Baptism of Christ, David Zelenka, 2005
As rivers flow from a distant spring to quench our thirst and feed the earth,
so let our lives flow from you, our Source, to counter death and nurture birth.
– As Rivers Flow from a Distant Spring, All Creation Sings, #1046, David Bjorland
Beloved of God,
The shift to a NEW YEAR gives us an opportunity to catch our breath, and I’ve always found something refreshing and hopeful as the calendar turns to January. The year past—whatever its combination of successes and failures—is over, and the new year—like the buds formed on dormant trees—is full of potential and ready to blossom.
One of the things that will start coming into flower this year is our collective commitment to carbon neutrality. (To learn more about this proposed plan by the Creation Care Team, which will be under consideration at our January 29th Annual Congregational Meeting, see the January Edition of Peace Notes.) The diligent work of the CCT invites us to deeper engagement in Earthcare and strengthens our ongoing effort to connect the dots between our lives of faith and our interdependent partnership with the natural world.
The “confluence” of these concerns will be evident as we celebrate the sacred gift of water and our baptismal vocation on January 8th – the Baptism of Our Lord.
Several years ago I used this column to reflect on the question: Where does the water in our baptismal font comes from? Rising environmental threats due to global temperature rise, drought-diminished water supplies, tainted ground water sources across the U.S., increase in hazardous waste risks due to flooding—such as what is transpiring in South Park neighborhoods right now—all these realities point to the continuing relevance of this question, which I reprise, updated, below.
Where does the water in your font come from?
Where does the water in your font come from? It was a deceptively simple question, but the more I reflected on it the deeper and further the question took me. One moment I was climbing glaciers on Mt. Tahoma with cramponed feet and ice axe in hand; next I was beating the heat soaking my feet at 10 Mile Creek near Holden Village; finally, I was paddling a kayak around Stuart Island in the San Juans of Puget Sound. Millisecond memories of journeys in and through water flooded my brain, all of them evoked by that one, simple question: Where does the water in your font come from?
Here in Seattle we enjoy some of the finest and purest water of any city anywhere in the world. It’s the water from the Cedar River and South Fork Tolt River watersheds that runs through our pipes, powers our industries, cleanses our bodies, cooks our food, quenches our thirst, and fills our fonts. Each day 140 million gallons of potable water is distributed through the Seattle Public Utilities network. And at a cost of less than 1 cent per gallon, it’s the best deal in town. In fact, the city runs an ongoing campaign to convince those who have access to this fine water to embrace it, drink it, use it, instead of buying the bottled water alternatives that flood the market.
The commodification of water is one of the big economic/environmental stories of recent two decades. Consumption of bottled water continues to rise, and across the world, one million plastic bottles are purchased every minute. In the last 30 years, bottling factories have popped up all over the country, and a whole industry has risen up where a generation ago none existed. That industry has succeeded in convincing American consumers that bottled water is better and better for you than water from the tap. Have you ever wondered why anyone would put out money for bottled water that costs thousands of times as much as tap water—even before the environmental costs of single-use plastic are factored in? Yes, there are places in the world where tap water isn’t drinkable, but Western Washington isn’t one of them.
Many water experts believe that the wars being fought today over oil are nothing compared to what we will see in the future as the population trends exacerbate the water shortages that already exist in many parts of the world—including in the desert Southwest of the United States. See what I mean about “deceptively simple question”?
But why does any of this matter? It matters because the water in the baptismal font follows us wherever we go. The liturgy of worship follows us into the rhythms of our home lives and into the ethics of our social-political-economic lives. In other words, because our lives as human beings are shaped by the new identity we receive as we are washed in the waters of baptism, that new identity follows us into all the circles and spheres of our lives, accompanied by a value for the water in which we received our new birth.
Third century church father Tertullian put it this way:
“But we, little fishes, after the example of our IXTHUS [i.e. “big fish”/ Savior] Jesus Christ, are born in water, nor have we safety in any other way than by permanently abiding in water.”
Not only do we abide in water, we are water—at least the majority of the human body is (55-78%, depending on age, body fat content, etc.), and the way we use water matters to those of us whose lives are shaped by the promises of the Triune God we received in baptism. When we believe this to be true, then tracing the water in the font back to its source becomes a meditation on our commitment to care for the physical watersheds in which our lives are lived.
On January 8th, as we begin worship with thanksgiving for baptism, water from three local sources will flow into our font, and we will have the opportunity once more to renew our commitment to the covenant God initiated with us in baptism while we renew our commitment to the sacred gift of water.
Pastor Erik
What does this mean?