Sermon for the Third Sunday in Lent

March 12, 2023

“Thirst and the Bottomless Well”

Readings: Exodus 17:1-7, Psalm 95, John 4:5-42

Today’s Gospel reading is one of the longest in the Church Year. Like last Sunday’s Gospel, it is an extended conversation between Jesus and a minor character.

Unlike last week, I won’t go through the conversation line by line. That would be too severe an ordeal, even for Lent.

Since the reading is so long, I can only touch on a few points, so I wanted to look at the primary motif of our readings this week: Thirst.

  • In our reading from Exodus, the Israelites thirst in the desert wilderness and ask Moses to give them water.
  • In the Gospel, the Lord Jesus tells the Samaritan woman that those who drink the water from Jacob’s Well will be thirsty again, but those who drink of the water he gives them will never thirst.
  • And in Psalm 42, which we’ll later sing at the Offertory, the Psalmist declares that he thirsts for God “like as the deer thirsts for cool streams.”

Almost every human activity, every subject under the sun, has been utilized in Holy Scripture to illustrate glorious truths about God and the life in Christ. Food, drink, clothing, music, journeying— name a subject or an activity, and it probably appears in Scripture as part of a vast interconnected web of concepts and symbols.

So if we want to understand how thirst functions in Scripture, we have to consider what it is. What does it mean to be thirsty? It means to desire water. To feel the need for hydration.

Thirst is related to hunger, obviously, but there are a few key differences. Hunger cues us that we need to eat food, which provides energy and sustenance. When we go without eating, we feel tired or faint. Water is less about providing energy and more about providing what the body needs to function. The human body is 55 to 70% water. The body needs water for the brain to function and for organs to work, which is why when people become severely dehydrated, their body systems begin to shut down. Whereas a person can go without food for several weeks, one cannot go without water for more than three days.

Have you ever thought about why God has created human beings this way? Conceivably, God could have created humans so that they never had to eat or drink. Maybe they would just have an inner process that continually refreshed and replenished them, without having to take in something external to their bodies. Why did God create us this way?

I’m not saying I have the answer, but there must be a higher reason why humans must eat and drink. The human body, with all its needs and processes, with all its functions, from eating to drinking to sex, is sacramental of something greater. The body is a site of grace; it’s where we encounter God and each other.

(This is, by the way, the main thesis of John Paul II’s Theology of the Body, which theologians are still unpacking.)

The point is, thirst is basically the desire for water, the thing that we need to survive and function properly. Without water, we can’t think straight, our body can’t function internally, and everything shuts down. If you’ve ever been really dehydrated, you know how unpleasant it is, and we can begin to see the complaining of the Israelites more sympathetically. Had we been in their shoes, we probably wouldn’t have fared much better.

So to thirst for God is to desire God, and not just in a general sort of way, but in an intense way, in a way that recognizes that without God, we cannot function. When we separate ourselves from God, our minds cannot work correctly; our bodies are estranged from their source of life; our spirits dry up. Of course, a person can never truly be totally separate from God. He is “everywhere present and filling all things”—the only way to be totally estranged from God would be to just cease to exist. But a person can refuse to drink of the life-giving Fount that is God. A person can become spiritually dehydrated by ignoring God and not seeking out communion with Him. And when that happens, the effects on our spirits are devastating.

So one of the main points that Jesus is making to the Samaritan woman is that the deep thirst that human beings feel within themselves cannot be quenched by the things of this world. “Whoever drinks of this water will be thirsty again.” He doesn’t just mean this literally, that a person who drinks water from that well will be thirsty again. He means whoever seeks to be satisfied from the wells of this world will never be satisfied. The goods of this world cannot quench our desire, our thirst, because we were not made for the goods of this world but for God.

This is a harder truth for us to grasp in the modern era, since there is so much we could use to try to fill ourselves up. Food and drink are so abundantly available. So is entertainment, news, games, books and articles to read, places to go, things to do. A person with even a middle-class income and a connection to the Internet can keep themselves occupied for months, without prayer or silence or any of the deeper life that comes from living in the Spirit. Their bodies and minds are constantly filled and constantly moving, but their spirits are dying of dehydration and slowing to a halt.

Jesus comes to give to us the Life that He draws from the Father. It is hydration not from this world but from above. He draws from a deeper well, the deepest of all wells: the fathomless depths of God. The inmost life of God, which cannot be obtained through worldly activities, no matter how noble or exalted, is conveyed to us through our Lord Jesus Christ. “The eternal life that was with the Father was made manifest to us” (1 John 1:2).

And not only does Jesus satisfy our thirsts, but he does so in a way that is re-newing and replenishing. “The water that I give him will become in him a spring welling up to eternal life.” The Samaritan woman had to trek to the well, and lower the bucket, and then take the water back into town. It was a laborious process, and they had to do it every day. But the gift that Jesus gives is self-renewing, like a spring that bubbles up of its own accord. Such is the life of the Holy Spirit in our souls.

One of the great tasks of the spiritual life, especially for us in the West, is to not lose our thirst for God. Do you desire God? Is your need for God’s presence in your life such that, without it, you feel like you’re dying of thirst? A good measure of this is how long you can go without praying. Someone who is earnest in the spiritual life can’t go days on end without praying. It feels wrong. You feel like you’re isolated from your Source of Life.

And that’s part of where fasting comes in. We eat less food, so we can feel hungry for God. We cut down on frivolous activities, so we can attend to what is truly worthwhile. We fill up less on the world so we can be filled up with God.

This week, as you go throughout your daily activities, see what it is you go to when you feel stressed or empty or restless. What is it you reach for to satisfy that inner thirst? Then consider reaching for God instead. Read Scripture. Chant some psalms. Pray with your own words, if you can find them. And if not, then pray the Jesus Prayer or some other short prayer, like “Lord, have mercy.”

God is our Fountain of life, the bottomless well that we can draw from over and over. He is our Life, and without Him, we can’t function. And despite her misunderstandings of much of what Jesus had to say, the Samaritan woman recognized this.

May we say, with her, “Sir, give me this water, that I may no longer thirst.” Amen.

Homily for the Feast of the Holy Innocents, 2021

“Sacralizing the World”

Gospel reading: Matthew 2:13-18

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

Today we commemorate the massacre of the holy innocents by King Herod the Great. Most of the feast days in the church year are joyful—celebrations of saints and of events in the life of Christ or the Blessed Virgin Mary. Today’s commemoration is much more sober. My reflections won’t exactly make for a feel-good homily. But there are lessons to be gleaned from this tragic event.

