I want to begin with a conclusion.  It’s the narration by director Robert Redford at the end of the movie, A River Runs Through It.  It tells the story of the early 20th century Montana Presbyterian minister / fly-fisherman played by Tom Skerritt.  And it’s a story about his sons, played by Brad Pitt and Craig Sheffer, who inherit their father’s love of fly-fishing.  It’s Craig Sheffer’s character, Norman Maclean, who is speaking in the twilight years of his life, after so many family and friends have died, including his beloved wife, Jessie.

He says, “Now nearly all those I loved and did not understand when I was young are dead, but I still reach out to them.  Of course, now I am too old to be much of a fisherman, and I usually fish the big waters alone, although some friends think I shouldn’t.  But when I am alone in the half light of the canyon all existence seems to fade to a being with my soul, and memories and the sounds of the Big Blackfoot River, and a four count rhythm, and the hope that a fish will rise.

“Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it.  The river was cut by the world’s great flood and runs over rocks from the basement of time.  On some of the rocks are timeless raindrops.  Under the rocks are the words, and some of the words are theirs.  I am haunted by waters.”

The whole movie is worth watching, just for that final scene.  It’s that final assertion—that confession—that Norman is “haunted by waters” which captivates me.  I must admit: I still haven’t figured out what that means, but it’s the mystery that draws me in.

And “mystery” seems to be a good word for today, with baptism being a sacrament.  That word, “sacrament,” comes from the Latin sacramentum, which translates the Greek μυστηριον (mystērion), “mystery.”  Be they the waters of the sea or the waters of baptism, there is more than a bit of mystery to them.  Who knows what goes on in those watery depths?

Speaking of being “haunted by waters,” what is a “mystery” to me is the, in my opinion, unfortunate bickering that sometimes goes on about the mode of baptism—that is, immersion, pouring, or sprinkling.  Those who are familiar with the NFL know that when a referee’s call is challenged, the instant replay must show conclusive evidence for the call to be reversed.

Well, when it comes to baptism, the scriptures just don’t have that conclusive evidence!  Several images are used for it.  We tend to ignore the fact that baptism is a gift from God.

As we turn to our psalm reading, notice that it doesn’t provide the stuff of lullabies.  We hear no soothing melodies as we drift off into blissful slumber.  No, in the 29th Psalm, we’re assaulted by the full fury of nature’s wrath, a raging storm.  Verse 3 roars, “The voice of the Lord is over the waters; the God of glory thunders, the Lord, over mighty waters.”

So besides being plunged into the tempest, the verse also speaks of “the voice of the Lord,” which the psalmist compares to lightning.  This voice does works of power:  it “breaks the cedars of Lebanon,” “flashes forth flames of fire,” and “strips the forest bare” (vv. 5, 7, 9).  Seven times the psalmist sings about the mighty deeds of the voice.  For those reasons, one description of Psalm 29 is “the Psalm of Seven Thunders.”[1]

Having said all that, why does this psalm appear as a text for today, for the Baptism of the Lord?  It’s not like anybody’s getting baptized—unless, of course, you figure somebody had to be getting drenched by the storm we just heard about!  We can find a clue in St. Matthew’s gospel.  Just as in our psalm, we hear the voice of God—in this case, calling Jesus “my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased” (3:17).

Jesus receives a name, the Beloved, at his baptism.  Once upon a time, the naming of children was a ceremony that occurred at baptism.  The “christening” of a child reflected that connection with Jesus Christ.  These days, the naming of a child isn’t usually associated with that kind of ritual.

Today, as we reaffirm our baptismal covenant, I want us to consider something.  I don’t suppose the voice of God was heard by anyone at our baptism, but we nonetheless have received a name from God.  Revelation 2:17 tells us, “Let anyone who has an ear listen to what the Spirit is saying to the churches.  To everyone who conquers…I will give a white stone, and on the white stone is written a new name that no one knows except the one who receives it.”  There’s a promise that the name known only to God will be revealed—but it’s a confidential matter.

How appropriate that is!  In the vast sweep of history, the names of the overwhelming majority of the Lord’s servants are unknown.  They didn’t “make a name” for themselves, at least not a name that following generations remember.  And that’s true for us.  Maybe there are plenty of people who know our name today, but in times to come, only a tiny minority of us will be remembered by the world—at least, in the way we often think about it.

