When I was a child in Catholic school we were taught to adore Jesus not imitate him. Our school library had shelves of books about the saints—mostly martyrs. If you were going to imitate Jesus being killed for your faith seemed the only way to do it unless, of course, you were a priest or a nun. There were lots of books about them, too. Since martyrdom was pretty unlikely in the U.S. in the 50’s, and we were just children (as were our parents, according to the church), we were all reduced to following rules. We didn’t see Jesus as a human being who had questions of his own and had to figure out his life just as we did from one minute to the next. From the fourth century on the Church emphasized Jesus’ divinity almost to the exclusion of his humanity. Some even questioned whether he suffered on the cross since he was God and, the thought went, God can’t suffer. And John’s Gospel had lain the groundwork for believing Jesus knew who he was from the very beginning, knew why he was born and what he came here to do since he was one with the Father. When the Vatican Council began reclaiming the real and legitimate humanity of Jesus we in the church started talking more about his life, what he valued, how he treated those who were suffering, how he challenged the religious authorities and tried to shift their focus from laws and rules to compassion and mercy. He became our teacher and brother, someone ahead of us on the journey who had mastered the ability to love even his persecutors in the most demeaning and painful of circumstances. The emphasis shifted from an over-charged focus on his death and resurrection to the way he lived his life—his compassion, inclusiveness, and non-judgmental love of those inside and outside the social system and religious framework of his time. That ability to remain anchored in the tradition of his people while also stepping outside the rigid mindset of its structures gave him flexibility and perspective. He was able to reinterpret the only Scripture he had through the eyes of his heart, the eyes of a lover and healer focused on bringing health to his world.
At his baptism the Holy Spirit descended on Jesus in the form of a dove, Luke tells us. All three synoptic authors (Matthew, Mark and Luke) use the words “You are my beloved Son in whom I am well pleased” as heaven’s dramatic pronouncement. It is a direct reference to the passage in Isaiah we just read: “Here is my servant, my chosen one, in whom I delight.” Jesus is claimed by heaven. It is here at his baptism that his mission begins. The reference to Isaiah offers a bit of information—that Jesus’ mission is to “bring justice to the nations and to serve the cause of right” but not by crying out in the street like John, or calling for repentance in the familiar manner of prophets. He is called to teach, to heal the blind and free those who are confined in prisons of darkness. These words from Isaiah at his baptism are perhaps a revelatory moment for Jesus. They offer a glimpse of the path he is called to follow, one very different from his flashy cousin, John.
In her commentary for Celebration magazine Sr. Mary McGlone says that today’s readings provide a window into Jesus’ discovery of his vocation as Servant of God. “Like every other human being,” she says, Jesus “had to seek God’s will in his life.” The reading from Isaiah “gives us a sense of where Jesus found the Inspiration for his vocation to establish God’s justice on earth. Unlike John who preached of God’s impending, frightening judgment, Jesus heard the call to be a gentle light for the world.”
Jesus reached toward the Spirit for guidance in his life and ministry. Like us he met life as it came with the best that was in him. He knew Scripture. He knew the law and the prophets, and he was a man of prayer. After his baptism he was filled with the Spirit and allowed that Spirit to drive him into the desert where he remained for forty days. He was confronted by temptations toward wealth, self-indulgence and power. He passed those tests and left the desert, again filled with the Spirit. He is our model for continuing to return to that guiding Spirit rooted in our souls.
Because most of us aren’t called to a large public role like John the Baptist, we may not even notice the small ways we respond to or ignore Spirit’s guidance in the course of a day. Much of the time we are likely on auto-pilot, following our inner rhythms and meeting the challenges and requests from others as we move about in the world. I’m guessing we are largely unaware that Isaiah’s words also apply to us. That we too are Servants of God, chosen specifically for the unique characteristics that define us, and that we are God’s delight as we struggle to live as compassionately, as openly and as awake as we can.
When we consider the questions that may have driven Jesus into the desert, the challenges faced by Peter as he tried to reconcile his upbringing in Mosaic law with the fact of God making no distinction between Jews and Gentiles, and the heated fights in the early church over whether Jesus was Divine—or ‘just’ a human being—we see again that life is a process. We learn as we go. Individually and collectively Spirit guides us toward greater awareness, deeper understanding, more open-heartedness and compassion. Most of us try to serve the cause of right, and all of us, without exception, are loved.
Over and over again in Luke we will witness Jesus in prayer. It is where he goes when overwhelmed by crowds, when unsure of his next step, when feeling alone and needing support amid the challenges in his life. Our Gospel invitation this year is to become a people of prayer, anchored in the realization we too have a mission. We are upheld by God’s love, a God who delights in us, and sends us into the world with confidence that we will do what is given us to do, with hearts engaged, to the best of our ability.
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