The most obvious is that there are wicked people in the world. There are tyrants who will resort to any behavior, however debased, to hold onto their power. This kind of evil does not discriminate on the basis of age. I actually think this is a round-about argument for infant baptism. Evil does not hold back its fury from the young, and so God does not hold back his grace from them either. We baptize our children so that from the very first they will be protected by God’s grace in a world where evil is visited on young and old alike.

The second lesson is a bit harder to perceive but no less true. It is that our own world is not so different from the world into which Jesus was born. In our own day, we can see the callousness of Herod reflected in different ways.

We see it in a movement that sees abortion not only as an occasional tragic necessity but as an inalienable human right… or even as a blessing, as the dean of an Episcopal seminary once declared.

We see it in instances of police brutality, in which those who are supposed to protect us end up killing those who really don’t deserve to die. We see it when a police officer can kneel on a man’s neck for nine minutes until the life is choked out of him.

The world in which we live is a world where innocents are massacred still.

So what do we say on this day? Do we simply lament that massacres like this happen, and then take the half-step from lamentation to self-congratulation, because, after all, it’s not like we’ve murdered anybody. Yet the issue that this commemoration soberly brings to mind is not just that it’s wrong to murder the innocent. The issue is much deeper, and it involves the human heart. The challenge that faces each of us is not just whether we can avoid murder—most of us can do that—but of whether we can contribute to what has been called “a culture of life.” The remedy for massacres like the one we remember today begins in the human heart and is expressed in how we think and speak.

Just yesterday I went to the gym for a workout and sauna. Sitting next to me in the sauna were two young men in their mid-to-late twenties, though they were acting more like they were in their early twenties. They were talking about their plans for New Year’s Eve—every other sentence included the F-word. They discussed how they planned to “get laid”—with one girl on New Year’s Eve and another on New Year’s Day, if possible. I felt like turning to them and saying, “What is wrong with you? Didn’t your parents teach you not to talk about women that way?”

Here’s why I bring this up. Those two young men were contributing to a culture of death. When we speak about others in a way that fails to recognize the sanctity and dignity and preciousness of human life, we are helping to create a culture in which human beings are not so valuable and so ultimately expendable. It is through language that we create a culture of life or a culture of death—based on whether how we speak recognizes or fails to recognize the humanity of those around us. A culture of death hinges on the dehumanization of those made in the Image of God.

When a man talks about a woman not as a person but as an object to be used for his own gratification, that is dehumanization.

When a person looks at an unborn child in the womb and says, “It’s just a clump of cells” … that’s dehumanization.

Every day I drive to work down 380 and pass a political billboard. It’s a picture of a white man leaning forward, and the caption next to him says, “Stop giving illegals our money.” Not even “illegal immigrants,” but “illegals.” Human beings who face a complex set of circumstances most of us cannot fathom are reduced to one attribute of their behavior—all they are to us is “illegals.” That’s dehumanization.

Each of us has the ability to hallow or profane, to sacralize or desacralize, to humanize or dehumanize, every person in the world by how we speak about them.

If we recognized that our words are not just temporary vibrations in the air but are in fact the raw material which hallows or profanes the world around us, then there would be certain words, certain ways of speaking, that would become intolerable for us: Profanity. Inappropriate humor. Slander. Gossip. Anything that dehumanizes another person made in the Image of God.

As the new year approaches, the real issue for most of us is not whether we’ll participate or be complicit in a massacre of innocent victims. It is whether the way we speak and act hallows our neighbors as the good creations of God or profanes them as something sub-human and therefore as unworthy of protection.

It is hard to speak life into the world rather than death. It requires us to fight against our most deeply ingrained habits. But it’s what the world needs from us as Christians. We can be beautiful in a world filled with ugliness. We can model charity and patience in a country whose public discourse has never been more crude and vulgar. In so many words, we can contribute to a culture of life rather than death. For it is life that Christ came to give us: life abundant, sacred, and unending. Amen.

Homily for the Feast of St. Barnabas: “The Generous Saint”

June 13, 2021

St. Barnabas Episcopal Church in Denton, Texas

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

Today is the Feast of St. Barnabas, the day in which we as a congregation remember and celebrate our parish’s patron saint, from whom our church gets its name.

Barnabas is not the most well-known saint or biblical figure a church can be named after. He is not as prominent as Mary or Peter, John or Luke. And maybe this is a blessing. In thinking about Barnabas we cannot simply rely on larger-than-life caricatures or dubious legends. Separating fact from speculation in the life of the Blessed Virgin Mary, for example, has proven a perennial challenge for the Church. Because Barnabas is more obscure than say, Peter or Mary, because he has less “baggage,” so to speak, and his life is not overlaid with so many connotations and traditions, we are able to see him more clearly. To get a sense of who he was as an historical figure.


There are several references to Barnabas scattered throughout the Acts of the Apostles and in some of Paul’s letters, and if one were to arrange them chronologically, a portrait emerges. Today I’d like to give you a biography of our patron, then explore what his life and witness mean for us today.

Barnabas was born Joseph. He was a Jew and a Levite from Cyprus. At some point, he heard the Gospel and believed in the Messiah Jesus, becoming a prominent disciple in Jerusalem. He is first mentioned in the Acts of the Apostles as a disciple who sold some land that he owned and gave the proceeds to the community. For this act of kindness, the apostles gave Joseph a new name: Barnabas, which means “son of encouragement.” Already we see that one of his characteristic qualities is generosity. Acts 11:24 describes Barnabas as “a good man, and full of the Holy Spirit and of faith.”

After Paul’s conversion experience on the road to Damascus, Paul returned to Jerusalem. But the apostles and disciples there were suspicious, not convinced that the former persecutor of the Church had become a believer. It was Barnabas who introduced Paul to the apostles and vouched for the sincerity of Paul’s conversion.

The next chapter is Barnabas’ life centers on Antioch, in modern-day Turkey. Jewish believers there began preaching the Gospel, not only to fellow Jews, but to Gentile pagans as well. These Gentile believers joined the community of Jewish Christians there.

The leadership at Jerusalem was concerned about this development, so they sent Barnabas to investigate. As we read in our readings from Acts: “When Barnabas came and saw the grace of God, he rejoiced, and he exhorted them all to remain faithful to the Lord with steadfast devotion.” Rather than being suspicious, Barnabas rejoiced to see Gentiles faithful to the Lord. Barnabas was tasked with seeing the newly diversified church at Antioch. He found the work so extensive that he realized he needed a helper, so he went to Tarsus to get Paul. Paul and Barnabas labored in Antioch for a whole year, making many converts.

