“Accountable to our Baptism” – The First Sunday after The Epiphany

The First Sunday after The Epiphany
January 11, 2026

Isaiah 42:1-9; Psalm 29; Acts 10:34-43; Matthew 3:13-17

Year A, Ash Wednesday

January 11, 2026

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“Accountable to our Baptism”

The Rev. Kathleen Murray, Rector

Saint Andrew’s Episcopal Church, Mount Jackson

Every year at this time, the church asks us to do something very ordinary. We gather for an annual meeting. We look at budgets and reports. We name what has been done and what still needs doing. It can feel procedural, even routine. But this year’s meeting falls on the same date as the Baptism of our Lord, a day when we renew our baptismal covenant. That feels like more than coincidence.

Because the question before us today is not only how this parish is functioning, but who we are choosing to be. Not just what we have maintained, but what we are willing to claim, risk, and live out together.

Annual meetings are about accountability. Baptism is also about accountability. Both ask us to tell the truth about where we are, and about the kind of community we are shaping together.

When we renew these promises, we are saying we will not confuse power with goodness. We are saying we will not pretend neutrality is faithfulness. We are saying we will not let fear decide who deserves care.

And yes, we will fail. We already have. That is not the point. The point is that these promises keep calling us back.

The baptismal covenant is not about being nice. It is about being accountable and remembering who we are when the world pushes us toward indifference or cruelty.

So we have to ask ourselves what we are actually promising.

Will we persevere in resisting evil when it is rewarded, normalized, or explained away?

Will we seek and serve Christ in all persons, even when doing so costs us comfort, reputation, or safety?

Will we proclaim good news not only with our words, but with lives that refuse cruelty and indifference?

Will we strive for justice and peace, and respect the dignity of every human being, not as an idea, but as a daily practice?

These are not ceremonial questions. They are the shape of a life.

That is why today’s gospel matters. Jesus does not stand apart from the crowd. He does not wait until the conditions are perfect or the people are admirable. He steps into the river with everyone else. With people who are vulnerable, watched, and judged. God claims him there. Not above the mess. In it.

Baptism places us in that same river. It does not lift us out of the world’s danger. It sends us into it where we need to keep our eyes open and our promises intact.

Because following Jesus in baptism means following a leader who remained humble, never got rich, rejected military might, refused to use force, consistently supported the vulnerable, and never exploited power for personal gain.

Years ago, as a teenager, I sang a line in choir that has never quite let me go. It asked a simple, unsettling question: Did I fill the world with love? Was I brave and strong and true? At the time, I probably sang it without fully knowing what it would cost. But the question stayed. It has followed me through the years, growing heavier, more urgent, more real.

That question is not far off from what baptism asks of us. Not whether we were successful. Not whether we were admired. But whether we were brave enough to love when it was costly. Strong enough to resist cruelty when it was rewarded. True enough to stand with those the world would rather overlook.

Bravery is not loud. It does not usually announce itself. Most of the time, it looks like staying when it would be easier to withdraw. Speaking when silence would protect us. Choosing mercy when fear tells us to harden.

That kind of bravery does not come naturally. It has to be practiced. Remembered. Reclaimed. That is why we renew these vows again and again. Because the world is very good at talking us out of them.

The world tells us violence can be justified. That cruelty is realism. That mercy is weakness. That the safest thing to do is mind our own business and keep our heads down.

Baptism tells a different story.

It tells us we belong to one another. That every human life is worthwhile. That love is not a feeling but a discipline. That faith is not withdrawal from the world but engagement with it, honestly and at cost.

So when we renew our vows today, do not treat them like background noise. Do not mutter them as if they were harmless or optional. Say them knowing they ask something of us. Because these are promises we live by, or they are nothing at all.

At an annual meeting, we often ask whether we are being faithful stewards of buildings, finances, and programs. Those questions matter. But baptism presses the deeper one: are we being faithful stewards of our courage? Every year at this time, the church asks us to do something very ordinary. We gather for an annual meeting. We look at budgets and reports. We name what has been done and what still needs doing. It can feel procedural, even routine. But this year’s meeting falls on the same date as the Baptism of our Lord, a day when we renew our baptismal covenant. That feels like more than coincidence.