,
a life that embraces transformation,
and a life that bears witness to the in-breaking kingdom of God.
Through his baptism, Jesus stepped into the waters of human brokenness.
He aligned himself with those crying out for change,
those burdened by systems of oppression,
and those yearning for hope.
He didn’t come as a detached saviour,
standing apart from the struggles of the world.
Instead, he immersed himself in them,
showing us that the path to redemption begins with solidarity.
For us, baptism is both an affirmation of our identity as God’s beloved
and a commissioning to live as agents of God’s justice and peace.
The question, then, is this:
What does it mean for us to live out our baptism in 2025?
First, it means stepping into solidarity with those who are suffering.
Like Jesus, we are called to wade into the waters of the world’s pain
—not as saviours but as companions.
In the face of the ongoing refugee crises,
we are called to welcome the stranger, advocate for humane policies,
and provide tangible support to those fleeing war and persecution.
As climate disasters continue to devastate communities,
we are called to challenge the systems and behaviours
that fuel the crisis and to work toward sustainable, life-giving change.
Where inequality and injustice persist
—whether in our own neighbourhoods or on a global scale—
we are called to stand with the oppressed and amplify their voices.
Solidarity isn’t passive; it’s active and costly.
It means listening deeply, acting courageously,
and staying committed, even when the road is hard.
Second, living out our baptism means embracing transformation.
Jesus’ baptism was a moment of divine affirmation:
“You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.”
This affirmation wasn’t just about Jesus’ identity;
it was about his mission.
When we hear those same words spoken over us in baptism,
we are reminded that we, too, are called to a mission of transformation.
This transformation begins with us,
as we allow the fire of God’s Spirit to refine us,
burning away what doesn’t belong
—our selfishness, our complicity in injustice, our fear of change.
But it doesn’t stop there.
Baptismal transformation is also about the world around us.
It’s about reimagining our communities, our nations,
and our world in the light of God’s kingdom:
- A world where resources are shared so that no one is left in need.
- A world where power is used to serve, not to exploit.
- A world where peace is not the absence of conflict but the presence of justice.
God’s beloved.
This identity isn’t based on what we achieve or how well we perform.
It’s not diminished by our failures or enhanced by our successes.
It’s a gift—freely given and unshakable.
When we live from this identity,
we are freed to love without fear,
to give without holding back,
and to stand for justice without seeking recognition.
We are freed to align ourselves with God’s vision for the world,
knowing that we don’t do this work alone.
The Spirit who descended on Jesus like a dove
is the same Spirit who empowers us today.
The fire of God’s love and the peace of God’s presence
are with us as we live out our baptismal calling.
So, what does all of this mean for us as we leave this place today?
It means asking, Who needs my solidarity?
Who are the people or communities I am called to stand with,
even when it’s uncomfortable or costly?
It means reflecting, Where do I need transformation?
What attitudes, behaviours, or systems in my life
need to be refined by God’s Spirit?
And it means remembering, Who am I?
As someone baptized into Christ, I am God’s beloved,
called to live out the values of God’s kingdom in the world.
John the Baptist’s cry still echoes across the centuries:
“Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight.”
Jesus’ baptism shows us what this preparation looks like
—not in grand gestures or abstract ideals
but in lives marked by solidarity, transformation, and love.
May we, as God’s beloved children,
take up this call to action.
And may we work together
to live out the in-breaking kingdom of God,
where valleys are filled, mountains are made low,
and all flesh sees the salvation of our Creator.
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