In today's scripture, we have two baptism stories. Lydia and her household, and an unnamed jailer and his family. Before we go further, I want to say I didn't cheat. I didn't search the scriptures for baptism stories so I could connect the sermon with our baptisms this morning. Today's lectionary reading is the story of Lydia. It's true the story of Paul and Silas should come next week—but Charles, who will be preaching next Sunday, graciously gave me permission to use it today. Please join me in prayer.
From time to time, a new parent will call the church office, wondering if they can have their baby baptized at Rutgers. Usually the parents aren't members of a church or observant Christians. They want to have their babies baptized because it seems like the right thing to do, or they have a secret fear that unbaptized children go to hell, or they want to please the grandparents. I always invite such parents to church as warmly as I can. Perhaps the birth of their child has opened them to the moving of the Spirit and this is the way they're responding. But I also tell them that when we baptize a child we promise, as a congregation, to nurture them in the faith. To make that promise with integrity the family needs to be part of the community, or at least an active Christian with some connection to Rutgers. And I assure them that unbaptized children do not go to hell. But what these phone calls suggest is that even in secular, hip, New York City infant baptism is a socially acceptable, parent-pleasing thing to do. It's not considered high-risk behavior.
Baptisms then, were different. The baptism of Lydia and the iailer take place in the city of Philippi. Philippi was a Roman colonial city in the Greek province of Macedonia. Paul and Silas went to Philippi because Paul had a nighttime vision of a Macedonian man begging them to come. There were no followers of Jesus, Jew or Gentile, in Philippi before the arrival of Paul and Silas. There were very few Jews. We are told that Lydia worshipped God, which could mean she was a Gentile who worshipped the God of Israel, or she may have been a pious Jew. She appears to be a woman of some standing. She was a dealer in purple cloth—cloth for the wealthy—and headed her own household. It's unlikely she would have even heard of Jesus. But right after listening to Paul, she was baptized, along with her household, probably in the river. She was the first in the city. Who knew what her neighbors or friends or customers would think?
The next household to be baptized is that of the jailer, and his story is more dramatic. He meets Paul and Silas when they are thrown into prison. We don't know what he heard about them—but he must have figured they were dangerous, given the beating, the flogging, the fact they were maximum security inmates. The crowd had joined in attacking Silas and Paul; in this pagan city, accusing Jews of causing trouble was enough to get a crowd going. So the jailer follows instructions, he puts Paul and Silas in the innermost cell, fastens their feet in the stocks, and goes to sleep. When the earthquake awakens him at midnight and he sees the open doors, out of fear or shame he gets ready to kill himself—but Paul's voice stops him. The prisoners were all there, even with the gates open; this miracle made him rush in trembling to Paul and Silas. So when they spoke the Word of the Lord to him, and to all who were in his house, he and his entire family were baptized without delay. Surely the jailer risked censure, if not prison himself, for doing so. Paul and Silas had been arrested for teaching customs that were unlawful for Romans to observe, and he had just adopted one of those customs. As it turns out, the magistrates changed their mind, but the jailer had no way of knowing there would be this happy ending. He and his family took a risk—even courted danger. They were the second household to be baptized in Philippi.
Today, there are about two billion Christians in the world. We're the biggest single religious group and by far the biggest group in this country. For centuries Christians have also been the most powerful, backing imperial adventures, at times converting others at the point of a sword. So it can be said that James & Eleanor and all of us who are baptized—at least here in the United States—are following the crowd. Rather than pioneers, we're the establishment. But with this big difference between then and now, and other differences in detail, there are common threads.
First, it's God that prompts people, God that brings us to baptism. It says that the Lord opened the heart of Lydia to listen eagerly to what was said by Paul. She didn't come to faith because she was especially virtuous or holy or pious. God opened her heart.
God's intervention with the jailer was extreme. A supernatural earthquake. The amazing fact that the prisoners stayed in their cells—perhaps because they had been listening to the prayers and hymns of Paul and Silas. The jailer wasn't especially courageous or wise or intelligent in seeking baptism: God called him through these miracles. Lydia and the jailer weren't marionettes, they responded to God, but their faith was not their own doing. And still, today, faith is a gift from God, not an achievement of our own doing. Faith comes through God's grace, not through our willpower or virtue or intelligence or—some skeptics might say—lack of intelligence. The mystery for us is not why some people believe and others don't, but why God grants faith in Christ to some people and not others, why God leads some to baptism and not others...although we can trust that God has other plans for other people, plans for good and not for harm.
Another common thread is that even though God chose Lydia and the jailer, God needed people to tell them the story of Jesus. Lydia and the jailer both needed Paul and Silas to speak the Word to them. And all of us who are baptized and who have affirmed our faith have done so because someone—a parent, a Sunday School teacher, a friend or a preacher or a Christian writer—someone spoke the Word to us. And James and Eleanor, as they grow, will need all of us to tell the story, in word and deed, if they are to affirm their baptisms when they are older.
Finally, we are called to respond to our baptisms as Lydia and the jailer responded to theirs. With joy and gratitude: remember how the jailer and his entire household rejoiced that he had become a believer in God? With hospitality: when Lydia was baptized, she urged Paul and Silas to stay in her home, which they did. In the same hour when the jailer and his family were baptized, he washed the wounds of Paul and Silas and brought them into his house and set food before them.
This response of hospitality continues today. (I hope everyone heard the announcement of a lemon cake from Fairway at the coffee hour, provided by the Patrick family). And hospitality goes beyond food and fellowship with friends and family. It means opening our church all who enter our doors, and making them welcome. It means offering food and companionship to our neighbors who are struggling, as we do on Thursday nights with our dinner and movie program. It means offering hospitality to those without homes, as we do with our weekend shelter in the gym and in work for housing justice. It means sharing our wealth with those who don't have enough.
I wonder what would happen if we responded to our baptismal call—not in the timid half-hearted way most of us do now—but with all our heart and mind and strength? What if we looked honestly at how we welcomed people into the congregation, which would mean looking at any racism or class prejudice or sexism that keeps all people from feeling at home. What would happen if we were hospitable to people coming out of prison, mothers and fathers? If we made it easier—as a church and society—for people to begin life again on the outside, rather than putting up obstacles? What if we welcomed immigrants, defending their right to be here, fighting deportations? What if we kept only what we actually needed—and gave the rest away? I wonder if baptism would be such a socially acceptable option, the thing to do, if we took our baptismal call seriously.
Responding to God's call, living into our Christian vocation, is a step by step, day by day struggle. We're always tempted not think or pray about it very much, not to try all that hard. But in celebrating the baptisms of Eleanor and James, we are reminded of our baptisms and our call. We can rejoice and be thankful. We can remember the baptisms of Lydia and the jailer and seek to respond with the love, the generosity, and the hospitality shown by those early apostles. And in that way may all our baptisms be alike, then and now.