From this point on, Barnabas becomes known as a steadfast companion of Paul on his missionary journeys. Barnabas was among Paul’s best friends and colleagues in the ministry. And it is in this capacity as a missionary and companion of Paul that Barnabas is called an “apostle” in Acts 14:14.
Paul mentions in his first letter to the Corinthians that he and Barnabas funded their missions by working side jobs and implied that both of them chose not to marry so they could devote their time and energy to the Gospel.

Barnabas and Paul became well-known for their commitment to including Gentiles in the life of the church. Still, Barnabas was not spotless in upholding this commitment. Paul mentions in his letter to the Galatians, “When Kephas [Peter] came to Antioch, I opposed him to his face because he clearly was wrong. For, until some people came from James, he used to eat with the Gentiles; but when they came, he began to draw back and separated himself, because he was afraid of the circumcised. And the rest of the Jews also acted hypocritically along with him, with the result that even Barnabas was carried away by their hypocrisy.”

The last reference to Barnabas we get in Acts is in chapter 15:
“Some time later Paul said to Barnabas, “Let us go back and visit the believers in all the towns where we preached the word of the Lord and see how they are doing.” Barnabas wanted to take John, also called Mark, with them, but Paul did not think it wise to take him, because he had deserted them in Pamphylia and had not continued with them in the work. They had such a sharp disagreement that they parted company. Barnabas took Mark and sailed for Cyprus, but Paul chose Silas and left… he went through Syria and Cilicia, strengthening the churches” (Acts 15:36-41).

Barnabas continued his ministry in Cyprus to the end of his life. His death is not recorded in the Bible, but Tradition holds that he was martyred at Cyprus, by being tortured then stoned to death. Today, he is venerated as an apostle, a martyr, and the founder of the Church of Cyprus.

So that’s the biography. What does it mean for us today? Sure, that is interesting historical data, but what does it mean for us as Christians today, and especially as members of St. Barnabas Church?

I would like to speak about only one major insight we can glean from the life of our patron saint. And that is generosity.

Barnabas was a man who gave generously of his time, energy, and resources. He lived out the word of the Lord in our Gospel reading: “Freely you received, freely you shall give.” From the first mention of him in Acts, Barnabas is someone lauded for his liberality in giving. It’s no wonder that he and Paul were entrusted with the collection for the poor in Jerusalem.

Yet it was not only a matter of financial generosity. He settled into a community, whether Antioch or Cyprus, and got to work. Like Paul, he could say, “I am willing to spend and be spent for you.” He gave much of his time and energy to the hard work of building up a community, of encouraging its members—a ministry in which there are no shortcuts or easy fixes.

Finally, Barnabas consistently demonstrated a generosity of spirit. He was generous in his willingness to see the good in others. He vouched for Paul, even when he had been a persecutor. He rejoiced to see the conversion of the Gentiles in Antioch, despite their idolatrous past. He wanted to give John Mark a second chance, even though he had deserted them when things got rough in Pamphylia.

Barnabas was someone who wanted to see the good in others, who was willing to believe that people could change, even if they had failed spectacularly in the past. The opposite of generosity is being stingy—which is much easier for us to do. We can be stingy with our money, with our time, with our willingness to put up with others or to demonstrate charity. Or we can be generous.

When we look at St. Barnabas, we see a life touched by grace—a life lived for Jesus. On the one hand, a life of faith, hard work, and generosity. A life which the Holy Spirit set apart for itself and used mightily. On the other hand, a life that was imperfect, not exempt from sharp disagreements, occasionally carried away by the bad influence of others. A life that was incomplete in itself, but part of something much grander and lovelier.

We remember and celebrate the saints, not because they are so good in themselves, but because they reflect the goodness of Jesus. It is Jesus who is the exemplar of generosity—who multiplied the loaves and fishes so abundantly that there were twelve wicker baskets full of leftovers. The one who gave the most generous gift the world has ever known—his body and blood, his very life, for the life of the world.

May we, like Barnabas, live generously, and give thanks for the blessed generosity of his savior and ours. Amen.

“Signs of the Promise”: Homily for 1 Lent 2021

Homily for the First Sunday in Lent

February 21, 2021

Year B, RCL

Collect of the Day: Almighty God, whose blessed Son was led by the Spirit to be tempted by Satan: Come quickly to help us who are assaulted by many temptations; and, as you know the weaknesses of each of us, let each one find you mighty to save; through Jesus Christ your Son our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen.

Old Testament: Genesis 9:8-17

Gradual: Psalm 25:1-9

Epistle: 1 Peter 3:18-22

Gospel: Mark 1:9-15

In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.

There is a Peanuts comic strip starring Lucy and Linus that has always stuck with me, and it goes like this: Lucy is in her house, at the window, looking at the pouring rain outside. She turns to her brother Linus and says, “Boy, look at it rain. What if it floods the whole world?” Linus responds, “It will never do that. In the ninth chapter of Genesis, God promised Noah that would never happen again, and the sign of the promise is the rainbow.” Relieved, Lucy says, “You’ve taken great a load off my mind.” And Linus replies, “Sound theology has a way of doing that!”1

Linus is right. Sound theology, or sound ways of talking about God, really does take a load off our mind. It reassures us that God is good. To be sure, God’s goodness is not an invitation to try to take advantage of Him. God is not to be challenged, mocked, or trifled with. He is capable of—for example—wiping out the known world with a destructive flood. Yet alongside the seriousness of falling into the hands of the living God, there is the relief of being in the hands of the merciful God.

Good theology assures us that God is trustworthy, that He keeps His promises. Unlike human beings, who can go back on their word, if God makes a promise, He keeps it.

But sometimes it’s difficult for us to believe that. We may know it intellectually, but we would like a little more reassurance. So God helps us out. He gives us a sign of his promise—a sign of the covenant, as it’s called in our reading from Genesis. The rainbow is one of the first times in Scripture that God gives a sign to confirm his promise.

God continues to give us signs of His promises, even now. As members of the family of God, God makes promises to us—that He will love us, be with us, and never abandon us. Then to confirm those promises, he gives us wonderful signs—like baptism. I can look at my baptism and remember, “God has washed away my sins with the blood of Christ. God has claimed me as his own and I belong to Him. Nothing will ever separate me from the love of God in Jesus Christ.”

The rainbow, baptism, the Eucharist, the life of Christ itself—all these are signs that God is trustworthy. It has been said that human history is the story of God convincing His creatures that He can be trusted.2 And so the life of faith is a gradual learning to trust God more and more. All of us have room to grow in that trust—and all of us face the temptation to abandon that trust.

