Jesus' baptism marks the beginning of his public ministry. He comes to John, who clearly knows that Jesus is the One whom John has been waiting for. But the Scripture doesn't mention that John heard that voice from heaven-only Jesus did. "This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased." And what happens immediately after that? Jesus is led by the Spirit into the wilderness to be tempted by the devil for forty days. If God's love and approval come with that kind of sequel, do we want to be so totally identified with Christ as we know we are?
Several chapters later in his Gospel, Matthew says that, on the Mount of Transfiguration, a voice from the cloud said, "This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased; listen to him." Now God is even closer to us; the voice came from heaven at Jesus' baptism, only for him; this time it comes from a cloud, addressing Peter, James and John. The words are the same.
When I was thinking about this verse a few days ago, I also happened, quite by chance, to be listening to a lecture by Esther de Waal at St. Paul's Cathedral in London. As an aside to her talk, she said simply, "My Son, the Beloved, is us." Combined with Father Lonnie's recent highlighting of Jesus' prayer "that we all may be one," this was unnerving. But then I was cleaning out some old notes, and one scrap of paper fell out at my feet. It was a quotation from Julian of Norwich, who wrote, "And for the great endless love that God has for all mankind, he makes no distinction in love between the blessed soul of Christ and the least soul that will be saved." Now I was really worried. Considering these separate strands, spinning over two thousand years, all I can come up with is that being beloved by God is not always comfortable; but as much as we long sometimes for a cozy God, we get something even better. Not just a glorious God whom we can worship, but one who is bent on making us into creatures filled with that same glory-God's glory spilling over into us because of Christ's oneness with God and with us.
We can't make ourselves glorious. Our part is to allow this to happen and to respond to it with our entire being. Our best efforts are fumbling and clumsy, but we are one with a Lord who was born in a stable, and who spit in the dust to make mud to heal unseeing eyes. Glory comes in the most mundane, even filthy, disguises and Advent is our time to be still and to notice them.
