Seven Words

Matthew 3:13-17

February 14, 2024 (Ash Wednesday) • Mount Pleasant UMC

Forty-seven degrees. Let that sink in. Forty-seven degrees. That was the temperature of the Jordan River on January 22, 2023. I know that because I was standing in it for a long time on that day, helping our travel group remember their baptisms. I can still feel it when I think about it. We were at Qasr El-Yahud, the site in the desert that is as close as we can reasonably guess where John the Baptist was working and where Jesus himself was baptized. It is in the desert, the sun was shining, but the water was cold. Experts say that if you spend 20 minutes in 41 degree water you can die, but I’m here to tell you that after 5 minutes in 47 degree water, you really don’t feel anything anymore. Now, we have no idea what time of year Jesus came to be baptized, but even in the summer, the waters of the Jordan are not terribly warm. They flow down from the heights of Mount Hermon in the north, through the Sea of Galilee and ultimately into the Dead Sea. It’s not a terribly far a journey and the water never really warms up until it settles at the lowest place on earth. To be baptized in the Jordan is a risky (and often very cold) venture.

But that’s what Jesus came to do one day: to be baptized by his relative John. John, who was six months older than Jesus, had been out in the wilderness for some time, preaching a simple message: “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near” (3:2). It’s the same message Jesus will begin with about a chapter and a half later (cf. 4:17), after he has spent time in the wilderness (4:1-11. So John is preaching, and people are coming to be baptized by him, and that begins to attract the notice of the religious leaders. We’re told that Pharisees and Sadducees (two groups that you didn’t often see together because they really didn’t get along) came to the place where John was baptizing (3:7). They did not come to be baptized; they were coming to investigate the baptisms (cf. Davis, Come Alive: Matthew, pg. 17). They were the guardians of Israel’s faith, and so they were coming to see if there was anything wrong—anything blasphemous—in what John was doing.

And then Jesus shows up. I wish we had an idea how often Jesus and John had been together as they grew up. You know, the family potlucks, the festivals in Jerusalem, the family potlucks at the festivals in Jerusalem. But we have no idea. We do know that John immediately recognizes Jesus so they have had some connection through the years. Jesus has come all the way from Galilee to the Judean desert, and while you could drive that distance in a couple of hours, it probably took Jesus 3-4 days to walk it, maybe more. And it’s not because there wasn’t water in Galilee; there’s the whole Sea of Galilee, for instance, as well as the Jordan River which runs right through it. For a long time, in fact, guides in Israel would take you to a place near the Sea of Galilee for baptisms rather than down in the desert where Jesus went. So it’s not for a lack of water. No, Jesus makes this journey to identify himself with John’s ministry and message. He comes to John on purpose, for a purpose. And when John protests by saying, “I need to be baptized by you,” Jesus responds by saying, “Let it be so now” (3:13-15).

So why is Jesus baptized? Especially since, we are told, John was baptizing people in response to the confession of their sins (3:6). Jesus had no sin to confess (cf. 2 Corinthians 5:21), so what was the purpose of his baptism? He says it is to “fulfill all righteousness” (3:15), and John must have understood that because after Jesus says that John consents to do the baptism. But what does that mean? What did John understand? Why did he baptize Jesus? Here’s the picture Matthew paints: the Pharisees and Sadducees, standing up on a hillside, away from the crowd, watching the goings-on down at the river. I picture them with their arms crossed and disapproving frowns on their faces. Opposition to John and, later, to Jesus may have been the only thing those two groups ever agreed on. So they’re up on the hillside. But down in the valley, down by the river, there is Jesus among the crowd, among the ordinary people, the people who know their need, the “put-together and the falling apart,” and he is identifying with them, even inviting them to come near to him, to follow him. He’s willing to be like them fully. As Paul will later write, he was “made in human likeness…found in appearance as a man” (Philippians 2:7-8). So the contrast is this: the religious leaders standing apart, refusing to be near the “common people,” while the Son of God surrounds himself with those “common people” and becomes like them even as he is immersed in the water by John (cf. Card, Matthew: The Gospel of Identity, pg. 41; Davis 17).