We speak often of temptation in Lent, and we usually mention it in reference to the temptation to commit particular sins: sexual temptation, temptation to break one’s vows, temptation to indulge in vice rather than practice self-constraint. But I think the most insidious temptation of all is the temptation to doubt the trustworthiness of God. The temptation to finally conclude, “God isn’t actually good. He won’t uphold His promises. He will abandon me eventually. In the final analysis, God can’t be trusted.”

Satan tried to tempt Jesus to think this way in the wilderness. His mission was to get Jesus to doubt his relationship with God and to doubt the validity of his mission as the Messiah. Jesus didn’t give into this temptation, or any of the other tests Satan threw his way. For Jesus too, faithfulness means trust rather than despair.

Given what we’ve endured over the past year—over the past week, even—it can be tempting to give up on the hope that there really is any coherent meaning to everything going on in the world. “Maybe the world really is as chaotic as it seems. Maybe God isn’t watching over us after all.” If there is one grand temptation we all face this Lent, it is the temptation to resign ourselves to this sort of despair—to give up hope.

My invitation for us all this Lent is to keep in mind the trustworthiness of God. Do all the things you usually would—fast, keep your Lenten discipline, pray, give alms. But behind these things and between these things, remember that God is trustworthy. Even when it doesn’t appear so, God is for us, God is with us, and God always keeps His promises. It is our faith that empowers us to trust in spite of everything, to hope against hope, as we await the Day when God finally delivers us from all temptations… and makes good on all his many promises. Amen.

Notes

1 https://www.pinterest.com/pin/540854236472479245/

2 Rowan Williams, Tokens of Trust

The Human Face of God: Sermon for Feast of the Epiphany 2021

Collect of the Day: O God, by the leading of a star you manifested your only Son to the peoples of the earth: Lead us, who know you now by faith, to your presence, where we may see your glory face to face; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen.

First Reading: Isaiah 60:1-6

Gradual: Psalm 72:1-7,10-14

Second Reading: Ephesians 3:1-12

Gospel: Matthew 2:1-12

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

Ingmar Bergman was a Swedish film director considered one of the greatest filmmakers of the 20th century. When asked what was the apex of cinematic imagery, Bergman responded thus:

“The close-up– the correctly illuminated, directed, and acted close-up of an actor– is and remains the height of cinematography… That strange and mysterious contact you can suddenly experience with another soul through an actor’s gaze. A sudden thought, blood that drains away or blood that pumps into the face, the trembling nostrils, the suddenly shiny complexion or mute silence…that is to me some of the most incredible and fascinating moments you will experience.”1

For Bergman, the human face was the most profound image in cinema because the face tells us so much about a person– their history, their emotions, and in some rare cases, a glimpse of their soul.

One of the hardest parts of the past year has been that we when we are in public, half our face is covered with a mask! Like all of you, I look forward to the time when I can see the full expressions of others and connect with people in the way that until recently we took for granted.

Why do I begin the homily with this reflection? Because the Feast of the Epiphany is a celebration that God has revealed His glory in the face of Jesus.2
That’s what Epiphany means: revelation. Manifestation. Appearing. There was something that was hidden… and then what was hidden becomes revealed in spectacular fashion.

There are many such moments in the life of Christ—God suddenly and unexpectedly and wonderfully revealing His glory. One thinks of Christ multiplying the loaves and fishes. Christ walking on the water. Christ being transfigured on the mountain. But the foundation of all these epiphanies of divine glory is the Incarnation. God has become a human being in the person of Jesus. God now has a human face… Jesus’ face.

To look upon the face of Jesus is to look upon the human face of God: his swarthy complexion, darkened by hours in the harsh Palestine sun. The wrinkles around his eyes from smiling at his family and disciples. The eyes which could look unflinchingly into a person’s soul and know their flaws and yet love them perfectly. The mouth which spoke the most beautiful words ever spoken—and that remained closed when silence was necessary.

The first instance in which Gentiles looked upon the face of Christ was the visit of the Magi, those wise men from the East. Through their study of the heavenly bodies, they knew that the star which they had seen was the sign that a great ruler had been born in the land of Israel. And they were willing to make an arduous trek to see this kingly child. It was not enough to know that someone glorious had been born and to record it for posterity—they needed to behold this glory, personally, face to face.

And so, they made their journey of hundreds of miles, over several months, to the birthplace of the newborn King. After their audience with the reigning king, Herod, they arrived at the house—not the manger, as the crèche would have it—the house in Bethlehem where the Holy Family was staying. The Magi knelt before the Christ Child and his mother and presented their gifts.

This is the glory of God. This child. Not Herod, who was so threatened by the idea that someone would supplant him that he attempted to destroy the competition. Herod’s idea of glory was self-serving power. Herod was not interested in defending the needy among the people or rescuing the poor from oppression.3 His only interest was grabbing onto power and holding onto it by any means necessary. And if there was a possibility that someone else could come into power, his reaction was to lash out in violence. He encouraged his soldiers—his supporters—to use violence against the innocent so he could hold onto power. That was the “glory” of Herod, and of all other human rulers who put their lust for power before the well-being of those they rule.

On this Feast of the Epiphany, we celebrate that the the glory of God is revealed, not in displays of human violence, or in the attitude that “might makes right,” or in the fading glory of authoritarian despots. The glory of God is revealed most fully in the beauty of that single human face. The glory of God is revealed in Jesus.

And like the Magi, we can adore him on bended knee, and offer the gifts of our lives in homage. Amen.

References:

1 https://alexchocholko.medium.com/close-up-and-personal-exploring-ingmar-bergmans-faces-43634e89e4a8

2 2 Corinthians 4:6

3 Psalm 72:4

The Jesus Litany

“If you ask anything of me in my Name, I will do it.”

–John 14:14

Jesus, I am broken. Please fix me.

Jesus, I am sick. Please heal me.

Jesus, I am exhausted. Please revive me.

Jesus, I am in darkness. Please enlighten me.

Jesus, I am lost. Please find me.

Jesus, I am worried. Please relieve me.

Jesus, I am grieving. Please console me.

Jesus, I am fearful. Please reassure me.

Jesus, I am guilty. Please pardon me.

Jesus, I am dirty. Please cleanse me.

Jesus, I am cold. Please warm me.

Jesus, I have done wrong. Please forgive me.

Jesus, I am in danger. Please protect me.

Jesus, I am in need. Please provide for me.

Jesus, I am lonely. Please be present with me.

Jesus, I do not know what to do. Please guide me.

Jesus, I am weak. Please strengthen me.

Jesus, I am rejected. Please accept me.

Jesus, I am unloved. Please love me.

Jesus, I am in bondage. Please free me.

Jesus, I am in trouble. Please deliver me.

Jesus, I do not know how to live. Please show me.

Jesus, I am oppressed. Please advocate for me.

