The Baptism of the Lord (A)

Is. 42:1-4, 6-7; Acts 10:34-38; Mt. 3:13-17

In one of Leo Tolstoy’s short stories, on a cold winter night a poor shoemaker named Martin Avdeitch sits alone in his basement room, reading the Gospel by the light of a small lamp. He is weary with grief and disappointment, yet as he reads the words of Jesus, a quiet hope stirs in his heart. That night he dreams that Christ will come to visit him the next day. Martin waits eagerly. Throughout the day, instead of a glorious vision, he encounters ordinary people: a tired street sweeper, a poor woman with a hungry child, a young boy who has stolen an apple. Martin feeds them, comforts them, forgives them. At the end of the day, he feels disappointed that Jesus never came—until he hears a voice saying, “I was hungry and you fed me, I was thirsty and you gave me drink.” Martin realizes that Christ had indeed visited him, hidden in the lives of ordinary people. Tolstoy’s story gently reminds us that God’s glory often appears not in spectacle alone, but in humility, obedience, and loving service. This is precisely how the mystery of the Baptism of Jesus unfolds before us today.

“Then Jesus came from Galilee to John at the Jordan, to be baptized by him” (Mt 3:13). The scene is deceptively simple. The Son of God leaves the quiet anonymity of Nazareth and walks into the wilderness, to the banks of the Jordan River, where John is preaching repentance. John’s baptism is meant for sinners, for those who acknowledge their brokenness and long for conversion. And yet Jesus, the sinless one, steps into the line. John is rightly disturbed: “I need to be baptized by you, and do you come to me?” (Mt 3:14). This moment contains a holy tension. Human logic recoils; divine wisdom presses forward. Jesus answers with words that echo through salvation history: “Let it be so for now; for it is proper for us in this way to fulfil all righteousness” (Mt 3:15).

To understand this, we must listen to the First Reading from the prophet Isaiah: “Here is my servant, whom I uphold, my chosen, in whom my soul delights; I have put my spirit upon him; he will bring forth justice to the nations” (Is 42:1). Isaiah speaks of a Servant who does not cry out or break the bruised reed, but who faithfully brings light, justice, and liberation. This Servant is gentle, humble, obedient, and deeply united to God’s will. When Jesus enters the Jordan, he identifies himself with this Servant. His baptism is not about repentance for sin, but about solidarity with humanity. He stands where sinners stand. He enters our waters so that our waters may be transformed.

The Jordan River itself carries deep symbolic weight. It is the river Israel crossed to enter the Promised Land (Jos 3). It is the boundary between wandering and fulfillment. By stepping into the Jordan, Jesus signals that a new exodus is beginning. Just as the people once passed through the waters into freedom, now humanity will pass through Christ into new life. The baptism of Jesus is the quiet inauguration of this saving journey.

The heavens opening at Jesus’ baptism recall ancient longings expressed in Scripture: “O that you would tear open the heavens and come down” (Is 64:1). For centuries, Israel waited for God’s decisive intervention. At the Jordan, that prayer is answered. “The Spirit of God descending like a dove and alighting on him” (Mt 3:16) evokes the Spirit hovering over the waters at creation (Gen 1:2). A new creation is unfolding. The same Spirit who gave life at the beginning now rests upon Jesus to renew the world.

Then comes the voice from heaven: “This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased” (Mt 3:17). These words weave together Psalm 2 - “You are my Son”—and Isaiah’s Servant Song - “my chosen, in whom my soul delights.” Jesus is revealed as both Messiah and Servant, King and Sufferer, Beloved Son and obedient servant. Before he preaches a sermon, before he heals the sick or raises the dead, the Father declares his pleasure in him. This affirmation is not earned by achievements; it flows from loving obedience and perfect communion.

The Second Reading from the Acts of the Apostles broadens our vision. Peter proclaims: “I truly understand that God shows no partiality, but in every nation anyone who fears him and does what is right is acceptable to him” (Acts 10:34–35). He then summarizes Jesus’ mission: “God anointed Jesus of Nazareth with the Holy Spirit and with power; he went about doing good and healing all who were oppressed by the devil” (Acts 10:38). The baptism is thus not an isolated event; it is the anointing that launches Jesus into a life of doing good. The Spirit descends not for display, but for mission.

