Remember this introduction to a long ago favorite TV program, "Look, its bird, it's a plane, it's Superman!"

Superman, who was faster than a speeding bullet, more powerful than a locomotive, able to leap tall buildings with a single bound, who could bend steel in his bare hands travels the world in something like a second or two. Disguised as Clark Kent, the mild-mannered reporter for The Daily Planet, a large metropolitan newspaper, Superman fights a never ending battle for truth, justice and the American way.

Like most of our super seniors, Superman is enjoying a long life. The fabled character was born in the comic books, grew up in television, and matured in the movies that still release new twists on the legendary icon. Superman always defends those who are powerless to defend themselves. Using his great power, strength and his x-ray vision, he's able to subdue the guilty parties and bring them to justice.

One quality of Superman, the Superman of TV, we can all appreciate still today is something you may not initially consider, and that's his gentle manner. There was some violence in his TV shows, but not like the kind of violence we have today. For example, he never 'killed', and usually tried to be very gentle. And let's understand this. Superman was moved by emotions, but always had a gentle touch. You could say the man from the planet Krypton was sensitive to human feelings. Superman showed us that the mighty, the powerful, and the bold—and by bold I mean, hello, he did wear Lycra in public!—can also be tender, loving, and caring.

We should all miss that kind of gentle goodness in the world today as we see people in the movies and on TV shoot, kill, and blow-up people, places and things. We should all long for the calm, gentle, touch of Superman as he stood for justice in a way that brought justice along with goodness, kindness and compassion.

Or maybe the Superman we should all long for—the Superman we should deeply desire—doesn't wear a cape, secretly love Lois Lane, or have an aversion to kryptonite. Centuries before our gospel lesson, a prophet named Isaiah writes of another superman, one who would bring justice to the land. Yes, in Isaiah 42:2-4a, the prophet speaks of one who "...will not shout or raise his voice in public. He will not crush the weakest reed or put out a flickering candle. He will bring justice to all who have been wronged.  He will not falter or lose heart until justice prevails throughout the earth."

Bring justice, and let justice prevail...now that's a real superman.

And John the Baptist, in our gospel lesson today, continues the foretelling of the superman to come. He says, "Someone is coming soon who is greater than I am—so much greater that I'm not even worthy to stoop down like a slave and untie the straps of his sandals."

This superman John speaks of will be powerful, but he will be powerful in a gentle, loving, and compassionate way. The superman both the prophet Isaiah and John the Baptist are speaking of is Jesus, the Messiah. Both Isaiah and John let us know who's coming—one who will bring justice and peace into this world, one will bring freedom to the oppressed—not in a way that makes temples tremble to dust and mountains shatter to the ocean—but to bring justice and peace into this world in a gentle and assuring way.

In a gentle and assuring way, God chooses you to continue His message. That's our first point this morning—and at the start of this New Year—we need to hear it.  That's point one. God chooses you, too. Again, that's point one. God chooses you. And he chooses you, he selects you, he anoints you not through water. Let's read in verse eight again together to find out just what Jesus baptizes us with. Verse eight. Read it with me. John says, "I baptize you with water, but he will baptize you with the Holy Spirit."

God, the three in one, not only chooses you, but God baptizes you with the Holy Spirit. What does that mean, to be baptized with the Holy Spirit?

To be baptized with the Holy Spirit means you're on fire. It means that refiner's fire talked about in Malachi 3:2 is something you've definitely experienced, will experience, and, most likely, will experience again. To be baptized with the Holy Spirit means you, as our sermon series continues here in week two, are on fire. We are on fire like God is on fire. In Deuteronomy 4:24, we have this: The Lord is a devouring fire; he is a jealous God.

We have a 'devouring fire' God. That means, with more than a little heat under the collar, He comes with vim and vigor. He comes with tenaciousness. He comes to level things in your way.

We have a 'jealous' God. That means, as I shared last week, that He doesn't want to share you with the Devil, the Evil One, or the Enemy. That means He's possessive of you. You can turn from Him, and you have, but He, the jealous, extremely possessive God that He is, won't turn from you ever.

God chooses you. He baptizes you with the Holy Spirit. You know you've been baptized with the Holy Spirit when you have what God has, and that's both tenaciousness and a possessive nature. Here's what that means. You hear yourself saying, "That's my God, and I'm hanging on. Through thick and thin, I'm hanging on. I'm not letting go."

Yes, when you're baptized with the Holy Spirit you do not let go.