Jesus, I am a sinner. Please save me.

Jesus, I am only human. Please divinize me.

Jesus, I am distant. Please draw near to me.

Jesus, I am poor. Please enrich me.

Jesus, I am depressed. Please gladden me.

Jesus, I am miserable. Please comfort me.

Jesus, I am exiled. Please bring me home.

Why Infant Baptism? A Reformation Answer

Why do the churches which arose directly out of the Reformation (Anglican, Lutheran, Reformed, Presbyterian) baptize the children of Christian believers, rather than waiting for said children to come to faith at a mature age, and baptizing them upon a clearly articulated profession of faith? There are many possible answers to this question, but millions of Christians since the sixteenth century, from Baptists to Pentecostals to Reformed thinkers like Schleiermacher and Barth, have found all of them unconvincing.

There are, of course, peculiarly Roman Catholic or Eastern Orthodox justifications for infant baptism. The Catholic Church’s strong doctrine of original sin, championed by St. Augustine, was tied to the proclamation that baptism washes away the original sin of infants, sin which, even without being accompanied by personal or actual sin, was sufficient to damn these little ones. (Note well, though, that infant baptism did not arise because of a doctrine of original sin; Augustine states that original sin must be true because the Church was already baptizing infants). The Orthodox Church, on the other hand, had a much less forensic doctrine of ancestral sin. Consequently, their justification for infant baptism was an appeal to the continuous practice of the Church since the apostles, as well as the belief that the inner illumination of the Holy Spirit, which dispels the darkness of ignorance and sin, is a process that begins with baptism. Better that the process of illumination starts in infancy than adulthood.

But what about those of us who are Reformation Christians? Surely there must be a peculiarly Reformed answer to why we baptize infants—an answer that makes sense within the grammar of our theological heritage, not merely within the grammar of others’. In this post, I will detail the reasons for infant baptism I find the most compelling, the most beautiful, and the most consonant with the grace-centric character of the Reformation.

Firstly, infant baptism beautifully coincides with, is even made necessary by, Jesus’ teaching on the relation of young children and infants to the kingdom of God. His most important teaching in this regard is contained in a well-known story that appears in all three synoptic Gospels (Matthew 19:13-15, Mark 10:13-16, Luke 18:15-17). When the three accounts are spliced together in proper order, here is the full passage:

Then people were bringing little children and even infants to him in order that he lay his hands on them and pray; and when the disciples saw it, they sternly ordered them not to do it. But when Jesus saw this, he was indignant. He called for them and said to them, “Let the little children come to me, and do not stop them; for it is to such as these that the kingdom of God belongs. Truly I tell you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God as a little child will never enter it.” And he took them up in his arms, laid his hands on them, and blessed them. Then he went on his way.

What does this passage reveal that is relevant to the issue of infant baptism? First, that it is natural for parents who love their children to desire Jesus to bless them. These parents saw that Jesus had a spiritual authority to heal and bless people in wonderful ways, and because they loved their children, they wanted them to receive this blessing also.

Second, there exists, even among Jesus’ followers, a tendency to dismiss small children and infants as not being proper recipients of Jesus’ blessing. Perhaps it is because they cannot “do” anything. They cannot understand Jesus’ teaching yet, nor can they make the individualized decision to believe in Him, let alone perform good works for the advancement of His kingdom.

Yet Jesus was vexed by this attitude toward children and taught his disciples that not only were children not to be prevented from being blessed, but that the blessing of the kingdom was especially appropriate for them. Why? It is surely not because children and infants are sinless. “All have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God”; “no one is good, no, not even one.” [1] Anyone who has ever interacted with toddlers or small children has seen the selfishness and petulancy with which they conduct themselves when they do not get what they want. Children can be a petty and self-absorbed lot. Even if childhood possesses a certain innocence, this has more to do with an innocence of knowledge, not moral innocence. There are many things children do not know, and should not know, until adulthood, but this ignorance does not make them righteous.

No, the kingdom of God belongs to children and “even infants” because of their total dependence. They cannot clean themselves, feed themselves, or take care of themselves when sick. They rely completely on their parents, in whom they place their trust. As a result, children do not typically act as if they are “self-made.” St. John calls this “the pride of life”: thinking you are a somebody because of your accomplishments, wealth, education, or some other status marker. [2] Because children cannot have even the illusion of being a somebody in that way, they do not usually have the pride of life, which is an obstacle to entering the kingdom. The kingdom of God belongs to those who have no pretense of having earned their entrance into it.

To not allow infants and children admission into the kingdom until they come to the intellectual maturity and intentionality necessary to make a profession of faith is to say that the kingdom of God is only for those who are old enough, mature enough, and intentional enough to “do something”—in other words, the kingdom of God is for adults, or at least for the adultlike. It is to say that children need to become like adults to enter the kingdom, rather than that adults need to become like children.

We adults may think that our ability to make a conscious “decision” to believe in Christ makes us more inherently save-able than infants or children, but the truth is that spiritually, we adults are helpless to save ourselves from our sins. Even if we are baptized as adults, we are every bit as helpless as infants when it comes to salvation. It is in this sense that “every baptism is an infant baptism.”

This is ultimately why infant baptism makes sense, not only within the Roman and Eastern traditions, but within the Reformation traditions. Above all, the Reformation exalted the grace of God—that unearned, unmerited, undeserved favor that God extends to us in Christ. The Reformers stressed that it is God who takes initiative in all things, not us, especially when it comes to salvation. There is no purer illustration of God taking the initiative and extending his grace to one who has done absolutely nothing to earn, merit or deserve it, than infant baptism. The Reformers understood this, and that is why all the major branches of the Protestant Reformation, except the Anabaptists, agreed that “the Baptism of young children is in any wise to be retained in the Church, as most agreeable with the institution of Christ.”[3] Infant baptism ties together biblical teachings on grace, the kingdom of God, and Christ’s love for infants and children in a much more satisfactory way than delaying baptism until a profession of faith. It is not something of which we need to feel ashamed or for which we need to apologize.

Don’t be afraid, then, to bring your infants and small children to Jesus for his blessing. Don’t feel embarrassed to plead the blood of Jesus over your children (to use a wonderful evangelical phrase). Jesus will not turn away our children and tell them to wait until they can do more for Him. Instead, he will cleanse them by the washing of water with the Word [4] and transfer them from the dominion of darkness into his kingdom. [5] What could be a greater blessing than that?