But the most amazing thing has yet to happen. Jesus goes under the water and then he comes back up, as Matthew is careful to note (3:16). And at the moment he comes out of the water—well, let’s just let Matthew tell it. “At that moment heaven was opened, and he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove and alighting on him. And a voice from heaven said, ‘This is my Son, whom I love; with him I am well pleased’” (3:16-17). This is the moment in the movie when the music reaches a crescendo, when the light shines from behind Jesus, the dove is perfectly framed and everyone on the shore sort of stares in awe. Except it probably didn’t happen that way. Matthew doesn’t say everyone saw what happens. He only says that Jesus saw the dove and heard the voice. How is that possible? I don’t know, but as Matthew tells it, this seems to be a moment just for Jesus in response to his action in the water. I mean, it makes sense. If everyone had heard it, no one would be able to deny who Jesus is. But instead of being a public proclamation, this seems to be a moment just for Jesus, a tender moment between Father, Son and Spirit.

Jesus’ ministry is inaugurated here, but not just because of the baptism. It’s because of the words spoken over Jesus, and the first seven words in particular: “This is my Son, whom I love” (3:17). Why does God the Father speak those words over Jesus at this moment? Did Jesus not know who he was up until this moment? Well, there are some who believe that, but I am not among them. I believe Jesus knew who he was from his very first moment on this earth. He came here on purpose, after all. Now, there’s not really Scripture to back that up so I won’t argue with you about it, but if he was fully God from the beginning, then I don’t know how he wouldn’t know who he was. And we have that scene in Luke’s Gospel from when he is twelve years old (the only scene of its kind in the Gospels) where he refers to being “in my Father’s house” (Luke 2:49). So I believe he knew who he was and what his mission was from the start. These seven words did not contain new information. So why are they spoken over him right now?

A moment like this makes me think of my relationship with my own kids. You know, as a father, I love both my kids and am proud of them for so many things. But there are those moments when they are fulfilling who God made them to be, when they are using their skills and talents in significant ways, that just make you stand up straighter and want to shout, “That’s my kid!” When I see Christopher using his God-given concern for those who others overlook, and when I see Rachel using her skills to care for those who are facing medical challenges, I’m proud. They are my kids, whom I love. Now, I’m not saying God the Father was suddenly overwhelmed by those kinds of feelings. It’s not like he’s shouting to the angels, “Hey, that’s my kid!” But I do think what’s going on here is both an affirmation of who Jesus is and a statement about what Jesus is going to do. In this simple act of identification, of obedience, Jesus is affirming his mission. These words, spoken over Jesus at the Jordan River, are words of sending, words of purpose. And no, the Father doesn’t tell Jesus specifically to do anything here. He’s simply affirming who Jesus is. He is the Son. He is loved. And he gives pleasure to the Father.

Now, none of us is Jesus. Just wanted to clear that up in case you thought you might be. None of is the Son of God the way he is. But here’s the question I want you to consider tonight: can you hear those seven words spoken over you as a son or a daughter of God? We are his children, not in the same way as Jesus but because of Jesus and his obedience to the Father, we can be adopted into the family. As we sing every once in a while, those who trust in Jesus are part of “the family of God.” So can you hear God saying to you: “This is my son, this is my daughter, whom I love”? And, by the way, the word there for “love” is agape, that word I’ve told you about many times, the word that means no-strings-attached, love without limits. The Father loves the Son just because he is. And God loves you just because you are. You can’t earn it. You can’t get more of it. He will never love you less than he does right now, and he cannot love you more than he does right now. He says to you, “You are my child, whom I love.”

