Martin Luther, the 16th century German monk turned herald of the Reformation, is not often quoted from the legilium at St Pancras Old Church. Perhaps the Director of Music is able to get away with it from the far reaches of the organ loft. Luther offers us something profound, I think, in a sermon linked to today’s Feast of the Baptism of Christ. Combating those who believed that the waters of Baptism were mere ‘plain waters’ – uncharged by the presence of the Spirit of God – he puts in plain language the meaning of the very act of God in being baptised in the waters of the Jordan. He says this:

Can’t we see how God has flavoured this water? Add sugar [and other ingredients] to water, and it is no longer just water, but a delicious claret—or something of the sort. So why would you try to separate the word from the water in baptism? Never! The Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit are in the water; it is the bath water of Christ … This makes it water that takes away sin, death, and every sadness, and helps a person into heaven. Water becomes a precious ointment and medication because God has stirred himself into it.

This great feast forcibly reminds us – along with his revelation to the Magi and his first miracle at Cana - that the manifestation of Christ to the peoples of the earth is more than a lovely or joyful thing. It is, of course, both of these things, but it is also the setting in motion of the great drama of our salvation. Think of the Wise Men: how extraordinary it is that, even before he can speak, Christ draws to himself those who were once far off. Think of his turning water into wine at Cana: how beautiful it is that he chooses to make his glory known in profligate offering even before his hour has come. And think of Jordan, and the river: how remarkable it is that, even before his ministry has begun, he invades water with his very presence and makes of all our baptisms the centre of our turning from sin and death to life with God for ever.

All of this is picked up in that beautiful hymn often sung at this time, Songs of thankfulness and praise. The second verse tells us that Christ is ‘manifest at Jordan’s stream / Prophet, Priest and King supreme’, before encouraging us to see the continuity of that authority throughout his earthly ministry: ‘manifest in making whole / palsied limbs and fainting soul; / manifest in valiant fight, / quelling all the devil’s might’. It looks forward to his coming again in judgement when ‘sun and moon shall darkened be, / stars shall fall, the heavens shall flee’, before setting the prayer of all Christians before the mercy-seat of God: ‘Grant us grace to see thee, Lord, / mirrored in thy holy Word; / may we imitate thee now, / and be pure, as pure art thou.’ And, as with its opening line, the hymn concludes by reminding us that the joy and simple action of the Christian – both now and in the age to come – is to praise the God who in man is made manifest. You can listen to it by clicking here.

Luca Marenzio (d. 1599), the composer of our anthem, was an Italian composer known particularly for his ‘word painting’ abilities. They are on full display here, in Tribus Miraculis. The motet begins in three parts, a reference to the ‘three miracles’ described above, followed by two, shimmering upper voice parts which depict the star that led the Magi to Christ. A rather abrupt change leads us to the turning of water into wine, and an unusual chromatic section describes the baptism ‘by John in the Jordan’. This all leads rather joyfully into an ending of epic proportions with the word ‘Alleluia’. You can listen to it by clicking here.