[1] Romans 3:23; Psalm 14:3

[2] 1 John 2:16

[3] Thirty-Nine Articles of Religion of the Church of England, Article XXVII

[4] Ephesians 5:26

[5] Colossians 1:13

Mary, Advent, and Being a Pro-Life Christian

Perhaps the most unusual aspect of my Catholic upbringing is that I had no devotion to the Virgin Mary throughout my childhood and adolescence. Of course, I did not view her negatively, but I did not ask for her intercessions, nor pray the Angelus, the Rosary, or the Hail Mary. When I became Anglican during university, my lack of Marian devotion and minimal interest in Marian theology remained.

I am increasingly convinced that this is not ideal, especially given my pro-life convictions. The Advent and Christmas seasons provide more support for the pro-life position than any other—the Annunciation and virginal conception, the pregnancy of Mary, the leaping of John the Baptist in Elizabeth’s womb, even (tragically) Herod’s massacre of the infants. They are also the liturgical seasons in which Mary is most prominent.

This is not coincidental. From Annunciation to Nativity, Mary persisted in her commitment to the sanctity of the life she bore. She is the exemplar of the woman who said yes to life.

Yet Evangelicals have pushed her to the margins of our spirituality, theology, and iconography (not literally our icons, but the whole visual system we present to the world as representing our Christianity). Evangelicals can correct this unfortunate development with an added Marian emphasis in preaching, theology, and devotion, done tastefully and non-excessively (see Luther’s Mariology for a good example). Contemplation of Mary will not only further illuminate the pro-life position, but, like all good Mariology, it will draw our attention to her Son—not the one who said yes to life, but the One who is Life itself.

A Theological and Sociological Critique of Rebaptism

For most of Christian history, the rite of baptism was universally thought to be unrepeatable. If a person was baptized with water in the name of the Holy Trinity, whether as an infant, child, or adult, that person was considered validly baptized and could not be baptized again. Church Fathers, medieval scholastics, and Reformers cited Paul’s declaration that there was “one Lord, one faith, one baptism,” as well as the Nicene Creed’s acknowledgement of “one baptism for the forgiveness of sins” as justification for this position.[i] This strongly held theological commitment sometimes manifested itself politically. In certain contexts in Christian history (for example, in the Justinian Byzantine Empire or in Reformation-era Zurich), adult rebaptism was an offense punishable by death![ii] For these reasons, “the vast majority of all Christians from the third or fourth century on” were baptized in infancy and never re-baptized as adults.[iii]

With the advent of the Reformation, however, the issue of infant baptism and adult rebaptism was seriously reexamined. To the great chagrin of Catholics, Lutherans, and Reformed alike, Anabaptists rejected the practice of infant baptism and re-baptized adults who had been baptized in infancy. Since then, other post-Reformation Christian groups, such as Baptists, Pentecostals, and non-denominational Evangelicals, have also administered rebaptism to persons baptized as infants. What does this practice represent theologically? What does it mean for the person who undergoes rebaptism? Of course, the answers to these questions will depend on the perspective of the one answering them. In this essay, I will present the credobaptist perspective on rebaptism, along with a theological and sociological critique of infant baptism. Then I will present the paedobaptist perspective on rebaptism, as well as a sustained theological and sociological critique of adult rebaptism.[iv]

It is noteworthy that not all credobaptist churches re-baptize. While not baptizing infants themselves, such churches do not require new members to undergo rebaptism if they were baptized as infants. These credobaptists decline to re-baptize out of respect for the spiritual journeys of other Christians, as well as because rebaptism is thought to evidence an un-ecumenical and divisive posture in an already-fractured Christian landscape.[v] Even so, rebaptism is a common enough practice in Anabaptist, Southern Baptist, and Evangelical denominations that a broad perspective on rebaptism can be ascertained. For these credobaptists, baptism is a rite which symbolizes a person’s conversion to Jesus Christ, which has already taken place. Since infants are presumably unable to be converted to Christ, they are not proper recipients of baptism.[vi] According to this view, those who were baptized in infancy were never truly baptized at all, and so rebaptism as a believer is not rebaptism, but a first baptism.[vii]

Credobaptists who hold to this understanding see rebaptism as an appropriate corrective to infant baptism. Commitment to Christ can never be done vicariously; parents cannot believe “for” their children. Every individual will appear before the judgement seat of God, not with all the members of their family and community, but by themselves, answerable for “what [they have] done in the body, whether good or evil.”[viii] Because divine judgement is so radically personal, every person must make a decision for or against Christ on their own. Baptism thus represents the individual’s decision for Christ, which they have made as responsible and accountable creatures before God. Additionally, a person who is baptized as a believer can personally remember their baptism, unlike those who are baptized as infants. Those who are baptized or re-baptized as believers can look back on their mature baptism as a moment when they decisively turned their back on sin and towards Christ. Believer’s baptism therefore gives them an experience to draw upon in times of spiritual doubt or struggle.

Furthermore, rebaptism represents a visceral rejection of both the Erastianism and “cheap grace” historically associated with infant baptism. Since the legalization of Christianity by Constantine in the fourth century, church and state became so closely related that infant baptism was transformed into a badge of inclusion in the state church. Baptism came to represent national and cultural identity more than spiritual identity. For this reason, infant baptism arguably no longer bore witness to either the grace of God or authentic commitment to Christ.[ix] This lamentable situation failed to live up to the radical nature of baptism in the early Christian Church. In that context, to be baptized was to set oneself apart as a member of a community which was frequently persecuted. To accept baptism was to show that one had definitively renounced their previous religious affiliation, whether that was rabbinical Judaism, imperial Roman religion, or paganism. Baptism cost its subjects something, socially and personally. Disownment by one’s family or community, persecution, or even death could be the cost borne by the baptizand.

If state Christianity is the dominant environment, however, accepting baptism is no longer a costly commitment, especially if it is administered in infancy as a matter of social decorum. To be re-baptized, then, not only signifies a rejection of the integrated church-state society inherited from the Constantinian era but is an attempt to model one’s baptism after those of the early Christians.[x] One could even argue that to be re-baptized upon a profession of faith is to renounce nominal Christianity as one would renounce paganism. In societies where infant baptism is the norm, to be re-baptized could result in ostracism, antagonism from family members, and (in some historical cases) legal prosecution. In these ways, rebaptism retains the costly nature of baptism in the New Testament and early Church.

While these critiques of infant baptism outlined above may seem compelling, they are not convincing enough to warrant the practice of rebaptism. For example, paedobaptists readily concede that God will judge each person individually on whether they made a genuine commitment to Christ as Lord and Savior. It is not clear, however, that those who were baptized as infants are somehow unable or less likely to make such a commitment. Baptism is not the only way a person can demonstrate their commitment to Christ; surely, living the Christian life demonstrates one’s commitment to Christ.