Through baptism—through following Jesus into the water and into a new name—we are set apart.  Retired UCC pastor Jack Good has said that baptism “sets each of us apart as a particular kind of person—one owned by God.  Those who have been baptized are called to live out the meaning of this remarkable reality.  The unbaptized also belong to God, but they have had no public opportunity to announce and celebrate that fact.”[2]

Following Jesus into baptism and living by the vows made at baptism means we want to hear the voice of God.  Rev. Good goes on, “Multiple forces will attempt to redefine the child after she leaves the baptismal font.  Commercial messages will attempt to convince her that she is owned by a great economic machine whose purpose is to make her a voracious consumer…  Government will attempt in myriad ways to establish its ultimate claim on our [offspring].”  It will convince the church to yield “its young men and women to Caesar to become cannon fodder in whatever adventures or misadventures Caesar contrives.”[3]

Reaffirming our baptismal covenant is one key way of reminding ourselves to whom we belong.  By yielding ourselves to Jesus Christ, we let the voice at the waters of baptism have the final say over the other voices we hear.  We say “no” to the voices that would fill us with anxiety—voices that say we can’t, we’ll fail, and to be honest, we shouldn’t even try.  Believe me; I have heard those voices myself!  But having faith in God helps us to recognize that those voices are telling lies.

Our hymn after the renewal of the baptismal covenant is “Out of Deep, Unordered Water.”  Listen to the second stanza: “Water on the human forehead, birthmark of the love of God, / Is the sign of death and rising; through the seas there runs a road. / There is water in the river bringing life to tree and plant. / Let creation praise its giver: there is water in the font.”

That line about creation praising its giver because there’s water in the font is certainly in the spirit of our psalm.  It’s a celebration that one of the most basic, and the most important, substance in all the earth—water—is used for such a noble and sacred purpose.

But I suppose it’s the line, “through the seas there runs a road,” that brings me back to where I began—back to the mystery of being “haunted by waters,” in which “a river runs through it.”  Friends, this journey we take through the waters, of heeding the voice that gives us a divine name, is about far more than we can think or imagine.

This is a case in which words fail.  We can speak of various meanings of baptism, various modes of baptism, but they fall silent before the simple majesty of the water itself.  We come through the water changed, reborn, a new creation.

If we truly embrace our rebirth, our being a new creation, then we will find ourselves being washed clean of our own agendas.  (Clearly, this doesn’t happen all at once!)

I put to myself the question, “How willing am I to be washed clean of my own agendas?”  How willing am I to experience, even a little bit, of traveling the road that runs through the seas, a road through the waters?  As I just said, this doesn’t happen all at once.  And it doesn’t happen once and for all.

During the reaffirmation of the baptismal covenant, that’s exactly what we do: we “reaffirm.”  We remind ourselves of what it means.  That’s why we are asked “once again to reject sin, to profess [our] faith in Christ Jesus, and to confess the faith of the church, the faith in which we were baptized.”

The reaffirmation of the baptismal covenant isn’t something to do because it fits nicely on the liturgical calendar.  It is intended to bring us back to that moment when, in the waters of baptism, we state—as a community, not merely as individuals—that we joyfully accept the covenant with God in Jesus Christ.

There’s a funny thing about what that hymn says about the water of baptism.  It “is the sign of death and rising; through the seas there runs a road. / There is water in the river bringing life to tree and plant.”  That isn’t stagnant water; it’s water in motion, water that is flowing.  It’s not the breeding ground of mosquitoes!

In the Bible, flowing water is often called living water.  It’s moving; it’s animated.  It isn’t dead; it is water of resurrection.  How fitting that is when we think of our liturgy for the funeral service, or as our Book of Common Worship puts it, “A Service of Witness to the Resurrection.”  There are a number of prayers that can be used.  One I really like to use includes this: “Especially we thank you for your servant [fill in the name], whose baptism is now complete in death.”  It’s such a powerful statement.  It expresses the sure hope of the covenant with the one who is always faithful.

We go full circle.  In baptism, we are buried with Christ and emerge as that new creation mentioned earlier.  And as a new creation, like that flowing water, we are called to move beyond our own stagnation, our own tired ways, our own prejudice and bigotry, in whatever form they appear.

Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it.

As we go with the flow of the baptismal waters, as we travel that road through the waters, we join with the psalmist in joyful song:

“The Lord sits enthroned over the flood; the Lord sits enthroned as king forever.  May the Lord give strength to his people!  May the Lord bless his people with peace!” (vv. 10-11).

[1] A. A. Anderson, Psalms 1-72 (Grand Rapids:  Eerdmans, 1992), 233.

[2] Jack Good, “Naming names,” Christian Century 120:26 (27 Dec 03):  19.

[3] Good, 19.