By now the news has shifted, understandably: The second inauguration of President Trump. Concerns about protecting refugees and immigrants. The fragile ceasefire between Israel and Hamas. All of these headlines seek our attention.
But here in Los Angeles, we are still stunned by the destruction of the fires that spread across the city on January 7. Angelenos are always cautious when Santa Ana winds erupt from the desert. But this time, they met air that was warmer than usual, stirring gusts up to 80 miles per hour. And this time, they swept over an intensely dry landscape — the last rainfall here was just 0.13 inches on May 5, 2024. The result? Sparks flew, and kindling erupted.
Small fires quickly grew into mammoth blazes. Within days, there were 27 confirmed deaths. More than 15,000 structures destroyed. Over 38,000 acres burned. And a million different reactions. Shock … helplessness … anger … numbness … fear … distrust … compassion … grief — and for those of us not directly impacted, an urgent desire to do something.
As a pastor, my first “something” was practical: To check in on all our congregation to make sure they were safe, especially those in evacuation zones; To collect information about resources for victims and opportunities for helpers, and spread the word; To open our doors to Pacific Palisades Presbyterian Church, who lost everything but the cross on their steeple.

But God had something else in store for me, too. An epiphany, of sorts. To see the precious gift of water in a completely new way.
Until now, I never appreciated what power water has for our flourishing. Life-giving water, saving us from destructive fires by refreshing the land and extinguishing flames. Cleansing water, washing away the endless ashes left behind.
And, until now, I never understood the meaning water had in our baptism. Life-giving water, saving us from destructive fires by refreshing our souls and extinguishing the sparks lit by our errors. Cleansing water, washing away our sin and corruption, and the ashes that we leave behind.
Water and ashes. We pray over the water of baptism, marking a cross on the forehead, naming who we really are. At his baptism, Jesus heard from heaven: “You are my beloved Son.” Now, at our baptism, we hear these words: “You are God’s beloved child; you are marked as Christ’s own forever.”
Yet the ashes have meaning too. It is poignant, as we draw close to Lent, to remember another time when our foreheads are marked with a cross, naming a different part of who we are. “Ashes to ashes, and dust to dust; remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.”
And both declarations are true. The ashes of Lent remind us of our physical impermanence. But just as crucially, it’s important to remember what is permanent: that you are God’s beloved child … and nothing can ever take that away.
The waters of baptism remind us of what will never change. And that, in turn, frees us to be changed, to be called to a new way.
When the crowds meet John the Baptist in the wilderness, they beg him: “What should we do?” He answers: share what you have – food and clothing – with those in need. And never abuse your power.
When the crowds meet Peter after Pentecost, they press him: “What should we do?” He answers: Repent – embrace your regret – for whatever has become corrupt in you or around you. Cynicism or apathy. Selfishness or greed. Ways we’ve squandered our precious gift of life, giving up on imagining that things would ever get better, including our own choices and behavior.
What difference does the calling of baptism make for the earliest believers? Acts tells us that they sold all their possessions and shared with those in need. They spent time with each other, remembering how precious it is. They gathered over meals, with each other and with strangers, praising God. And in everything, they shared the love of God for all.
“What can we do?”
What difference does baptism’s calling mean to us, in light of the dust and ashes that surround us in SoCal … in light of other news that throws sparks of fear and helplessness? It begins with this: baptism calls us to remember what is permanent. God’s love for each of us; God’s love for all, can never be destroyed.
But it doesn’t end there. Baptism’s calling urges us to ask, “What can we do?”
At very least, we can do this. We can share what we have with those in need. We can use our power with humility and compassion. We can break bread with our neighbors and with strangers. We can do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly with our God. We can trust that the Lord is near. And, through it all, we can show mercy, just as God has shown mercy to us.