Sermon by the Revd Ian McCormack for the Fifth Sunday after Pentecost, June 28, 2026

May I speak in the name of God, Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.

There is a reason why the font in this church stands at the west end, near the main doors.

It is because churches such as this one were designed as architectural illustrations of the journey Godwards that Christians make throughout their lives.

That spiritual journey culminates at the east end of the building, at the foot of the altar, where, after due preparation of body and soul, and perhaps after the climbing of steep steps to reach the goal, we participate in sacramental union with Jesus Christ by receiving Holy Communion.

On the way, in the middle of the building, there are statues and images of saints and martyrs to inspire us by their actions and assist us with their prayers.

But the journey begins at the font in the sacrament of baptism.

The font stands by the main doors because it is here that we enter the mystery.

It is here that the journey begins.

St.

Thomas Aquinas described baptism as the most necessary of all the sacraments, since it is, he said, the rebirth of man into a spiritual life.

Richard Hooker called baptism a sacrament which God hath instituted in his church, to the end that they which receive the same might thereby be incorporated into Christ.

And he goes on to say that as we are not naturally men without birth, so neither are we Christian men in the eye of the Church of God, but by new birth, nor according to the manifest ordinary course of divine dispensation newborn, but by that baptism which both declareth and maketh us Christians.

In saying all of that, Hooker was building on Article 27 of the 39, which asserts that baptism is a sign of regeneration or new birth.

And the catechism in the 1979 prayer book calls baptism the sacrament by which God adopts us as his children and makes us members of Christ's body the church and inheritors of the kingdom of God.

All of which is to say that baptism is clearly a fundamental and foundational part of the Christian life and the church's ministry.

And yet, such is the busyness of life, and such are the exigences of the lectionary, that baptism is rarely preached on, save perhaps for a passing reference on those occasions when we are privileged to celebrate the sacrament within the context of the Mass.

It is therefore a real gift to be presented in our first reading this morning with St.

Paul's cogent teaching on baptism, and I want to spend a few moments exploring this a little more.

The first thing to say is that this reading from Romans is also read at the Easter Vigil, the beginning of the Easter celebrations each year.

In the early church, this was the only time in the year when new Christians could be baptized and confirmed, and it remains the case that we renew our baptismal promises at the vigil each year.

And that tells us something about the intimate connection between resurrection and baptism.

To put it at its simplest, it is through baptism that we receive the benefits of Christ's death and resurrection.

The passages prior to today's reading have set out Paul's understanding of how the sin of Adam in the Garden of Eden, which led to condemnation for all, has been cancelled and prompt by the obedient act of righteousness of Christ upon the cross, which has led to justification and life for all.

Now Paul makes it clear that it is through baptism that we enter into this reality.

The wording of our English translation that we are baptized into Christ Jesus, as opposed to merely in Christ Jesus, correctly brings out the sense in the original Greek of journeying, of being incorporated into the death of Christ.

By our baptism, the objective fact of Christ's saving, death, and resurrection becomes a personal reality for each one of us, and through our baptism, the power of sin over us is broken.

The way in which we administer baptism here at the Advent, as in most Catholic churches in the West, standing around the font with a pretty shell to administer the water, it's very neat, very tidy, somehow, dare I say it, very English.

It reminds us that the two things essential for baptism are water and the invocation, I baptize you in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost.

But it loses the dramatic sense of physically acting out the theological transformation that I've just been talking about, that comes from full immersion baptism, as practised for much of the Church's history and still practised by many churches today.

In full immersion baptism, the candidate is plunged down into the water.

She is buried in the water just as Christ was buried in the tomb.

For a moment she appears to have been given over to the power of death.

But then she bursts up from out of the water just as Christ burst from the tomb, emerging into newness of life, no longer enthralled to the power of sin, but an adopted child of God and an inheritor of the power of the resurrection.

This is the gift which is bestowed in baptism and the inheritance that all baptized Christians share.

