The unbreakable unshakable covenant

 

Matthew 3: 13-17
New Ark United Church of Christ, Newark, DE
January 11, 2026

Photo of two White children wearing denim and black t-shirts, holding a sign that reads "My Black friends matter".

When I was doing sermon prep earlier this week, this question was asked in reference to the scripture in Matthew: Is there any form of sin you believe is inescapable in our current shared life? It’s a really good question, considering that we human beings keep repeating the same harmful patterns with one another. Greed, hubris, and the seemingly inevitable violence that follows readily come to mind even more so these days. We know that when fear and control are weaponized a bully is made, and bullies make more bullies. It is a pattern that continues to plague us because it is so difficult to interrupt, partly because we try to separate ourselves from those who bully and for good reason.



But in the time that Jesus was preaching and teaching, there was no separating the individual from the collective. There is no “me” without “you” and “we”. Sin is a collective reality. No one is clean. We’ve all been corrupted. As much as we bear the collective blessing and beauty of being human, we also bear the collective reality of the sins of humanity. There is no separating the whole, which is probably the most grievous sin of all: dividing humanity into “us” and “them”. Because when enough of us believe that and operate that way, we can dehumanize the other and all sorts of violence can then be unleashed from both sides.



And yet in his baptism, Jesus does take sides. Jesus sides with sinners rather than with those who believe themselves to be righteous, who think they are separate from the collective reality of sin. Jesus sides with those who were coming to John for baptism; he sides with outcasts, with the poor, with those who depend on God for their life because the collective, the system has betrayed them, has turned away from them. Jesus sides with mess and chaos and uncertainty, because there is beauty to be found there too. He knows that his individual actions are shaped by his place in the world and his place in the world is shaped by his individual actions. So he takes his place among the least of these as one of them, as servant, healer, and teacher. And in so doing God claims and celebrates Jesus as beloved, as one who resides in God’s heart.



Remember that this is a baptism of repentance, which means to turn toward God. For Jesus, siding with sinners, outcasts, the oppressed and the poor is the same thing as turning toward God and the way God would have us go. A sinner is one who acknowledges the collective reality of sin, the pain and separation from love and wholeness, and that we all participate in harm and thus are in need of grace, healing, and restoration.



One of the most insidious aspects of White supremacy is the idea of individualism, that sin is an “I” problem, not a “we” problem. That somehow the obvious sins committed by others do not touch us, that we have no share in them, and thus have no need of turning toward God, toward what is good, holy, and true. That somehow we stand above the sordidness of human life and are not tainted by the actions of others because we believe God sides with the righteous. It’s what allows some Christians in this nation to call empathy a sin and rugged individualism a virtue.



It reminds me of a story of a person who was walking down the street and fell into a hole. The walls are so steep and so high that they can’t climb their way out. A doctor walks past and the person calls out to them. “Hey, I’ve fallen in this hole and I can’t get out. Can you help me?” The doctor peers down the hole, sees how deep it is, and does the only thing she thinks she’s able to do: she writes a prescription, tosses it down to the person and moves on.



Then a priest comes along and the person calls out to them. “Hey, Father, I’ve fallen in this hole and I can’t get out. Can you help me?” The priest peers down the hole, sees how deep it is, and does the only thing he thinks he’s able to do: he writes a prayer on a piece of paper, tosses it into the hole and moves on.



Then a friend walks by: “Hey, my friend, I’ve fallen in this hole and I can’t get out. Can you help me?” And the friend jumps in the hole. “What, are you nuts? Now we’re both down here!” The friend says, “Yeah, but I’ve been down here before and I know the way out.”



Empathy is jumping in the hole because we know what it’s like to be in a place we can’t get out of except with help. Empathy is choosing vulnerability rather than avoiding it. When we avoid vulnerability, we are trying to avoid our fear, our shame, our anxiety, all kinds of painful emotions. But vulnerability is also the birthing place of joy, creativity, love, belonging, faith, hope—all the things that making life worth living.



It is our vulnerability that makes us human, what creates the unbreakable, unshakable covenant of being human together. When we kill and hurt and destroy, we are breaking that covenant in the name of invulnerability, and right now we are living through a time of invulnerability carried to the extreme. Invulnerability is what empire is all about. 400 million guns in the United States alone. Government agents shooting and killing citizens and kidnapping people off the street, out of their homes, schools and workplaces. Ignoring due process and human rights. Land grabs, genocide and war in multiple countries.



Vulnerability researcher Brené Brown says that when we lose our tolerance for vulnerability, when we avoid being vulnerable, we become more capable of extremism. She explains with a simple equation: “Faith minus vulnerability equals extremism”. She says, “Spirituality is inherently vulnerable—believing in things we don’t understand or really can’t see.” That’s what faith is all about—believing and trusting each other despite what we can’t see or don’t understand.



In his baptism Jesus chooses vulnerability, the unbreakable unshakable covenant of being human and everything that comes with it. With Jesus there is no “us” and “them”, only “we”. There is no lifting swords against each other, only laying them down and beating them into farming tools. There is no scarcity, only abundance when we share with each other and the knowledge, the acceptance that we are enough. There is no perfection required, only the gift of community which absolves us from having to be complete by ourselves.



Jesus’ baptism is an act of resistance against empire, against power and control. In his baptism Jesus chooses those who are dispossessed of power: Black and brown people, queer and transgender people, disabled and neurodivergent people, women and children and poor people, the sick and the grieving, Indigenous and the immigrant and the refugee. And all those with power are welcome to turn away from greed and hubris, to share their power to repair and restore.



I want to close with a story I’ve told before but it’s one we need to hear again right now.

“During the deepest, darkest days of apartheid when the government tried to shut down opposition by canceling a political rally, Archbishop Desmond Tutu declared that he would hold a church service instead.

“St. George’s Cathedral in Cape Town, South Africa was filled with worshippers. Outside the cathedral hundreds of police gathered, a show of force intended to intimidate. As Tutu was preaching they entered the Cathedral, armed, and lined the walls. They took out notebooks and recorded Tutu’s words.

“But Tutu would not be intimidated. He preached against the evils of apartheid, declaring it could not endure. At one extraordinary point he addressed the police directly.

“You are powerful. You are very powerful, but you are not gods and I serve a God who cannot be mocked. So, since you’ve already lost, since you’ve already lost, I invite you today to come and join the winning side!

“With that the congregation erupted in dance and song. The police didn’t know what to do. Their attempts at intimidation had failed, overcome by the archbishop’s confidence that God and goodness would triumph over evil. It was but a matter of time.” (Jim Wallis, God’s Politics)



In the end, vulnerability, dignity, and our inherent worth triumph over evil, my friends. Therefore, God’s beloveds, let us choose the unbreakable unshakable covenant of being human together. Amen.

Benediction – Frederick Buechner

The grace of God means something like:
Here is your life.
You might never have been,
but you are because the party
wouldn't have been complete without you.
Here is the world.
Beautiful and terrible things will happen.
Don't be afraid. I am with you.
Nothing can ever separate us.
It's for you I created the universe.
I love you.
There's only one catch.
Like any other gift, the gift of grace can be yours
only if you'll reach out and take it.
Maybe being able to reach out
and take it is a gift too.

Amen.