To watch the sermon click here.
In my childhood imagination, the Jordan River was a mythical place. It was larger than life, a fast-moving current full of life and vitality. The Sunday Schools lessons about crazy old John the Baptist probably contributed to this image. Jesus’ cousin John, the guy who hung out in the wilderness wearing a cloak made of camel’s hair and eating things like locusts and wild honey was the stuff of legends. Growing up in Oklahoma, I probably envisioned the Mississippi River, broad, deep, and imposing. But this is not the case. If you’ve been there, you know.
When I finally saw the Jordan years later, I was surprised. It isn’t majestic or roaring. It is ordinary, maybe even pitiful. It’s a trickling stream in the desert, narrow enough to hop across at points. And yet, standing there on the banks of the river, I felt its holiness. Because holiness doesn’t need grandeur. It only needs presence.
This should have been obvious because God does this trick again and again. God doesn’t show up in the impressive or grandiose, but more often, in the ordinary. So, this is the scene for today’s story, an ordinary, trickling stream in the desert. The main characters include: Jesus and his cousin John, the Spirit of God, a.k.a. a dove, and the voice of God. The version of Jesus’ baptism as it appears in Matthew’s gospel is brief, only six sentences!
Jesus travels from Galilee in the north over to the river to meet John. John protests insisting Jesus should be the one baptizing him.
But Jesus stops him and says, John, “Just do it. God’s work, putting things right all these centuries, is coming together right now in this baptism.” And so, he does. John baptizes Jesus. The skies open up and God’s Spirit comes down, landing on Jesus in the form of a dove. And a voice says, “This is my Son, chosen and marked by my love, delight of my life.”
I like that translation, don’t you? It’s from a contemporary translation called The Message. “This is my Son, chosen and marked by my love, delight of my life.”
Before Jesus teaches or preaches, heals the sick or calls disciples, God calls him beloved. Jesus starts his ministry being loved by God, the one who delights in his very being. And God delights in you, in your existence. God loves you. And everyone of you, are worthy of that love.
Why is it sometimes so hard to accept that? When did we start believing we had to prove our belovedness? Plenty of people over the years have tried to tell me they aren’t worthy of God’s love, not holy enough or pious enough, and that’s ridiculous. But I get it.
We are trained from the time we are children that we must earn our worth. We are constantly measured by our productivity, busyness, and success. It starts with meeting developmental milestones “on time,” followed by grades in school, and getting into the right college. Then, performance reviews, ROIs, and credit scores. It never ends.
Look at our culture. Even vacations are measured by how many photos we post or our frequent flyer status points. It’s no wonder we forget that God delights in us for simply existing.
God’s rhythm is different and that is why we participate in worship. In Doyt’s sermon on the Feast of the Epiphany this past Tuesday, he talked about our souls in worship. He said, “the soul, that mysterious spark of divine life, is the one thing everyone has in equal measure. It cannot be made bigger by success or diminished by failure. It belongs wholly and singularly to God. When we worship, our souls align with God.”
That’s exactly the point! In the Kingdom of God things are switched around and backwards. In God’s Kingdom, we are measured in this order: first, by our identity as souls worthy of love and belonging and only after that, by our purpose. Baptism is the great unifier in this un-curated community at Epiphany. Baptism levels hierarchy. There are no insiders or outsiders in this water. Everyone is welcome. Look at Jesus in this story. He comes to the River and wades into the muddy water with everyone else to be baptized. Then, the Spirit of God descends.
Notice the order here. First, God claims Jesus as beloved. Then, he is sent into the wilderness where he is tested. Jesus doesn’t have to prove anything to be baptized. He is accepted for who he is and loved unconditionally. The early church knew this truth, too.
One of my favorite examples is Thecla; a disciple of Paul who, after hearing the gospel, chose radical faithfulness to Christ over social expectation and personal safety. She survived persecution and emerged as a bold witness and teacher. Remembered as a model of courage and calling, her story testifies that God’s Spirit empowers us for discipleship and proclamation. Thecla didn’t wait for permission or a title. She lived as one already loved and called, beloved before doing.
In a book about Thecla called, “The Girl Who Baptized Herself,” biblical scholar Meggan Watterson writes, “
‘I don’t know how long it will take, or what it will take
to see the day when a child can be a child,
when a soul can grow into defining what is meant for them,
what is authentic to them…
The day when our worth is seen as intrinsic, just for being human.
When our worth doesn’t come from what we can provide or produce.
When our worth is inherent. When our existence alone merits worth.’”
As Jesus is baptized, God says, “This is my Son, chosen and marked by my love, delight of my life.” What would change if you believed this voice was for you? This is my child, Cacima, you have been chosen. My child, Mary, marked by my love. Ron, delight of my life. (This is my child, Nathalie. You have been chosen and marked by my love, delight of my life.) You too, are beloved before doing.
What if we were to internalize that message?
Imagine if the first voice you heard every morning wasn’t your alarm or the news, but God’s voice saying, ‘You are my beloved.’ How might that change your day? If we truly believed this, our homes, our workplaces, even our politics would look different. Beloved people act like beloved people. They listen, forgive, and build peace.
Before you undertake the daily tasks of parenting, caregiving, fulfilling your vocation in the world, grieving, or loving, remind yourself that you are beloved. When you dip your fingers into this baptismal font on your way up to communion, make the sign of the cross as a reminder of your baptism and your belovedness. Better yet, when you go into the bathroom every morning, splash water on your face and make the sign of the cross, whispering to yourself, “Beloved before doing.”
As beloved people, we are sent to mirror that love in how we treat others. That is what baptism is all about. It is our ministry and work in the world as an outflowing of our own belovedness.
In closing, let’s return to the Jordan River. It wasn’t grand. It was small and ordinary. But that’s where the heavens opened, and love spoke.
Every time we come to the water, whether the font or the bathroom sink, God’s voice still whispers the same truth: you are my beloved, delight of my life.
So go into the world remembering that voice. Not earning love, but living from it.