Feast of the Baptism of the Lord 2026

I am pictured here at the traditional site of the Baptism of Jesus during my first trip to the Holy Land in 2016. Yes, the fish are biting my feet!

Most of us carry a very gentle, peaceful image of the Baptism of Jesus.

We picture quiet water. Soft light. A holy stillness.
Something clean. Something serene.

But that’s not what the Jordan River is like.

I’ve been to the traditional site where Jesus was baptized—twice. And both times, I was surprised. Not by how holy it felt, but by how human it was.

It was crowded.
Very crowded.
Church groups everywhere. People baptizing children. Others renewing their baptismal promises. Tour buses lined up. Cameras clicking. Voices overlapping.

And the water?
Not clear blue.
Not sparkling.

It was green. Murky. Mucky.

When you step into it, fish nibble at your legs and feet. It’s not peaceful—it’s distracting. A little uncomfortable. Definitely not picturesque.

And standing there, ankle-deep in that water, it hit me:

This is exactly where Jesus chose to be baptized.

Not in a pristine place.
Not in silence.
Not in perfection.

But in the middle of noise.
In the middle of crowds.
In the middle of mess.

That matters.

Because Jesus does not wait for a perfect world.
He does not wait for perfect people.
He does not say, “Get your life together first, then come find me.”

He steps into the water with sinners.

John the Baptist knows it. He protests:
“I should be baptized by you.”

But Jesus insists.
“Allow it now.”

In other words: This is exactly where I need to be.

The Jordan River was filled with people carrying guilt, regret, broken relationships, bad choices, half-hearted repentance, sincere longing, and unresolved sin.

And Jesus steps right into the middle of it.

Not because He needs cleansing—but because we do.
Not to distance Himself from our mess—but to stand inside it with us.

That’s the Gospel.

God does not save us from a distance.
God does not shout instructions from the shore.
God wades in.

The prophet Isaiah tells us what kind of servant this Messiah will be:
He will not cry out.
He will not break the bruised reed.
He will not quench the smoldering wick.

In other words—He is gentle with fragile people.

And Peter, in the Acts of the Apostles, tells us what happens after the baptism:
Jesus is anointed with the Holy Spirit and power,
and He goes about doing good,
healing those who are oppressed.

The baptism is not a reward for holiness.
It’s the beginning of a mission of mercy.

And then comes the voice from heaven:
“This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased.”

Notice when that voice comes.

Not after miracles.
Not after preaching.
Not after success.

But while Jesus is standing in muddy water, surrounded by sinners, distractions, noise, and mess.

That’s when God says, Beloved.

And that’s where this feast turns toward us.

Because what happens to Jesus at the Jordan happens to us in baptism.

We are named God’s beloved children—not because we are perfect, but because God chooses us.
We are claimed—not after we get everything right, but right in the middle of our becoming.
We are sent—not as finished saints, but as ordinary people learning to trust grace.

It’s not a perfect world.
We are not perfect people.

And Jesus wants to know us anyway.

More than that—He wants to stand beside us, shoulder-to-shoulder, in the messiness of real life.

So today, the Baptism of the Lord invites us to remember our own baptism—not as a distant memory, but as a present truth:

There is no part of your life that Christ refuses to enter.
No mess too murky.
No failure too embarrassing.
No heart too distracted.

If Jesus is willing to step into that water,
then He is willing to step into your life—exactly as it is.

And over you, too, God speaks the same word:

Beloved.