Where's the Dove?

Luke 3:15-17, 21-22; Acts 8:14-17

How many of you saw a dove descend when you were baptized?

Or, if you don’t remember your own baptism, how many of you have seen a dove descend on someone else newly baptized?

 

If you didn’t, did you ever feel a little…cheated? Or shortchanged?

Like you didn’t get the full baptism experience?

 

Because after all, we keep hearing and repeating in church these gospel stories that tell us how Jesus saw a dove (or, the form of a dove) at his baptism.

And we’re supposed to try to be like Jesus.

And also we just heard John the Baptist promising us that Jesus will baptize us with the Holy Spirit.

And the gospel writers and Christian tradition closely associate the Spirit with the appearance of a dove.

(Or fire.)

 

And then the Episcopal Church comes along and insists that yes, we all, each, receive the gift of the Holy Spirit when we are baptized in water in the sacrament of the church.

 

But I remember nearly every detail of my own baptism, and not only did I not see any doves but I sure didn’t feel like I got the Holy Spirit dropped down on me.

I did get a very nice gold cross from my grandmother. But I didn’t feel empowered. Or holy. Or close to and filled with the presence of God.

 

Did you? Right away, or for always (or as long as you remember) after your baptism?

 

So maybe we’re more like the early Christian converts in Samaria. We’re pretty sure, as scripture readers, that they didn’t see any doves when they were first baptized. 

The whole point of the little snippet of story we read today is that the Samaritan converts somehow didn’t get the Holy Spirit descending on them when Philip baptized them in water and the name of Jesus.

 

So off Peter and John rush to fix this for the Samaritan converts. To pray and ensure that these newly baptized Christians DO receive the Spirit. 

Because before we ever even were a church, really, the followers of Jesus clearly understood that when you are baptized, you are supposed to get the Holy Spirit.

 

But we’ve never been sure exactly how it works. We’ve got the story of Jesus’ baptism.  We’ve got that little story we read today – just three sentences – about missing and recovering the gift of the Spirit and another little snippet of story about people getting fired up by the gift of the Spirit and the infant church rushing to catch up to their baptism.  And we have thousands of generations of biblical scholars (amateur and professional) struggling to define just how the gift of the Spirit and the washing of water are linked for us. And how we’re supposed to manage it in the church.
Does one have to come before the other?

How do we ensure we actually get the Spirit?

Do you need a bishop to pray the Spirit into you??

 

Luke even gives the emerging debate a little fuel because, in the way he tells the story of Jesus’ baptism, the Spirit doesn’t come on Jesus in the water. The heavens open and the dove of the Spirit descends “after he had been baptized, and was praying.” Maybe privately.

 

But whatever the questions and answers the scholars come up with, we only have those conversations at all because we know that baptism in water and receiving the Holy Spirit are deeply and essentially linked.

 

And reading our scripture stories this week, I’ve started to wonder if the story of Jesus, and these other fragmentary little stories of the arrival of the Spirit and the baptism of new Christians found in our scriptures, are not meant to be models for the church to copy so that we ensure the Spirit comes with the water all these generations later. 

Rather, I suspect these stories are all told to affirm that our own baptism is not one moment, but two or more, or most likely many.

 

And that the fullness of our baptism may come in moments and hints and bits that don’t involve water, are hard to recognize as the Holy Spirit, and rarely feature doves or pigeons, either.

 

Sometimes that Holy Spirit comes on us less like a dove, and more like the sweet scent of baking that stirs desire and draws us to a kitchen. Or like a toddler or puppy attached to your ankle and unwilling to let go, hampering our lives until we give the Spirit what she wants, and turn to and claim God’s unremitting love.

 

Sometimes the water of death and resurrection in baptism come as an unexpected wave tumbling us helplessly into the ocean, and rising to grateful air. Sometimes the Holy Spirit comes like a slow, forceful tide, pushing you back up the beach until you’re against beach cliff and have to dive in to the water to find your way home.

 

Sometimes the water of renewal comes from the splashes of a child in a tub, or in the drenching shower that washes guilt or grief or emotional pain and makes us ready to try again.

Sometimes the Spirit comes in a rush of unexpected confidence, or anger that burns out injustice, or love that cannot keep silent.

Sometimes it’s more like a tiny rock you finally have to get out of your shoe.

Sometimes the Spirit sneaks in as a strengthening of your spine, or a yearning for fulfillment, or a renewed commitment as we repeat the covenant of baptism together in church.

Sometimes it’s the overwhelming upwelling of awe and joy as you look toward a mountain, a sunrise, a historic event, the face of a loved one.

 

And in God’s time, all those different moments and experiences in our lives, may be one and the same moment. The same event.

The descent of the Spirit and the declaration of faith, and the washing and renewal and forgiveness of the sacrament of baptism – all may be distinct and separate moments in our lives – and be all the same moment in God’s.

 

Be the moment, the eternity, in each of our pasts, and presents, and futures, when God whispers – or shouts – into any ear that will listen the same thing Jesus heard as the dove descended:

“You are filled with my own self, and breath, and life.

You are my beloved child.

I delight in you.”