Climb Into Christ

 

Climb Into Christ

Climb Into Christ - Audio/Visual 

Then Jesus went from Galilee to the Jordan River to be baptized by John. But John tried to talk him out of it. “I’m the one who needs to be baptized by you,” he said, “so why are you coming to me?” But Jesus said, “It should be done, for we must carry out all that God requires.” So, John agreed to baptize him. After his baptism, as Jesus came up out of the water, the heavens were opened, and he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove and settling on him. And a voice from heaven said, “This is my dearly loved Son, who brings me great joy.” (Matt. 3:13-17)

No one paid much attention to him. Not that they should have. There was nothing about his appearance that distinguished him from the crowd. Like the rest, he’s standing in line, waiting his turn. The coolness of the mud feels nice between his toes, and the occasional lap of water is welcome on his shins. He, like the others, can hear the voice of the preacher in the distance.

Between baptisms, John the Baptist is prone to preach because that’s what he does. He’s impetuous. Fiery. Ferocious. Fearless. Bronzed face. Uncut hair. His eyes are as wild as the countryside from which he came. His whole presence is a sermon – a voice, "a voice of one calling in the desert, 'Prepare the way for the Lord.'" (Luke 3:4)

He stands waist-deep in the muddy waters of the Jordan River. He makes a wardrobe out of camel's hair, a meal out of bugs and, most importantly, he makes a point of calling all people to the water. "He went into all the country around the Jordan, preaching a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins." (Luke 3:3)

Baptism wasn't a new practice. It was required for any Gentile seeking to become a Jew. But baptism was for the second-class, un-chosen people; not the clean, top-of-the-line class favorites – the Jews. And therein lies the rub: John refused to differentiate between Jew and Gentile. In his book, every heart needed a complete detailing. Every heart, that is, except one. And that's why John was stunned when that one waded forward from his place in line.

But John tried to talk him out of it. “I am the one who needs to be baptized by you,” he said, “so why are you coming to me?” But Jesus said, “It should be done, for we must carry out all that God requires.” So, John agreed to baptize him. After his baptism, as Jesus came up out of the water, the heavens were opened, and he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove and settling on him. And a voice from heaven said, “This is my dearly loved Son, who brings me great joy.” (Matt. 3:14-17)

John's reluctance is understandable because a baptismal ceremony is kind of an odd place to find the Son of God. Jesus should be the baptizer, not the baptizee. Why would Christ want to be baptized anyway? If baptism was, and is, for the confessed sinner, how do we explain the immersion of history's only sinless soul?

You'll find the answer in the personal pronoun, “we”: "But Jesus said, ‘It should be done, for we must carry out all that God requires.’” (Matt. 3:15) But who is the "we"? Well, that would be Jesus and us. But if that’s true, why does Jesus include himself? It's easy to understand why you and I and John the Baptist and the crowds at the creek have to do what God says. But Jesus? Why would he need to be baptized? Here's why: Jesus did for us what I did for one of my kids at the souvenir shop just outside of Ford’s Theatre in Washington, D.C.

The sign above the ceramic pieces read, “Do Not Touch.” But the wanting was stronger than the warning and he touched. And it fell. By the time I looked up, my son was holding the two pieces of the once one-piece, ceramic Ford’s Theatre. Next to him was a very grumpy store manager. Over them both was the written rule. Between them hung a nervous silence. My son had no money. The manager had no mercy. So, I did what dads do. I stepped in. "How much do we owe you?" I asked. But how was it that I owed the shopkeeper anything? I didn’t fracture Ford’s Theatre. Simple. He was my son. And since he couldn’t pay, I did.

Since you and I cannot pay, Christ did. And we've broken so much more than souvenirs. We've broken commandments, promises and, worst of all, we've broken God's heart. But Christ sees our plight. With the law on the wall and shattered commandments on the floor, he steps near us like a friend and offers a gift like a Savior. What do we owe? We owe God a perfect life. Perfect obedience to every command. Not just the command of baptism, but the commands of humility, honesty and integrity, among others, and we can't deliver. But Christ can. And Christ did. His plunge into the Jordan is a picture of his plunge into our sin. His baptism announces, "Let me pay." Your baptism responds, "You bet I will." He publicly offers; we publicly accept. We "became part of Christ when we were baptized." (Rom. 6:3) In baptism we identify with Christ. We go from tire kicker to car buyer. We step out of the shadows, point in his direction and announce, "I'm with him."

I used to say that at the drive-in as a teenager. Remember drive-in movies? The one in Paramount, California, near where I lived, had a Friday night special – a carload for the price of the driver. Whether the car carried one passenger or a dozen, the price was the same. And broke kids that we were, we generally opted for the cheaper-by-the-dozen package. The law wouldn’t allow us to do today what we did then, of course. Shoulders squished. Little guy on the big guy's lap. The ride was miserable, but the price was right because when the person at the ticket booth looked in, we all pointed to the driver and said in unison, "I’m with him."

God doesn't tell you to climb into Christ's car; he tells you to climb into Christ. "There is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus." (Rom. 8:1) He is your vehicle. Baptism celebrates your decision to take a seat. "For all of you who were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ." (Gal. 3:27) We are not saved by the act, but the act demonstrates the way we are saved. We are given credit for a perfect life that we did not lead – indeed, a life we can never lead. We are given a gift similar to the one Billy Joel gave to his daughter, Alexa.

On her twelfth birthday, Alexa was in New York City while her pop musician father was performing in Los Angeles. He phoned her that morning, apologizing for his absence, but told her to expect the delivery of a large package before the end of the day. As promised, the package arrived, and Alexa answered the doorbell to find a seven-foot-tall, brightly wrapped box. The day’s anticipation having gotten to her, and unable to wait any longer, she tore open the box and out stepped her dad, fresh off the plane from California. Can you imagine her surprise? Her excitement? Maybe.

Your gift came in the flesh, too. His name is Jesus.

Grace,

Randy