Remember Your Baptism

Matthew 3:13-17, Ephesians 1:3-14

Like Christmas, Epiphany is more than one day. It is a season, a season celebrating Christ revealed to the world. Our first scripture lesson is another epiphany moment, a revealing of who Jesus is and whose Jesus is. As Jesus rises up from the water, the heavens are opened, and God’s Spirit descends upon him like a dove. A voice proclaims, “This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.” This is not just a private affirmation. It is the public beginning of Jesus’ ministry.

This Sunday commemorates the baptism of our Lord and gives us an occasion to remember our own baptisms as a sign and symbol of our adoption in Christ as beloved children of God. The Apostle Paul begins his ministry in Ephesus by baptizing a small group of believers, not with a baptism of repentance, but with one of reception, acceptance, and belonging. It is a baptism that acknowledges their connection to their Creator as beloved children and their connection to one another as members of the body of Christ.

Years later, Paul writes to that diverse church of Jews and gentiles, male and female, old and young, privileged and oppressed, soldiers and rebels, conservative and progressive, citizens and immigrants. He begins by reminding them of who they are and whose they are, all destined for adoption as God’s children through Jesus Christ. All are joined together as siblings in Christ through the waters of baptism. It is the same for us.

Baptism is not a reward for faith or a badge of piety. It is an acknowledgment, an acceptance, an affirmation of something that was already true. Paul puts it this way: we are predestined by God’s grace and adopted into God’s holy family through Christ. Baptism names what God has already done. God loved us long before we loved God.

This is the good news that Paul proclaims, and I hope it is not news to you. But Paul presses us further, because with adoption comes inheritance. We are marked with the seal of the promised Holy Spirit, claimed as God’s own people, not just for comfort, but for the transformation of ourselves and our world.

One of the highlights of my time in Barcelona was visiting the Sagrada Familia, an enchanting and awe-inspiring church designed by the visionary Catalonian architect Antoni Gaudí. Construction began more than a century ago, in 1882, and has continued through the Spanish Civil War and two world wars, and it is still not complete. Its spires tower over the skyline, and the ornate exterior façades tell the story of Christ’s birth on the east side, his death on the west side, and his glory on the south. The scale and intricacy of the figures are incredible, but it is the inside that truly transforms you.

As you enter, your eyes are drawn upward. Tree-like columns arch toward the heavens, and stained glass windows flood the space with light. Morning and afternoon sun pours through in waves of color. You feel small, and yet deeply connected, held within something far larger than yourself.

As I sat in this sacred space, my attention shifted from the architecture to the people, visitors from all over the world. Believers and non-believers. Young and old. Some praying quietly. Some walking. Some talking in tour groups. All gathered in the same space, all bathed in the same light, all surrounded by beauty they did not create but were invited into. And it struck me. That is baptism.

Baptism is not a single moment in the past. It is a way of seeing and living in the world, a perspective shaped not by the limits and divisions of this world, but by the love revealed in the life, death, and resurrection of Christ. It is a life not constrained by what separates us, our social standing, our nationality, our politics, even our religious traditions or lack thereof, but grounded in a shared inheritance as siblings, bound together by Christ, who gathers all things together in heaven and on earth.

Baptism shifts our focus from inwardness and self-concern toward care and compassion, for those we love and those no one loves, for the least, the last, and the lost. Baptism is the recognition of God’s claim on our lives and God’s promise to walk with us through flood and fire, in times of joy and in times of trial, in abundance and in uncertainty.

On the wall of his study, Martin Luther wrote these words: “A truly Christian life is nothing else than a daily baptism, once begun and ever to be continued.” That is Paul’s reminder to the church, and it is his invitation to us. We are invited to remember our baptism not as a past event, but as a living reality, one that emboldens and empowers us to live each day remembering who we are and whose we are.

In a moment, we will remember our baptism together. I will invite you to come to the font and take a marble from the water. Each marble is unique, like us. All are immersed in the same water, like us. I hope it will serve as a tangible reminder that we are all held in God’s overflowing grace.

This week, when you wash your hands, take a shower, or drink a glass of water, I invite you to remember your baptism. And even if you have not been baptized, remember this: you have already been named and claimed by your Creator. Through Christ, who gathers all things together in heaven and on earth, we are beloved children of God. May we claim this inheritance boldly and live each day in the grace and glory of God.