As to the charge that infant baptism became associated with Erastianism and cheap grace, this may well be the case, but the abuse of a practice does not imply the need for its abolition. Almost every doctrine or practice in the history of the Church has been abused or distorted, but such distortion calls for correction, not elimination.[xi] Even so, it is not self-evident that infant baptism is necessarily connotative of cheap grace or a lack of costly commitment. For example, Coptic Christians have been persecuted for centuries, in many cases experiencing martyrdom. Copts are typically baptized as infants, and the thought of being re-baptized as an adult would either be offensive or simply not occur to most Coptic Christians. Nonetheless, their commitment to Christ has in many cases proved quite costly, just as it was costly for the Christians of the early Church. It is clear, then, that costly grace, as opposed to cheap grace, is not a function of whether someone receives baptism as an infant or an adult, but of whether someone is devoted to Christ. It is unlikely that those who persecute Christians are concerned with when they were baptized; the important fact is that they are baptized Christians at all.

Another reason paedobaptists reject rebaptism is a different understanding of the relation of baptism to time. In the credobaptist understanding of baptism, correct order is essential in establishing the validity of baptism: one must repent, then have faith in Christ, then be baptized. The paedobaptist, on the other hand, understands the symbolic meaning of baptism to hold irrespective of baptism’s temporal relation to one’s conversion. If baptism symbolizes a person’s death to sin and resurrection to life with Christ, as both credobaptists and paedobaptists affirm, then this symbolic meaning holds, whether baptism occurs before or after one’s conversion. If one is baptized as an infant and is converted to Christ later in life, then baptism is a proleptic symbol which stands at the head of one’s life and prefigures the conversion that is to come. If one is converted to Christ, then baptized, baptism is an anamnestic symbol of the conversion that has already occurred. Baptism symbolizes one’s conversion, either by looking forward or backwards.[xii]

This distinction is crucial to the present consideration of rebaptism, as it illustrates the principle that “proper” chronological order is relativized to God, who transcends time and can consider all points on a timeline at once, rather than sequentially, as humans do. Symbolic meaning is tied to temporal chronology only for humans, not for God. Even if baptism is considered from a human perspective, a baptized person can appreciate what baptism symbolizes irrespective of when it occurred in relation to their conversion (while acknowledging that the exact time of a person’s conversion to Christ is not always so easy to identify).

Moreover, our personal timeline does not belong to us, but to God. God is the creator of all things, including time, and so all time ultimately belongs to him. Human beings exist in time, but do not own it—time is only “on loan” to us from God. Therefore, God’s choice of how our lives unfold in time trumps our preferences regarding the timing of our baptism in relation to our conversion. A person’s life rarely unfolds in a perfectly structured and ideally ordered way. Rather, there are false starts, loose ends, and events that could have occurred more ideally at different times. These temporal imperfections are to be humbly accepted as part of what it means to be human. Similarly, while a person may not like that they were baptized as an infant, to not be re-baptized is to respect that God, in his sovereignty, willed for that person to be born into a family that baptized its children; infant baptism is a part of their personal history whether they like it or not. Such persons were baptized on time that they didn’t choose, but that God and the covenantal community chose for them. To not be re-baptized, even if one wishes one was baptized as a believer, is to humbly yield to the community’s choices on our behalf and to God’s prerogative in determining the sequence of our lives.[xiii]  For a person to undergo rebaptism is for them to attempt to take back control of their personal timeline and insert baptism where they think it should fit. Our time ultimately belongs to God, and so our personal timelines are not ours to manipulate to our satisfaction.

Perfecting one’s chronology also does not ensure faithfulness to Christ any more than being raised in a Christian household.[xiv] Even if one repents, believes in Christ, and is baptized after their conversion, in imitation of the conversion narratives in the Book of Acts, fidelity to Christ is a lifelong task that is not reducible to doing things in the right order. While it is certainly understandable to express concern over an infant baptizand’s potential for falling away, even an adult baptism is no guarantee of lifelong faithfulness to Christ. Every baptism, whether infant or adult, is done in hope, not in certainty: hope that the person being baptized will be faithful to the One who for their sake died and rose again.[xv]

Another dimension of the paedobaptist response to rebaptism is the relativization of the role of memory in the administration of baptism. While credobaptists emphasize the importance of personally remembering one’s baptism, memory of one’s baptism is not necessary for making sense of one’s baptism. While it is true that being baptized or re-baptized as a believer can be a profoundly moving experience and an important memory to draw upon in times of spiritual crisis, it is also true that memory of one’s experience is not necessarily the best grounds for assurance or understanding. For instance, what must it be like to be baptized as a believer and not feel anything? Might this cast doubt on the authenticity of one’s conversion experience or obscure the meaning of baptism for that person? If the meaning of baptism is thought to coincide with one’s memory of baptism, then there is a danger of not being able to separate the meaning of baptism from its emotional impact as an experience.

This danger is not as pronounced for those who are baptized in infancy and never re-baptized. Baptism for them is something beyond memory, beyond experience, and thus can be appreciated for what it objectively stands for rather than what they felt when they received it.

A person does not remember their early childhood, but their parents loved them and were raising them nonetheless. Similarly, God is at work in our early lives whether we remember it or not. Therefore, to argue that a person should be re-baptized so they can remember the experience of being baptized is to place stock in emotive experience rather than the objective grace of God which transcends our memory.

Rebaptism may also overemphasize the role of human action in salvation. Those who desire to be re-baptized can be understandably enthusiastic about demonstrating their personal commitment to Christ in a public, tangible manner, an experience they missed out on when baptized as infants.[xvi] This enthusiasm, however, could become a triumphalist posture that proudly announces to the world the decision one has made, as if the decision of faith is itself an accomplishment. It is noteworthy that infant baptism leaves no room for such a posture. Indeed, the baptizand, as an infant, is completely helpless and cannot boast about anything he or she has done. Infant baptism is thus a striking picture of the dependence of the human being on God. Just as an infant cannot clean itself, feed itself, or take care of itself when ill, so the infant baptizand is unable to provide for his or her own spiritual needs. The sacraments testify that, like a mother, God cleans us (baptism), feeds us (communion), and heals us (anointing of the sick). Rebaptism risks taking a symbol of God’s grace for helpless and dependent sinners and proudly wearing it as a badge of one’s faithfulness to God.[xvii]