Here's a true story. It's from someone I greatly admire because she, like so many of you, calls a spade a spade. Now this woman I admire had been slighted in this very church years and years ago and decided what many have decided to do in an acid place of toxins. She said to herself, "I'm not coming back." And she didn't. She didn't come back for a long, long span of time.

But see, she'd been baptized by the Holy Spirit, and she couldn't let that fire out. Sure, the flames in her heart were diminished, but they weren't out. She tried another church. Good for her.

And then she came back here, back to the very place where she experienced plain, pure ugliness. That's what this Holy Spirit baptism does: it gives you strength you may not know you have.

Since she's been back, it's not been all roses and sunshine. No, she's experienced yet another slight, another affront. But she's not giving up. She's not letting petty,  unkind, or  callous remarks keep her from the one she loves, and the one she loves, I tell you, is Jesus.

No, God, jealous and fiery, chooses you. And God chooses you, and ignites you—and will keep igniting you—through the Holy Spirit. With God, you can face your hard spots, your slights, and your open sores. You can do this because this jealous God has, through the Holy Spirit, equipped you with what you need to level the enemy.

Yes, God chooses you. That's point one. Choose Him. 

Let God give you the power—and that power isn't might or muscle—that power is peace. Our superman, our Jesus, equips you with the power of peace.

This sets up our second point.  In your weakness there is strength.

In your weakness there is strength. That sounds like a riddle. In my weakness? Strength?

 I want to share another true story. This also happened to someone I admire. This parent sent Christmas gifts to one of her children. Nice gifts.  Appropriate gifts. A little this. A little that. A nice bottle of wine.

And she didn't hear anything. And she didn't hear anything. And she didn't hear anything.

Now this parent was not expecting a thank you, though that would have been nice—and I think we can all say appropriate—but an acknowledgement would have been in order.

Nothing.

Now this parent, who is irked, is presented with two options: one, to call the kid and ream the ungrateful twerp out, or two, address this in a way some would call weakness. Rather than rip off the adult child's head, the parent chose the second option: the parent, like Jesus, came across in a mild, even gentle way. In your weakness there is strength.

In your admitting you can't handle this, in your admitting you can't fight this anymore—i.e. weakness—you gain strength, Christ's strength. Let me repeat that. In your admitting you can't handle a particularly difficult situation—in this case it was, all told, a kind of minor family incident—in your admitting you can't fight this anymore, whatever this is—you gain strength. In admitting you can't handle something, in other words, what the world calls weakness, there is strength.

Let's be honest and face something. See, we all want to be supermen or women. Or we've wanted—at one time or another—to be supermen or women, super boys or girls. We want to control things, handle things on our own.

But that's a comic book mentality, and none of us live in the pages of a comic book. Instead, we have to come to this place. It's our third point. In your weakness there is strength, Christ's strength.

By Christ's baptism with the Holy Spirit, that woman returned to this congregation. She's tough, yes, but she didn't do it on her own. She relied on the peaceful power of her Savior who did—and who is—anointing her.

And the mom who used peace rather than power in the situation with her son? She turned to God's Son for the answers.

In your weakness, there is strength, Christ's strength. You're not a doormat. You're not stepped on. You're not someone someone else walks over. You're not a pushover. You're not fickle or easily moved by others—you're moved by Christ.

As a world, we see weakness as undesirable. But when you give up the steering wheel of your life, when you let Jesus take the wheel—which reminds me of a Carrie Underwood song of that same title—there is such strength that you can enjoy.

A superman of peaceful power appeared on the scene this day over 2000 years ago, a superman who was to change our lives as they could have never been changed before. This superman had a gentle touch, a compassionate heart and a healing touch. This superman, Jesus, knew his relationship with the Father in heaven, and through that relationship, He was able to know and do the Father's will on this earth.

Let that superman touch your life.

Children's sermon: Is Jesus in your heart, or in your head?

There was a famous actor who was giving 'readings' to small groups. One of the teachers in the group asked the actor if she would recite the 23rd Psalm. The actor did so eloquently, with masterful flourish and diction, and when she was finished, the entire group clapped.

Then someone noticed an elderly pastor standing near the rear of the hall and they asked her to recite the 23rd Psalm also. She protested, saying she was not a great speaker. They finally convinced her to present the psalm. Her speech was haltering. Her manner was not showy, and yet, when she was done, everyone remained silent. Something happened to the group.

One of the person's present asked the actor afterwards, "What happened? What was the difference in your two presentations? It was the same psalm."

After a moment, the actor replied thoughtfully: "I knew the psalm; she loved the shepherd."