Today, the Church takes up the threads of life again after the Christmas season. That life resumes, or perhaps more correctly, it begins, with the Baptism of our Lord. The baptism of Jesus has been a much discussed topic in the history of Christianity. The classic conundrum went as follows: "If Jesus was born free from all sin, why did he require baptism?" And the classic response was: "So that he could set a fitting example for all Christians." In other words, he didn't really need it himself. He merely submitted to Baptism for the sake of others.

But such questions -and indeed such answers- seem to me to miss the whole point of the Baptism of Jesus. By plunging into the river Jordan, Jesus was signalling his complete immersion in human experience. Nothing that is human would escape him: tears of joy and tears of sorrow, he would flirt with the Samaritan woman at the well, and permit Mary of Magdala anoint his feet with expensive perfume and dry them with her hair. He celebrated with abandon at the weddings of his neighbours and cried copious tears at their graves. He wasn't, as it were, going to remain a spectator on the river bank while human experience flowed by. He would experience life in all its ambiguity, good and evil, joy and sorrow. And that is his attraction, his full humanity.That surely is the significance of his baptism. He has plunged into the depths, he is now fully in this project with us. Some pious movements down the ages have attempted to drain him of his life blood, to deprive him of his radical humanity, and to present instead an anemic figure powerless to move the soul. Their only contribution to Christianity has been a rash of inferior, plastic art, a true embarrassment to humanity and, we must presume, to the divinity.

His baptism signalled the beginning of his public life. With his private life at Nazareth now completed, Jesus is initiated into his public ministry. The baptism of Jesus is a very public event, an action witnessed by an entire community. As happened at our own baptisms, his identity is established, his name is called aloud. Baptism is first and foremost the sacrament of identity.

We Irish Catholics have fifteen hundred years of tradition behind us. Each generation is born into the faith, wrapped in a baptismal garment woven by their own people. This is indeed a blessed beginning. Tradition, like age, has its own dignity. Sure of its step, it is impervious to fickle fashion. But, as the sage noted, we ride on the shoulders of our ancestors rather than walk in their steps. As a mode of travel, this can be comfortable and undemanding. But it has its own hazards: the bearer (tradition) may grow tired and weary, the believer may grow as smug and presumptive as any free-riding passenger. But the case is reversed in our Irish experience: tradition has grown smug and presumptive, the passengers have grown weary and bored. Our first reading today throws down an enormous challenge: "I the Lord have called you to serve the cause of right; I have taken you by the hand and formed you; I have charged you to open the eyes of the blind, to free captives from prison, and those who live in darkness from the dungeon." Our type of travel seems to favour the owl; the skylarks have departed to make their own way. We have a surfeit of wisdom, and a dearth of song. But tradition plods blithely on, blandly presuming that all are aboard and alert. The bland leading the blind! Baptism was the instrument through which we lifted our eyes from our own immediate families, and were introduced into the broader Christian community. Baptism was the first faltering step out of the cocoon of selfishness, and right through our lives that sacrament would be renewed to challenge our selfishness. Margaret Thatcher once said famously, 'There is no such thing as society, only the individual.' Baptism states clearly and consistently: 'The individual will find fulfillment and meaning only in recognising and responding to the claims of society and the community on them.'

As an Irish Church - of teachers, sisters, brothers: priests, readers, leaders - we must recognize and mobilize our gifted servants. A wealth of energy and talent lies untapped. Our culture, the way we have been moulded as a people, constricts us. We priests have been burdened by our people's expectations. And some of us rush with tasteless glee to embrace the burden. Admittedly, it simplifies things, but it leaves an awful lot of spectators at large. And the critical faculties of the spectator sharpen with practice. In time he grows to be an astute critic, a 'hurler on the ditch'. And we Irish are widely renowned for that craft. In fact our ditches are dangerously overcrowded. And when a man's best hurling has been done on the ditch, he is not easily coaxed to 'take the field'. But positive criticism is most welcome. It is honest, upfront and intended for our own good. But negative criticism, normally conducted off-stage, has all the attractions of scratching yourself: an enjoyable but ultimately futile exercise. 'But if a man likes scratching, he won't thank you for removing the itch'.

We in the Irish Church, both people and priests, could do with an infusion of energy and vision. But we must first root out those elements within that sap our energy and cloud our vision. The really crippling element is fear: fear of putting our heads over the parapet, fear of those we presume to be superiors, fear of criticism. Otherwise, we are doomed to plod on as we are, our tradition impeding us as a millstone, rather than serving us as a precious cornerstone. It should serve all as a solid foundation; it is experienced by far too many as 'a stone to stumble over, a rock to bring men down'.

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