Furthermore, the credobaptist objection that baptism should be something that individuals choose for themselves can be seen as an outworking of the modern era’s individualist emphasis on personal choice. Contrary to popular modern sentiments, a person’s life is not the sum of that person’s decisions and choices. While consumerist messages in the Western media often encourage people to “have it their way,” to “choose their own adventure,” or to “be what you wanna be,” Christian theology has historically emphasized that our identity is not chosen by us but is given to us by God. Indeed, there are many aspects of our identity that we do not choose for ourselves. We do not decide the time and place of our birth, our parents, or our genetic inheritance. God chooses these things for us without our input or consultation. Infant baptism (and the corresponding rejection of rebaptism) acknowledges that baptism is one of many things that are chosen for us, for our good, whether we request it or not. Baptism is a community event which transcends a person’s claim to define themselves on their own terms. Rebaptism therefore ultimately runs the risk of being an ecclesial form of the self-definition and self-determination so highly valued in the modern Western world (but, alas, not the ancient Jewish or Christian worlds). A refusal to be re-baptized denotes the humble acknowledgement that the beginning of our life with God was initiated, not by our choice, but by the covenantal care of the community, and ultimately by God himself. To put it biblically, we did not choose him. He chose us.[xviii]

A final observation on this subject concerns the impact of rebaptism on one’s attitude toward other Christians. As Baptist theologian Willie Jennings notes, it can be tempting for credobaptists to use the reception of believer’s baptism as a litmus test for genuine commitment to Christ—that is, that those who were baptized as infants are nominal Christians, but those baptized (or re-baptized) as believers are the ones who are truly committed to Christ.[xix] The equation of infant baptism and nominal Christianity on the one hand and believer’s baptism and genuine Christianity on the other fails to explain the radically Christ-centered lives of millions of Christians who are both sincerely devoted to Christ and were baptized as infants. Of course, there are also millions of devout Christians who were baptized at a mature age; this is part of the reason it is so appropriate to view infant baptism and believer’s baptism as “equivalent alternatives,” rather than to assert that one of these modes is defective and needs correction.[xx]

In summary, there are several reasons why Christians baptized as infants should not be re-baptized as adults. Declining to be re-baptized hedges against the individualism and self-determination characteristic of Western modernity. To not be re-baptized is to eschew reliance on emotion or memory of an experience as grounds for making sense of baptism. It is to respect God’s role as Lord of our personal timelines and to acknowledge that doing things in the “right order” does not establish or ensure faithfulness to Christ. Finally, it resists the triumphalism potentially involved with emphasizing the human decision of faith over the prevenience of divine grace. Recognizing these truths will help Christians baptized as infants rejoice in their one baptism into the one faith of the one Lord.

[i] Ephesians 4:5 (ESV); The Book of Common Prayer and Administration of the Sacraments and Other Rites and Ceremonies of the Church Together with The Psalter of Psalms of David According to the Use of The Episcopal Church (New York: Church Publishing Incorporated, 1979), 327.

[ii] Hans-Jurgen Goertz, The Anabaptists (Abingdon-on-Thames: Routledge, 2013), 119.

[iii] Karl Barth, Karl Barth Letters 1961-1968. trans. Geoffrey William Bromiley (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 1981), 189.

[iv] Throughout the paper, “paedobaptist” refers to Christian churches or individuals who believe in baptizing professing believers and their children, while “credobaptist” refers to Christian churches or individuals who believe in baptizing only professing believers.

[v] See Jim Somerville, “Rethinking Re-Baptism: What It Means to Be a Member.” Institute for Faith and Learning at Baylor University, 2014, https://www.baylor.edu/content/services/document.php/224504.pdf.

[vi] Tom Elliff, “Understanding Baptism.” SBC Life (Journal of the Southern Baptist Convention), September 2006, http://www.sbclife.net/Articles/2006/09/sla5.

[vii] “It’s Not “Re-Baptism”: It’s Baptism,” Pulpit and Pen, January 16, 2014, accessed April 16, 2018, http://pulpitandpen.org/2014/01/16/its-not-re-baptism-its-baptism/.

[viii] 2 Corinthians 5:10, ESV

[ix] James W. McClendon, Jr., Systematic Theology: Doctrine (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1994), 391.

[x] See George Hunsinger and Martha L. Moore-Keish, “Twentieth-Century and Contemporary Protestant Sacramental Theology” in The Oxford Handbook of Sacramental Theology ed. Hans Boersma and Matthew Levering (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015), 403.

[xi] Daniel L. Migliore, Faith Seeking Understanding: An Introduction to Christian Theology, Second ed. (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2004), 285.

[xii] Gerhard O. Forde, “Something to Believe: A Theological Perspective on Infant Baptism,” Interpretation: A Journal of Bible and Theology 47, no. 3 (July 1993): 235-236.

[xiii] Karl Barth is perhaps the most well-known example of a Christian who was baptized as an infant, later came to vigorously oppose the practice of infant baptism, and yet refused to be re-baptized: “I have never maintained that [infant baptism] is not valid baptism. What was said to me back then, unfortunately without my being asked or able to reply, was said, and therefore I do not see why I should replace that baptism by another and second one. I regarded and still regard it as more correct and important to take my one baptism very seriously” [Karl Barth,  Karl Barth Letters 1961-1968 trans. Geoffrey William Bromiley (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 1981), 189.]

[xiv] Willie James Jennings, “Grace without Remainder: Why Baptists Should Baptize Their Babies” in Grace upon Grace: Essays in Honor of Thomas A. Langford, ed. Robert K. Johnston, L. Gregory Jones, and Jonathan R. Wilson (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1999), 209.

[xv] Ibid., 214.

[xvi] Reformed Church in America’s Commission on Theology, The Church Speaks: Papers of the Commission on Theology, Reformed Church in America, 1959-1984 (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Wm. B. Eerdmans Publishing, 1985), 102.

[xvii] This is not to say that one’s total inability to save oneself is not represented in believer’s baptism. Adult converts are helpless to save themselves as well, which is why they receive baptism as one receives a gift; one does not baptize oneself as an accomplishment. The point is that rebaptism could obscure this reality by emphasizing the decision of the baptizand over the passive reception of salvation as a gift.

[xviii] John 15:16.

[xix] Jennings, “Grace without Remainder,” 212.

[xx] Baptism, Eucharist, and Ministry, Faith and Order Paper No. 111 (Geneva: World Council of Churches, 1982), 5.

Bibliography

Fahey, Michael. “Sacraments.” In The Oxford Handbook of Systematic Theology, edited by John Webster, Kathryn Tanner, and Iain Torrance, 273-276. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007.

Luther, Martin. “Concerning Rebaptism: A Letter to Two Pastors.” In Luther’s Works Vol. 40: Church and Ministry II, edited by Helmut H. Lehman. Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1958.

McMaken, W. Travis. The Sign of the Gospel: Toward an Evangelical Doctrine of Infant Baptism after Karl Barth. Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2013.