But we are not merely passive subjects in this rite.

Baptism involves a radical commitment, a promise to live in the light of Christ, illustrated by the giving of a candle, and in the power of his resurrection.

This is what St.

Paul addresses in the second part of our reading.

It is, in the words of one commentary, part exhortation, part an expression of hope to bolster the appeal of the exhortation.

Since we have died with Christ in baptism, we shall also live with him, but the consequence of this is that we must reckon ourselves also to be dead to sin and alive to God.

This commitment to conform ourselves to Christ by crucifying the old self in order that we might live his risen life finds its liturgical expression in the promises made by those about to be baptized, or by their godparents, in the case of infant baptism.

These promises entail a renunciation of Satan, the evil powers of the world, and all sinful desires.

They entail turning to Christ, accepting him as Saviour, trusting in his grace and love, and following and obeying him as Lord.

And because salvation is a task in company, all those baptized persons present themselves declare that they will support the candidate and join with her in declaring the faith of the church into which she is about to be baptized.

This is always an opportunity for us to consider afresh the ways in which our baptism actually impacts on our lives.

Do we really take those promises seriously?

Do we really consider ourselves to be dead to sin and alive to God in Christ Jesus?

Do we commit ourselves to returning Godwards when we fail to live up to those awesome promises, as inevitably we all do from time to time?

Do we really live our life to God after the pattern of Jesus, in whose death and resurrection we have come to share?

Reflecting on the concept of living to God, one commentator has written that this simple phrase, and I quote, essentially describes the life of the new age, where, set free from all other lordships, one lives in total openness and surrender to God, acknowledging the sole claim and sovereignty of the Creator.

All of which brings us neatly and precisely to this morning's gospel, which contains two of those so-called hard sayings of Jesus.

First that he has come to bring not peace but a sword, and secondly, the teaching that anyone who prefers father or mother to Christ is not worthy of him.

These are indeed difficult things to hear, and would seem to go against much else that God, the Church, and the Christian faith are assumed to stand for.

But the answer lies, I think, in which way round we view things.

The language of the sword is a reminder of the radical and all-encompassing nature of the promises made at our baptism.

And if we really turn to Christ as Saviour and submit to Christ as Lord, as the baptism rite calls us to do, then the consequence of this must be to place Christ first in every aspect of our life.

We have indeed been set free from all other lordships, and so we acknowledge the sole claim and sovereignty of the Creator.

What that means in practical terms is that we should make Christ the prism through which we view the rest of the world and our place within it.

And if we can do that, then we will find that Christ inhabits and sanctifies each and every relationship, so that those we love, and indeed those we don't love, become ways in which Christ is present for us.

They are lovable not primarily because they are funny or clever or physically attractive, but because Christ dwells within them and offers himself to us through them.

In this light, to speak of preferring earthly relationships to heavenly ones is a category error, a bit like saying I prefer oranges to aeroplanes.

But the difference is that in this instance the language of preference is irrelevant not because the two things are so different, but because they are so inextricably entwined.

When we are set free from all other lordships, our earthly relationships become mirrors of the heavenly ones, both conduits of and pointers to the all-embracing love of God.

As C.S.

Lewis once said, next to the Blessed Sacrament itself, your neighbour is the holiest object presented to your senses.

This is very unenglish, but just look at the people next to you around you in the pews and hear that again.

Next to the blessed sacrament itself, your neighbour is the holiest object presented to your senses.

That is true because of the glory of God contained within them and manifested by them.

It is true because, as Saint Paul said, we were buried with Christ by baptism into death, so that as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, we too might walk in newness of life.

That is indubitably true, and we should thank God for so great a gift.

But it is also merely a beginning.

It is the start of the journey, our entrance into the mystery.

This journey begins at the font and culminates at the altar, and in all that the altar represents.

Incorporation into Christ is the action of a single moment.

Living to God is the work of a lifetime.

Amen.