In this moment, as Jesus stands dripping wet in the desert by the shores of the Jordan River, with Pharisees and Sadducees looking down at him, with people nearby wondering who he is, Jesus not only hears an affirmation of the Father’s love. He also hears these words: “With him I am well pleased.” And all that has happened to him at this point is he was baptized, which really isn’t something we do anyway, right? It’s something that is done to us. We don’t immerse ourselves like it’s a bath, or we don’t sprinkle ourselves like it’s a shower. It is a cleansing, but it’s not something we do to ourselves. It’s done to us. Jesus at this point has done nothing, humanly speaking, to please anyone. And yet the Father is pleased, just because Jesus is. “This is my Son, whom I love; with him I am well pleased” (3:17). Before he has done a single miracle, preached a single sermon, gathered one disciple or told any parables—and long before he has gone to the cross. The Father is pleased just because Jesus is. And God is pleased with you just because you are. You are his beloved creation and you are enough. There is nothing you have to do or can do to prove yourself to him. So let me ask again: can you hear these words spoken over you? The Spirit of God surrounds you and you hear him say, “This is my child, whom I love; with you I am well pleased.”

I don’t know about you, but when I really allow my soul to hear those words, to absorb them and, even more than that, to believe them, it makes me want to respond in some way. It makes me want to express my love back to him, even knowing that compared to the way he has loved me, it’s imperfect. But it’s all I have. And especially when I look at the cross, I desperately want to respond in some way. What do you say back to Jesus for all he has done? That’s the question we’re going to be asking in this season of Lent. Lent, as many of you know, is a 40-day season of preparation for the celebration of Easter. Early in the church’s history, it was determined that we can best celebrate the glory of the resurrection if we spend some time in reflection, prayer, and penitence. We can better understand the cross if we walk slowly to it. I mean, the cross and the empty tomb are the very center and heart of our faith, and a sometimes during Lent, we focus on the words Jesus said from the cross. You may have heard them called the “seven last words of Christ.” They are seven “words,” seven sayings, spread throughout the four Gospels, and spoken to various people and groups at the foot of the cross. Roughly, they go like this: “Father, forgive them, for they don’t know what they are doing.” “Today you will be with me in paradise.” “Woman, here is your son.” “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” “I thirst.” “It is finished.” “Father, into your hands I commit my spirit.”

But there are seven other “words,” seven other phrases and sayings, not words that Jesus says, but words that people say back to Jesus. There are seven times in the Gospels where people respond to what’s happening on the cross, where people speak a word to the cross. To the one on the cross, who loves them more than life itself, who has from his baptism to his death shown them what real love looks like, people respond. And so during this season, we’re going to ask: how do you want to respond to Jesus? Tonight, how do you respond to him at the Jordan River? And in weeks to come, how will you respond to the cross? “He saved others, why can’t he save himself?” “What I have written, I have written.” “Don’t tear his garment!” “Remember me.” “Surely he was God’s Son.” “Give me his body.” “Make the tomb secure.” And as we look at each word in the weeks to come, we’ll ask ourselves where we fit in the story. What is our response to Jesus, to the cross? And we will hear echoes of the voice of God here at the Jordan: “This is my Son, whom I love; with him I am well pleased” (3:17).

So Lent begins with Ash Wednesday, which if you’re here tonight, you probably already knew. In a few moments, you’ll have the opportunity to be marked by the sign of the cross on your forehead with ashes. We begin this season with a reminder of our mortality. From dust you came and to dust you shall return. It’s an important part of the journey of this season, even though we know the end of the story. We know we’re headed toward resurrection, toward Easter, toward that hope we are all trusting in. Why begin with such a depressing start? Because this season is really the story of our God, who always brings life out of death, hope out of hopelessness, light out of darkness. The act of baptism, which Jesus participated in, is a dying and a rising. New life beginning where it’s least expected: in a wilderness where there’s barely enough water to survive, and on one of the cruelest forms of execution ever invented, and in the midst of ashes. This is what God does. This is who God is. And we are his children, whom he loves. Thanks be to God.