12th January 2025
Water—simple, transparent, abundant—is one of God’s most extraordinary gifts to humanity. It sustains us, refreshes us, cleanses us, and connects us to God. This morning, as we reflect on the baptism of Christ let us consider the profound symbolism and power of water in our lives and faith.
Our faith has long recognized the sacred nature of water. In today’s Gospel, we encounter Jesus stepping into the waters of the Jordan River to be baptized by John. Imagine that moment: the sky opening, the Spirit descending like a dove, and the voice of God proclaiming, “This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased” (Matthew 3:17). Christ’s baptism is more than a historical event; it is a spiritual cornerstone. In that act, Jesus aligns himself with humanity, entering the waters of repentance and renewal. The water of baptism becomes a sacred channel, through which we are joined with Christ, cleansed from sin, and reborn into new life.
Water’s role in Scripture is rich and varied. Over the waters, the Spirit of God moved in the beginning of creation, bringing order out of chaos. Through the waters of the Red Sea, God led the Israelites from slavery to freedom. And today, through the waters of baptism, God continues to lead us into the freedom of grace. Water is, indeed, a symbol of life—a sign of God’s ceaseless love and faithfulness. It reminds us of our dependence on God and the eternal renewal that comes through Christ.
Water has always been a magnetic force in my life, a constant and quiet call that draws me toward its depths. My earliest memories are interwoven with the lapping of waves and the salty tang of sea air—family holidays and day trips to West Bay, Lyme Regis, and Bournemouth. These places, etched into the fabric of my childhood, were more than mere destinations; they were sanctuaries, instilled with the calming cadence of the tide and the exhilaration of windswept shores.
West Bay’s waves were a particular favourite. My memories are vivid: a thermos of hot chocolate clutched in small hands, steam curling up into the chilly coastal air as I watched the waves roll and crash with an eternal rhythm. It was a rhythm that seemed to mirror something deep within me, a natural tempo that soothed and steadied. Even now, as an adult, my holidays are rarely complete without the sea. This is a difference between my husband and me. He seeks the excitement of cities and the discovery of bookshops, but for me, holidays are tied to water—its shimmering presence, its variable moods.
I recall one solo trip to Bournemouth, a quiet retreat by the sea. I spent hours watching the water, capturing its essence through the lens of my camera. Beneath the pier, I found a world of shifting colours: deep and brooding blues, enlivened by silver streaks and white crests as the light played on the foam-topped waves. It wasn’t just the visuals that held me captive. The sound—that endless repetition of the tide—was a soothing balm, a lullaby that spoke to my soul.
At home, I’ve found a resemblance of that tranquillity in the pond with its ever-cascading fountain in the gardens at Manor Fields. I often sit on the bench nearby, watching the carp glide lazily beneath the surface. Their colours—orange, black, and brown—stand out against the green-tinged water, which reflects the shifting sky above. It’s a moment of calm in the midst of urban chaos, a reminder of nature’s enduring power to soothe and restore. It’s a reminder that even in apparent stillness, there is motion. It calls to mind the Holy Spirit, often likened to a breath or a gentle wind. Last night, while walking the dog, I stopped for a while by the frozen pond the sight of my exhaled breath condensing in the cold air felt like a visual echo of God’s divine presence.
My love for water isn’t confined to the coast. The wetlands of Shapwick Marshes in Somerset hold a special place in my heart. There, the river meanders through a landscape alive with wildlife. Starlings perform their mesmerizing murmuration’s, weaving patterns in the sky, while otters dart along the bank of the river. I remember a New Year’s Day walk with my daughter Meg recovering from Covid and our dog during the pandemic. The light was soft and diffuse, casting reflections on the water that seemed to stretch endlessly. It was a moment of quiet connection, a pause to reflect on the passage of time and the resilience of life.
And there are memories of a lake in Wales and the stunning beauty of Three Cliffs Bay, where I once watched a meteor shower over the sea. Each shooting star seemed to fall into the water, as if drawn to its depths. And in Portugal, I marvelled at the transformation brought by the morning rain. The grass, parched and brittle, began to show hints of green, a vivid reminder that water is life—a source of renewal and growth.
Water’s power is both prayed for and prayed against. In times of drought, we long for rain, our eyes lifted to the sky in hope. And when the rains come too heavily, we plead for it to stop. These opposing prayers underscores the profound relationship humanity has with water. It’s not merely a physical necessity; it’s deeply symbolic. Across cultures and traditions, water embodies life, fertility, and refreshment. It is a force of motion and change, a means of purification and cleansing. It connects us to nature, reminding us of our origins and our dependence on the world around us.
Yet water’s power is not always gentle. It holds a contrast that commands respect. I’ve seen its destructive force in floods and storms. I think of my mother—how the unforgiving nature of water shaped our lives. I recall the devastating floods in Somerset during December 2013 and January 2014, where homes were swallowed, livestock lost, and ecosystems shattered. The negligence of humanity played a role too: rivers left undredged, ditches filled in for the sake of expanding farmland, leaving the water with no place to go. I’ve driven home along roads bordered by rivers overflowing their banks, their proximity was a stark reminder of nature’s dominance.
Water has a way of drawing us inward, prompting reflection and self-awareness. It soothes, heals, and renews, yet it also challenges us with its power and unpredictability. It is a force of nature, a symbol of life and death, and a reminder of our place within the vast tapestry of existence.
In baptism, we encounter this contrast. The water symbolizes death and rebirth, the washing away of sin and the beginning of new life in Christ. As the words of the baptismal liturgy proclaim: “In it, we are buried with Christ in his death. By it, we share in his resurrection. Through it, we are reborn by the Holy Spirit.” This powerful imagery speaks to the transformative nature of God’s grace, made manifest through water.
In my faith, water holds profound spiritual significance. The symbolism of baptism is especially deep for me. I am moved by the words spoken during the service:
“It is right to give thanks and praise. We thank you, almighty God, for the gift of water to sustain, refresh, and cleanse all life. Over water the Holy Spirit moved in the beginning of creation. Through water you led the children of Israel from slavery in Egypt to freedom in the Promised Land. In water your Son Jesus received the baptism of John and was anointed by the Holy Spirit as the Messiah, the Christ, to lead us from the death of sin to newness of life.”
These words capture the essence of water’s role in faith and life. It is a medium of transformation, a channel through which we are reborn. The act of baptism is a profound acknowledgment of water’s power to cleanse and renew, both physically and spiritually. Over, through and in, the waters that are always moving and transforming. At the 10am service we have a the baptism of baby Jasmine, her family will come to church and celebrate. But Baptism is not just a personal moment; it is a communal act. When we baptize an adult or child, we as a church pledge to nurture and support them in their faith. And the promises we make are not merely for the parents or godparents but for all of us. We are called to be a living example of God’s love, to walk alongside the newly baptised as they grow in faith.
Finally, let us return to the water itself. It is a source of life, a symbol of renewal, and a reminder of God’s presence. Whether we encounter it in the vastness of the sea or the stillness of a garden pond, let it draw us closer to the Creator. Let it inspire in us a sense of awe and gratitude. And let it remind us that, through the waters of baptism, we are claimed by God, love completely and made new.
Amen.
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