A few years ago Francis Spufford wrote a book called Unapologetic as a commendation and defense of the Christian faith. Spufford’s book was an ‘experiential’ commendation and defense.  His argument was that the Christian faith is a good fit with actual lived human experience.

One of the experiences that it recognizes and puts in a central place is: the-human-propensity-to-mess-things-up. It is a phrase he uses a lot, except where I use the word ‘mess’, he uses a much stronger word – and drops the F-bomb.

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We have before us today the baptism of Jesus, the importance of which can be gauged by the fact that it is mentioned in all four Gospels.

It may not be going too far to say that this section of narrative offers an interpretative key to the meaning of the rest of Jesus’ life and work. Many argue that. The first readers of the gospel would have recognized how Jesus’ baptism in the Jordan and his being called ‘beloved’ – ‘This is my beloved son with whom I am well pleased’ – repeats and reprises Israel’s formation as God’s chosen people as they’re led through the waters of the Red Sea. And then his being driven out into the wilderness for forty days re-enacts Israel’s forty years testing in the desert. What is happening here, these stories signal, is that in the person of Jesus the history of Israel is being recapitulated to establish a new and renewed community of God.

There’s so much we could say about all of this, but I want to focus today on something I have often missed as I’ve read this passage, and that is on Jesus’ solidarity with those who have ‘messed-things-up’.

Let’s get back to the narrative, as we have it in Luke’s Gospel, Chapter 3. ‘In the fifteenth year of the reign of Tiberius Caesar – when Pontius Pilate was governor of Judea, and Herod tetrarch of Galilee, John, son of Zechariah went into all the country around the Jordan, preaching a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins.’

And there are crowds coming out to him. ‘Multitudes’ say some translations.

Tax-collectors come out to be baptised and they ask John: ‘Teacher, what should we do?’ ‘Don’t collect any more than you are required to’ he tells them. Soldiers also approach him and ask: ‘Teacher, what should we do?’ ‘Rob no-one by violence, let there be no false accusation, be content with your wages.’

There are people coming from Jerusalem and Judea, all the regions around the Jordan – people coming from all types of backgrounds and all manner of positions in society – and they hear John’s call for repentance, they confess their sins, they are baptised, and they emerge from the water with fresh resolve and purpose.

Then, as they line up for baptism, Jesus joins the queue! He joins those who recognise that they have cheated and robbed others, those who have falsely accused others. He gets in line with the unfaithful and the betrayers and the liars and the adulterers and the mean-spirited. He stands alongside those who are ashamed of what they had done, those who are mindful that they have not been all that they should have been. Jesus joins the queue. He stands in the line. He comes alongside those who feel their shame, recognise their guilt, acknowledge their failings, confess their sins, and are being baptised. He was there amongst them and he was baptised alongside them.

I’ve often missed that. In my imagination it’s been a John the Baptist and Jesus encounter. Just the two of them at the River Jordan. But others were there, many others, ‘multitudes’ and that’s also one of the keys to understanding what Jesus was on about.

Here, at the launch of his public ministry is an echo of what will happen throughout the rest of his life. We see Jesus drawn to and exercising solidarity with those all too aware of their propensity to mess things up.

(In his teaching there is mercy for the tax-collector who calls out ‘God have mercy on me a sinner’.  In his teaching there is generous welcome for the wayward son who returns home with his tail between his legs. As he passes through Jericho, it is, of all people the corrupt and then contrite Zacchaeus whom he chooses to spend time with. At the end of his life he is crucified alongside common criminals, sharing their suffering and pain. Here at the start, he’s in there, amongst it, on the side of those who feel shame at what they’ve done, who grieve over what they’ve become, and who want to turn, repent, be cleansed and make a fresh start.)

It’s clear who he identifies with, who he is in solidarity with, who he’s come for: those who recognise their all-too-human-propensity-to-mess-things-up. That’s his mob, his people, his tribe, his church.

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Two thousand years later we are part of that Church. Most of us here today have been baptized into that Church (and today is a day in the Church year when our lectionary readings encourage us to reflect on our own baptism). We embrace this beautiful, messy things called ‘life’ and recognize how messy and conflicted our lives can often be, and we love being part of a church where people can come freely with all their baggage, failures, mistakes and stupidities. Not to wallow in these shortcomings but to admit them, confess them, and seek God’s forgiveness and the strengthening of the Holy Spirit in order to live in a way that pleases our heavenly Father.

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(There’s so much more that could be said about the presence of the Holy Spirit who is said to descend on Jesus when he was baptized and the words that were heard at the same time: ‘This is my beloved Son with whom I am well pleased.’

That could well lead to some interesting reflections on the reading we heard in Acts 8 where the church is being formed in the towns and villages in Samaria, and people are being baptized and receive the Holy Spirit.

And then there are the words of Isaiah: When you pass through the waters, I will be with you…you are precious and honoured in my sight.’

You can’t say everything in a brief homily. Suffice to say, all of these Scriptures speak of God being with us, and God being for us. We are not alone, and we are loved deeply. Despite our shortcomings.)

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I began by mentioning Francis Spufford, and the book he wrote called Unapologetic. He wanted to commend the Christian faith in an ‘experiential’ way. The Christian faith, he argues, is a good fit with actual lived human experience.

For instance, there is our human propensity to mess things up. Christianity doesn’t shy away from that. Neither did Jesus, and as we have seen, in his baptism, Jesus gladly associated himself with those who had done just that.

I hope it’s not too much of a leap to say that another good experiential fit, one that commends the Christian faith is finding a Christian community and sensing that the people are honest and real, admit their imperfections and are pressing on seeking to live the lives they believe God is calling them too.

There are many who long to belong to such a church. Hopefully a church like this one. Not for those who ‘have it all together’ but for those who continue to deal with the messy and conflicted aspects of their lives, and who draw upon the rich resources of the Christian faith in so doing.

For me, such church communities are another key way in which to experientially commend and defend the Christian faith. That is one of the main ways in which I was drawn to Christian commitment – I wonder if that has been your experience – you found a group of people who lived out their faith in such a humble, genuine, gracious way that you wanted to be part of it?

Let me leave you with these words I heard a long time ago now, in my early twenties, words that inspired me to embrace and engage with the Christian faith. They went something like this:

The early church grew, not primarily because they possessed impressive abilities and persuasive arguments, but because they had discovered the gift of community.

Generally they did not have to lift a finger to evangelise.

Someone would be walking down a back alley in Corinth or Ephesus and would see a group of people sitting together talking about the strangest things – something about a man and a tree and an execution and an empty tomb. What they were talking about made no sense to the onlooker. But there was something in the way they spoke to one another, about the way they looked at one another, about the way they cried together, the way they laughed together, the way they touched one another that was strangely appealing. It gave off the scent of love. The onlooker would start to drift farther down the alley, only to be pulled back to this little group like a bee to a flower. He would listen some more, still not understanding, and start to drift away again. But he would be pulled back, thinking, I don’t have the slightest idea what these people are talking about, but whatever it is, I want part of it.’

There was a community that commended the Christian faith. I think there are many who want to be part of – and baptized into – a church community like that.

May we be such a community.

In the name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Amen.