There is an old hymn that captures this mystery beautifully:

“When Jesus came to Jordan

To be baptized by John,

He did not come for pardon

But as the Sinless One.”

The hymn goes on to speak of Jesus’ obedience, his willingness to walk the path set before him, even when that path leads to the cross. Baptism, for Jesus, is the first public step on the road to Calvary. The waters of the Jordan already reflect the shadow of the cross, for the same obedience that leads him into the river will lead him to lay down his life.

Yet the baptism is also a moment of joy and revelation. The Trinity is made manifest: the Son in the water, the Spirit descending, the Father’s voice resounding. This is why the Church has long celebrated this feast as an epiphany—a manifestation of God’s glory. But unlike the dazzling star of Bethlehem or the fire of Sinai, this glory shines through humility. God reveals himself not by standing apart from humanity, but by stepping into our reality.

An old desert anecdote tells of a monk who asked God to show him divine glory. God replied, “Follow me.” The monk was led to a village, where he saw God caring for a sick child through a mother’s hands, feeding the hungry through a poor farmer, comforting the grieving through a neighbor’s words. The monk learned that God’s glory is most often revealed through love made visible in human lives. The baptism of Jesus teaches the same truth. God’s pleasure rests where humility, obedience, and love are present.

This brings us inevitably to our own baptism. What does the baptism of Jesus mean for us today? When we were baptized, most of us as infants, the same heavens were opened, though unseen by human eyes. The same Spirit descended upon us, though silently. And the same Father spoke words of love over us, even if we could not hear them: “You are my beloved child.” Baptism is not merely a ritual from the past; it is the foundation of our identity. Before we are defined by success or failure, wealth or poverty, sin or virtue, we are defined as God’s beloved.

But baptism also calls us, like Jesus, into a way of life. To be baptized is to be immersed in Christ’s mission. Just as Jesus went about doing good, so are we sent into the world. Isaiah’s words echo over every baptized person: to open blind eyes, to bring out prisoners from darkness, to be a light to the nations (Is 42:6–7). These are not abstract ideals; they are lived out in daily choices.

Consider the ordinary heroism of a nurse who works long night shifts, caring for the sick with patience and compassion, often unnoticed. In those quiet acts of service, God can say, “I am well pleased.” Think of a father or mother who sacrifices personal comfort to provide for their children, teaching them honesty and kindness by example. In that faithfulness, the echo of the Father’s voice can be heard. Recall a teacher who believes in struggling students, a volunteer who spends time with the elderly, a young person who resists corruption and chooses integrity in a difficult environment. These lives may never make headlines, but they fulfil righteousness in the way Jesus spoke of at the Jordan.

There is a modern story of a sanitation worker in a large city who noticed that an elderly woman on his route had stopped putting out her trash. Concerned, he knocked on her door and discovered she had fallen and could not get help. He called for assistance and stayed with her until help arrived. When asked why he went beyond his duty, he simply said, “It was the right thing to do.” In such moments, baptism bears fruit. The Spirit given at the font moves hearts toward compassion.

The poet Gerard Manley Hopkins wrote, “The world is charged with the grandeur of God.” That grandeur shines when baptized men and women live out their calling. Each act of honesty in a dishonest world, each gesture of forgiveness in a culture of resentment, each stand for justice in the face of indifference becomes a reflection of Christ’s own obedience.

Living our baptism is not easy. Like Jesus, we may be tempted to seek glory without humility, power without service. The baptism at the Jordan is followed immediately by the temptation in the wilderness. So too in our lives, moments of grace are followed by trials. But the voice that says, “You are my beloved,” remains stronger than the voices that accuse or discourage us. Remembering our baptism helps us stand firm.

In the end, the question the feast of the Baptism of the Lord places before us is both consoling and challenging: Can God look at my life and say, “I am well pleased”? Not because we are perfect, but because we are striving to live as beloved children. Not because we never fail, but because we return, again and again, to the waters of grace.

Like Martin the shoemaker in Tolstoy’s story, we may wait for dramatic signs of God’s presence, while God waits for us in the faces of those around us. Every baptized person is invited to make God’s pleasure visible in the world—through love that serves, faith that acts, and hope that endures. And may our lives, in their ordinary faithfulness, become a living answer to that divine declaration: “This is my beloved child, with whom I am well pleased.”

Satish