[v.8] Feast of the Baptism of the Lord – January 11, 2026 Matthew 3:13–17
At His own Baptism in the Jordan River, Jesus does something that looks
simple—but is actually risky.
He goes underwater.
Anyone who has ever gone underwater knows the feeling.
In a pool… in the ocean…
You lose your bearings.
Your ears change.
Your breath is limited.
You are vulnerable.
Going underwater is never neutral.
It requires trust.
That is the heart of today’s feast.
[Section 1] Incarnation as Immersion
We often describe the Incarnation as God coming down to earth.
But the Baptism of Jesus shows us how far down He is willing
to go.
Jesus doesn’t stay on the riverbank.
He doesn’t point to the water.
He steps into it.
Do you know someone—
or maybe sometimes are the person—
who points to the water
without ever going in?
The Son of God enters fully into the human condition—not from a distance,
not symbolically, but bodily, socially, and spiritually.
He goes under.
This is not about washing away sin—He has none.
It is about solidarity.
God does not save us by giving instructions from heaven.
He saves us by immersion.
[Section 2] Geography Matters: How Low God Goes
The Jordan River flows into the Dead Sea, the lowest point geographically on
earth—about 1,400 feet below sea level.
Just for comparison, here in West Orange we are about 500 feet above sea
level.
That means Jesus goes almost 2,000 feet lower than where we are now.
That detail matters.
Jesus does not simply come to earth.
He goes to the lowest place.
Geographically.
Spiritually.
Morally.
There is no place too low for Him to enter.
[Section 3] Immersion Is Risky
Immersion always is.
Anyone who has learned a new language or entered a new culture knows that
feeling.
Back in the 1990s, my parents hosted a high school student from Japan.
I had lived in Japan myself as an English teacher, so I tried to get there
quickly to help translate—though my Japanese was very rusty by then.
By the time I arrived, the young person was already settled in.
I could only imagine how difficult those first hours had been—trying to
communicate, trying to be understood, not knowing the right words.
On the floor I noticed a handwritten note. It said: “Can I go and unpack my suitcase now?”
Writing it out was easier than saying it.
Immersion is hard.
You don’t have the words.
You don’t know the customs.
You feel exposed and unsure.
That is the kind of world Jesus enters.
[Section 3.1] Everyday Immersions: Trust Without Guarantees
And there are many kinds of immersion that don’t require a plane or a
passport.
Recovering from an illness or injury.
Moving to a new home.
Spending time with people we don’t yet know well.
Moving from middle school to high school.
In all of these immersions, there are no guaranteed results.
We enter vulnerable and uncertain.
Jesus enters an immersion of a different kind.
In the Incarnation—and again at the Jordan—He knows suffering and death await
Him.
And still, He enters willingly, trusting that God the Father is in charge of
the outcome.
Coming to church, to Mass, to prayer, or to the confession of our sins is
also an immersion experience.
We place ourselves into God’s hands.
As Proverbs teaches us:
“Trust in the LORD with all your heart;
on your own intelligence do not rely.
In all your ways be mindful of Him,
and He will make straight your paths.”
Discipleship is like learning a new language—the language of
mercy—especially when our first instinct is to blame ourselves or others when
things go wrong.
God calls us to virtue and responsibility,
but never to vengeance or vindictiveness.
That is why the Church calls us to silence, to listening, and to small
sacrifices along the way: giving up meat on Fridays, fasting from media or
sweets at times.
We do these things not to control our lives,
but to remember that we are not in control of the results.
Like Jesus in the waters of the Jordan,
we are called to listen rather than to speak.
[Section 4] “Listen to Him” — A Very Human Struggle
At the Jordan, the Father says: “This is my beloved Son… listen to him.”
That sounds simple. But listening is harder than we think.
Just this past Thursday, a friend called me about plans we had to meet on
Friday.
Something changed, and suddenly I wasn’t sure if our meeting was still happening.
All day Thursday I checked my phone.
Texts. Emails. Notifications.
Late in the day, I finally called him. He said,
“I left you a voicemail earlier. Everything was explained.”
And I realized something about myself.
I don’t really like voicemail anymore.
You can’t skim it.
You can’t scroll it.
You have to listen.
Relationships work this way.
So does faith.
God does not hand us a document at the Jordan.
He gives us a Son.
[Section 5] Priest: Compassion From the Inside
Jesus stands in line—with sinners—not because He needs cleansing, but
because we do.
As Priest, He enters our vulnerability.
He prays with us.
He suffers with us.
He offers Himself for us.
Compassion is not distant sympathy.
It is presence.
At our own Baptism—most of us as infants—we were spoken to, even though we
could not yet understand:
God the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ has freed you from sin
and given you a new birth by water and the Holy Spirit.
He now anoints you with the chrism of salvation.
As Christ was anointed Priest, Prophet, and King,
so may you live always as a member of His body,
sharing everlasting life.
Those words gave us a new identity—before we earned it, before we understood
it.
[Section 6] King: Love That Goes Lower Than the Curse
Jesus is also revealed as King.
But His kingship is not about control.
It is about love that goes lower than the curse.
Sin often feels inherited—
like thorns already in the ground,
like a burden we did not choose.
That is why Joy to the World names the problem honestly:
“Thorns infest the ground…
far as the curse is found.”
But the hymn does not stop there.
It proclaims a King who goes farther.
A King who enters cursed waters.
A King who goes lower than the thorns.
This is how our King reigns.
Not from above.
But from within.
Conclusion
Today we celebrate a God who does not stay dry.
A God who goes under.
A God who listens.
A God who enters the lowest places of our lives.
And the Father still says:
“This is my beloved Son… listen to him.”
Listen to the One who entered our waters
so that we might rise with Him.
Joy to the world—the Savior reigns.
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