The public high school I
attended in Boston was founded in 1635. On the walls of its auditorium were
names of some prominent deceased alumni, among them Benjamin Franklin, John
Hancock, Ralph Waldo Emerson, Episcopal Bishop Phillips Brooks, and George
Santayana. On career days alumni addressed us in that assembly hall; I remember
especially Leonard Bernstein encouraging us to consider music and His Eminence
John Cardinal Wright expressing hope that we would think about ordained
ministry. In the school Catalogue distributed to students each September were
names of other alumni for which there was no available auditorium wall space,
names such as Joseph P. Kennedy. Luminaries, past and present, seemed to be
everywhere. A few catalogue pages beyond were our names, about two thousand
high school boys (only boys until coeducation was established in 1972).

From ever-present, renowned
alumni names many of us absorbed an unspoken, perhaps unintended, message: "Go
thou and do likewise." Graduates should expect to become, if not famous, at
least a "somebody" distinguished by exceptional contributions to humanity. We
should justify our existence by making a name for ourselves.
Those four years were rough! I
would leave my home each morning at 7 o'clock and return by 4, then satisfy my
parents' and the school's requirement of three hours of homework five nights a
week. Of my entering 9th grade class, only a third graduated. Almost not
finishing because of poor work in physics and 4th year Latin, I graduated near
the bottom of my class! And, all that drudgery for what, just to be a
"somebody?"
In a lighter vein I read
recently about a group of college students who were trying to make a name for
themselves by sliding down a 200 foot long stretch of canvas covered with
multi-flavored Jell-O! These 40 scholars hoped that the world's longest Jell-O
slide would earn them a place in The Guinness Book of World Records. How
we try to justify ourselves, to become "somebodies," by all sorts of "good
works," whether silly or serious!
I was among those who had
missed the point -- both at school and at church (where I was active as an
acolyte and in the youth group). I was already a "somebody;" I just didn't know
it. On June 20th, 1937, I had become somebody very special; I was named and
baptized "Richard Thomas." I didn't have to make a name for myself; I had been
given a name and proclaimed a somebody: a unique child of God, worthwhile and
already justified.
My rigorous schooling had not
been designed to create a somebody, but to improve our minds and develop our
abilities to complete difficult tasks thoroughly, and those goals were
worthwhile. My mistake, along with some other students, was to think that I'd
be a nobody until I had somehow achieved public recognition, perhaps a mention
among celebrated alumni. I just didn't understand the significance of my
baptism, my true roots and worth, until some years later.
Christian Baptism stems from
the Jewish Baptism of converts into Judaism. The ritual of immersion in water
symbolized the believer's crossing of the Red Sea, an Exodus into the Promised
Land, an acceptance of the heritage and hopes of the Jewish people as one's own
heritage and hopes. Coming out of the water, the newly baptized was signed as
God's sheep, slave and soldier by signing the forehead with a "T" - the last
letter of the Hebrew alphabet representing the name of God.
Jesus' baptism was different.
Already a Jew, he accepted baptism to confer new meaning on the ritual: to
manifest, to show unmistakably, his own identity as God's son before all Israel
and the world. In your Baptism and mine, we too become daughters and sons of
God; we become somebody special, a new identity with Jesus our brother. We are
born again through and with the Risen Lord and Christ, and we are initiated
into God's special family and community, the Christian Church.
Understanding and living our
baptismal identity frees us from constantly trying to justify ourselves, from
endlessly trying to be a "somebody." Furthermore, we are freed from a popular
astronomer's gloomy belief that "we are nothing special."
What we do this morning is
ancient, yet alive. However, for this sacrament to take hold in our lives, to
acquire practical meaning for us, we must be nurtured and informed over and
over again. Our Christian family and community, The Episcopal Church, provides
nurture, especially through our historic Eucharistic worship, in order to
reinforce that we are indeed "somebodies" - each adopted and named "In the Name
of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit." Thanks be to God for
these holy gifts of consecrated water, bread, and wine! Amen.