Holy Water

Sermon of 01/07/06, Epiphany 1 B

While serving as a student chaplain at Baltimore City Hospitals thirty-five years ago, I was working on the pediatrics ward. The mother of one of the infants came to me: her three-month-old son was seriously ill and had not been baptized. She wondered if I would take care of the matter. I explained to her that I was only a seminarian – that I hadn’t been ordained yet. She was visibly distraught, shaking her head and frowning. So I said, “If you think your son can’t be baptized by a priest soon enough, the Prayer Book makes provision for ‘emergency baptism’ by a lay person.” “Oh, thank God,” she said – and I prepared to administer my first baptism.

I asked a nurse for a basin of water. She wondered if the water should be distilled, or could come straight from the tap. I said she could get it right from the bathroom sink faucet, thanked her, poured the water on the little boy’s head in the Name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, and rejoiced several days later to see the boy recover and go home.

Should the water for baptism be distilled, or can it come straight from the tap? For me, it was such an unexpected question; we never studied this particular matter in sacramental theology 101! After all these years, the question still amuses me – though I appreciate the genuine concern with which the nurse asked it. Distilled water or tap water? In case you’re wondering, it doesn’t matter.

Jesus is baptized in the River Jordan, and as I’ve noticed in the several vials of River Jordan water brought to me by Holy Land pilgrims, that water has sediment in it. John the Baptizer, a man who dressed in camel’s hair and ate locusts and wild honey, surely does not fuss about the water he uses for baptism. Here at Trinity, the altar guild and I fuss no more than to assure that the water for baptism is clean and warm. But water. Baptism is by water and the Holy Spirit.

Water. We often take it for granted. Especially here in places like Alpena, where we have a great lake full of it, and where it runs freely into our kitchen and bathroom sinks and swishes around in our washing machine and sprays out of our showerhead and lawn sprinkler and hose nozzle and flushes our toilets.

Water. We frequently take if for granted, even though it hydrates us, cleans and refreshes us, greens our lawns and shrubs, keeps our houseplants and pets alive and well, grows our crops, and floats our boats.

Water. We might stop taking it for granted when an arid western state wants to pipe it out of the Great Lakes, or when a dry Middle Eastern country wants to tow it out of the Great Lakes in a gigantic bladder, or when it becomes polluted with mercury.

Water. Fresh water. Millions in the Horn of Africa are presently dying for want of it, as without it, their soil turns to dust and their crops fail.

Water. Salt water, as well. A lovely and true plaque from the Female Creations catalogue speaks truthfully when is says, “The cure for anything is salt water… Sweat, tears, or the sea.”

Water is life. “In the beginning when God created the heavens and the earth, the earth was a formless void and darkness covered the face of the deep, while a wind from God swept over the face of the waters.” Life emerges from the water, and on this, creationists and evolutionists can agree. A famous painting shows a nude, auburn-haired woman standing on a shell coming ashore from the sea. Life emerging from the water.

An anonymous poem called “Invoking the Elements,” says “This is the Water, my Children; these are the Creatures: / Whale who chants; Dolphin who speaks; / Clam content; Salmon who seeks; / Pike who rages; Shark who mourns; / Walrus steadies; Wave transforms; / Seal who gathers; Crab the lone; / Otter wave-borne; Eel in stone. / This is the Sea I conjure, and this is the birth of the World.”

Water is the birth of the world. Water is the content of the womb. Water constitutes seventy percent of the human body. Water is life.

And so, water is the outward and visible sign in Baptism, the sacrament of new birth, the sacrament of life from above. What else could be so holy as water? Water is poured into the baptismal font, and the priest says, “We thank you, Almighty God, for the gift of water.” As God’s gift, the water is already holy, but because we so often take it for granted, the priest makes sure we realize it’s holy, and says in behalf of all, “Now sanctify this water, we pray you, by the power of your Holy Spirit…” We recognize the water for what it is: essential, precious, and even a font-full more valuable than a barrel of crude oil. (Parenthetically, would you trade the wealth of Saudi Arabia for the wealth of Michigan? Think about it after today’s Service.)

When do you not take water for granted? When do you not take the life it provides for granted? They’re the same question, really. Myself, I do not take water for granted when I am kayaking, especially on a hot summer day. As I paddle and sweat on the river, I periodically reach for my water bottle and take a swig, thankful to have it. And almost as often, I dip my hand into the river to cup a palm full of water and pour it over my hot head. Ever done that? Maybe you’ve hiked on a hot summer day and come to a pond and taken off your boots and waded in. Maybe you can identify with the American cowboys who come to a pool in the desert and fall prostrate at its edge to slurp and splash – or with the Arabs when their caravan comes to an oasis and they do virtually the same. See how water unites us all? And how the water of baptism makes us one?

The monks at the newly established Holy Cross monastery in County Down aim to break down the barriers between the Catholics and Protestants of Northern Ireland through special retreats of reconciliation. In the opening service for the monastery in January 2004 where the preacher was the former Archbishop of Canterbury, Lord Carey of Clifton, and the first reading was by a Presbyterian nun from Switzerland. Both the Roman Catholic and Church of Ireland (Anglican) bishops sprinkled holy water on the congregation, which included relatives of those killed in Enniskillen and Drumcree. In the church porch there is a holy water font donated by the Church of Ireland, which was in Down Cathedral before the Reformation. Above it is a plaque that reads, “One Lord, one faith, one baptism”. Water unites.

Today, in a small way, we are not taking water for granted. Or maybe we’re only trying to assure that we will not take it for granted. We are dedicating what’s commonly called a holy water font – a small bowl to contain water and be placed by an entrance through which we pass to give thanks for the life we have by virtue of water. Its use is optional, of course. Whether anyone dips their fingers into this water to dash it on their forehead is entirely a matter of individual choice. If you do always remember that life is holy, you can simply pass by this little water font. But if you need a reminder, like so many do, you now have an option.

Many of us remember Denny Muir, an avid runner into his 80’s. During his runs on hot days, Denny would drink from a water bottle and squeeze its sacred contents onto his head. When the baptismal font was at the front entrance of the nave – he would fill it with water and when he came to worship, take a little of it to make the sign of the cross on his forehead. For Denny, it was a discrete, life-affirming act. It can be that for us, too, thanks to this gift in his memory.

But whether we use it or not, we can appreciate water, and value it for the holy element that it is. Water. It’s our life – a life that is holy whether recognized or not. Water. Jesus willingly gets dunked in it. If immersion in it suits him, a dash of it might suit us. Distilled or straight from the tap.