Past Sermon

Sermon Title: "Unto Us, A Child"
Date: December 31, 2006
Minister: Rev. Charles E. Ensley, Jr.

Lesson:  Luke 2:22-35

In his wonderful book of church stories, The Good News From Northhaven, Michael Lindval, a Presbyterian minister, writes about the little town of Northhaven, Minnesota, and its church.

On Thanksgiving weekend, they had a baptism.  One of the elders of the church, Angus McDonald I believe was his very Presbyterian name, proudly stood with his new grandson, Angus III, otherwise known as Skip, as the baby was baptized.

As is the custom in many churches, whenever a baptism occurred at the Presbyterian Church in Northhaven, the preacher ritually asks the congregation, "Who stands with this child?"

Then the grandparents, perhaps an assortment of relatives, join the parents holding the baby, presenting the baby for baptism.  After the service was over, after the congregation had exited the church for a Sunday dinner of leftover Thanksgiving turkey and dressing, as the pastor was putting the sanctuary in order, he noticed one person had remained.  He said that she was dressed in "Salvation Army style, clutching a black plastic purse."  He recognized her as someone who always sat in the back pew, closest to the back door.  She seemed at a loss for words.  After an awkward silence, she commented on how lovely the baptism was and then, fumbling for words, she said to the pastor, "Tina has had a baby and, well, the baby ought to be baptized, shouldn't it?"

The pastor suggested that Tina should come to see him, along with her husband, and they could discuss the possibility of baptism.

The woman looked up at the pastor and said, "Tina has no husband.  She was confirmed in this congregation, came to the youth group.  But then she got involved with this older boy.  And then she got pregnant.  She is only eighteen."

The pastor awkwardly mumbled that he would bring the request before the Session.  Here at Bay Shore, we just schedule them when the appropriate relatives can be in town.  But I know the Presbyterians go first to the Session, like our Board of Stewards.  My best friend from seminary is a Presbyterian minister in Michigan, and whenever I read the highlights of the Session meeting in his church newsletter, it reports that the Session approved baptisms for certain persons on a particular date.

When Pastor Lindval presented the request to baptize Tina's baby before the Session, there was some mumbling.  Who was the father?  The pastor said that he didn't know.  How could they be sure that Tina would be faithful to the promises that she was making in the baptism?  How could they be sure about anybody's promise?  After some shuffling about, the baptism was approved for the Fourth Sunday of Advent.

When the Fourth Sunday of Advent came, the church was filled, as it always is just before Christmas.  The rumored snow had not come and the crowd was full.

They went through the service, singing the usual Advent hymns, “Come, Thou Long-Expected Jesus,” and so forth. Then they got to the time for baptism.  The pastor announced, "And now would those to be presented for baptism come forward."

An elder of the church stood and read off the three-by-five card, "Tina Corey presents her son, James, for baptism."  He awkwardly stared at the card.  Tina got up from where she was seated and came down to the front, holding two-month old James in her arms.  A blue pacifier was stuck in his mouth.  The scene was just as awkward as the pastor and the elders knew it would be.  Tina seemed so young, so alone.  As she stood there, they could not help but think of another mother and another baby, young, alone, long ago.  Then there was another young, unwed mother, in somewhat similarly difficult circumstances.  In another place and time Tina and Mary seemed like close sisters.

And then the pastor came to that appointed part of the service when he asked, "And who stands with this child?"  He looked out at the mother of Tina dressed in her meager way, and nodded toward her.  She, hesitantly, awkwardly stood and moved toward her daughter and her grandson.  The pastor's eyes went back to his service book to proceed with the questions to be asked of the parents when he became aware of movement within the congregation.  A couple of elders of the church stood up.  And many stood beside them.  Then the sixth-grade Sunday school teacher stood up.  Then a new young couple in the church stood up.  And then, before the pastor's astonished eyes, the whole church was standing, moving forward, clustered around the baby and the Madonna.  Tina was crying.  Her mother was gripping the altar rail as if she were clutching on the railing of a tossing ship, which in a way she was a ship in a great wind.  Moving forward this day so much closer to their ultimate destination.  And little Jimmy, as the water touched his forehead, grew peaceful and calm as if he could feel this warm embrace.  And the whole congregation gathered as if this were their child, as if they were all family.

The scripture reading that morning was, as it often is before Christmas, 1 John 3:1,  "See what love the father has given us, that we should be called children of God; and that is what we are."

In that baptism, these ancient words became alive, became clothed in flesh God with us.

Last Sunday night, on Christmas Eve, a baby, a wonderful baby, was born into your family.  By that baby, that wonderful baby, you have been made family.  Maybe you are here today by yourself.  Maybe you don't have much family, maybe you have lost the family you had, or perhaps your family is far away.

But did you hear rustling in the pews on Christmas Eve as your family, the whole human family, took shape around the manger?  Did you feel these strangers becoming brothers and sisters taking place around the baptismal font as we stood and became the church family for Phil’s and Sabrina’ sons this morning?

The Word has taken flesh and dwelt among us. Unto us, a child has been given.

What is that word?

“See what love the Father has given us that we should be called children of God...”  And so we are.

[Most of this sermon, retold by William H. Willimon, is taken from

Michael Lindval's book as attributed in the first paragraph.]