All About the Child

You see this dynamic at work every year in the rush to buy the hottest video game or the cuddliest toy. One year it was the "Tickle-Me-Elmo" doll. Another it was a doll of the Cabbage Patch variety. Both were the cause of fistfights between grandmothers desperate to deliver the goods This year the hottest items seem to be the TMX Cookie Monster and the Nintendo Wii. (Don’t get them mixed up. The first one costs about 30 bucks and the second at least 250.)

If adults are asked why they stand in long lines outside box stores in the bitter cold to buy these items, they’ll say something like, "O, I don’t mind. It’s for the children after all. Christmas is all about the children."

Much the same is often said about the sacrament baptism. It’s about the children. Adults get warm fuzzies just thinking about it, and it provides a splendid photo op for parents and grandparents. Case in point: behold these two handsome boys, Colin Maxwell McGorty and Ian Flannery McGorty. You won’t find two finer fellows east of the Mississippi or two more Gaelic names west of the Atlantic.

This focus on children is not altogether inappropriate. After all, the Feast of the Incarnation does involve a baby, wrapped in swaddling cloths and lying in a manger, and it’s hard to carry out the sacrament of baptism without paying a good deal of attention to the baptizee. If we don’t want the spotlight to fall upon a child, we shouldn’t baptize children.

But that’s not all. Today’s First Lesson and Gospel Lesson are also all about the children.

The first reading relates an encounter between the prophet Isaiah and Ahaz, King of the tiny nation of Judah. Ahaz has been trying to play with the big guys on the international scene, and has gotten himself in trouble with his neighbors to the north. He goes to bed every night fearing that he will wake up the next morning with the armies of either Israel or Syria camped on his doorstep.

The way Isaiah sees it, Ahaz has been trying to play international power broker without first consulting the Lord God, so Isaiah arrives at the palace to assure the King that, despite the fact that he’s in over his head, the Lord will see him through.

"Ask God for a sign," the prophet urges. "Go ahead. Ask."

"I couldn’t possibly do that," King Ahaz responds. "I will not put the Lord to the test."

It’s the religiously correct answer, of course, but it’s pretty clear that Ahaz’ piety runs about a centimeter deep. He’s like a Georgia politician who avoids making tough policy decisions about conserving water, but calls a prayer meeting on the steps of the capitol to pray for rain. All pomp and no circumstance.

"All right," Isaiah tells the King. "Even if you won’t ask for a sign, the Lord will give you one anyway. Somewhere in your kingdom right now there’s a young woman who’s about to have a baby. When she does, she’ll name him Immanuel – God-With-Us. By the time that child Immanuel is old enough to tell the difference between right and wrong, the threat from the two nations you’re so worried about will be history."

Isaiah takes the spotlight off the king with his false piety and inflated ego, and trains it on a little child whose only claim to fame is an odd name which holds an even odder promise: God is with us. Summoned or not, invoked or not, acknowledged or not, God is with us.

If only King Ahaz could recognize Immanuel – God with us – he would stop worrying about Israel and Syria and concentrate on more important matters. The hunger of the poor, for instance, or the raw deal they are getting in the courts. With Immanuel in sight, King Ahaz would be a very different kind of leader.

It’s not really all about the child, Isaiah seems to be saying – but if you’d pay more attention to the child named Immanuel, you’d begin to see the larger picture.

The Gospel writer Matthew knew about this encounter between Ahaz and Isaiah when, some 700 years later, he sat down to write his Gospel. This scene from Isaiah is the theme playing in the background when the angel appears to Joseph as he’s about to sign the divorce papers which will separate him from his pregnant fiancée, Mary.

"Don’t be afraid to take Mary as your wife," the angel tells Joseph. "Trust me, you’re not seeing the whole picture. That child within Mary is God-With-Us, and he will be the means of God’s salvation. But you’re still the Daddy of record, Joseph. When he’s born, you shall name him Jesus."

"All this took place," writes Matthew, "to fulfill what has been spoken by the Lord through the prophet: Look, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and they shall call him Emmanuel, which means ‘God is with us.’"

A lot of ink and anguish has been expended by people arguing over Matthew’s choice of words. Isaiah used a Hebrew word meaning "young woman": "Look a young woman is with child . . ." Matthew used a Greek word which can mean "virgin" or simply "unmarried woman." The fight over Mary’s status tends to draw attention away from the child himself, who, after all, is the point of the story in the first place.

The angel does not ask Joseph to put his faith in Mary’s virginity, but rather in God’s ingenuity. This child is the work of God’s Spirit. Something altogether miraculous has happened and is happening to Mary and Joseph both. God is coming to them, is present with them, in this child. Even more miraculous: this child is Immanuel for us, too.

Matthew’s point seems to be this: Unexpected though it be, Mary’s pregnancy is not the first occasion of God’s choosing to set up camp among us. Jesus’ approaching birth is not without a kind of precedent. A child’s birth marked God’s presence way back in Isaiah’s day, and now the same God is coming with the birth of Jesus.

Perhaps we’re not so far off the mark when we say that Christmas is all about the child – the child named Immanuel.

Today is the Fourth Sunday of Advent. This year, before arriving at the manger, we stand by this font. In baptism we are joined to Immanuel, God With Us. Here we remember Jesus’ birth into a family who loved him. We remember his ministry amongst the rich and the poor, the privileged and the outcast. We remember his death on the cross and his rising from the tomb.

In baptism we share the mystery of Christ’s birth and the mystery of our new birth through these waters. In these waters we die with Christ and from them we are raised to new life in him.

Everyone who comes to this font is brought here, like a child in arms. Young or old – it doesn’t matter. We do not come on our own initiative. Instead we are brought to these waters to receive as a gift what we could never deserve – the miraculous grace of the Triune God.

Today is young Ian’s fourth birthday. Perhaps he hasn’t figured out quite yet that having a birthday this close to Christmas can be a distinct liability. But to be baptized on your birthday – that’s a great thing. It saves having to remember two dates -- the date of your birth into the world and the date of your birth into the church.

You see, from a Christian point of view, we’re all baptized on our birthday. Or to put it another way, our baptism day is the day of our new birth into Christ. It’s all about the child who grew up, and died, and lives to bring God’s salvation to the whole world. As Colin and Ian grow into their baptisms, you and I get to share with them the story of that child.

The story begins with the promise that God will come as Immanuel. It includes a visit by an angel to two very confused and frightened parents. It involves a dangerous journey, a perilous delivery, and a sky full of angels singing "Glory to God in the highest." The story brings us to the foot of the cross and the door of an empty tomb, and, one way or another, it always ends up here, at this font, which is both tomb and womb for us.

And now, today, Colin and Ian become part of the story.

Thanks be to God.