Children’s time commenced with the pastor telling the story about the little squirrels gathering all the nuts for winter. Each of them looking high and low and bringing them back to their nest. The question was asked to the children “and who do you think the little squirrels were bringing the nuts home to?” The children were not sure how to answer…there was a pause…until one observant child spoke up “I think the answer is the squirrels were bringing the nuts back to the mother squirrel. But the answer to your stories are always Jesus. So, I’m going to go with Jesus, even though I think it’s the mother squirrel”.
As we gather on the baptism of Jesus Sunday, we assemble on a day that doesn’t seem to make sense. How could this day be about Jesus? Why did Jesus need to be baptized? Even John asks this curious question of Jesus. I mean, he’s Jesus. He is the Son of God; he is Emmanuel; he is God’s beloved. Why does ‘He’ need to participate in such a human activity? This is the one Sunday that doesn’t make sense…right? In Jesus’ unfolding narrative all the other parts seem to align. Jesus’ birth; young Jesus teaching at the temple; his wilderness temptation; his life: the miracle stories, his teaching on love, forgiveness, inclusivity; Holy Week’s unfolding drama: tables at the temple being turned in anger; an Upper Room meal where feet are washed and bread and wine are shared; a Cross on a Friday that only God could make ‘good’; and Easter’s first light of resurrection. And in the middle of all of this is…Jesus’ baptism. A human act that John (and others) had been offering. So, why then does Jesus come to be baptized.
On this Sunday of the Baptism of Jesus, we stand at a threshold. Christmas has receded. Epiphany light still shines. And now, at the Jordan River, we meet a Jesus who steps deliberately into the waters of our humanity. Not to escape it. Not to rise above it. But to enter into it fully. Jesus enters into our humanity so that we, in turn, might be drawn more deeply into the fullness of God. This is the great movement of the gospel: Jesus enters into our humanity so that we may enter into his divinity. Or, as the early church would say, God becomes what we are so that we might become what God is creating us to be. Baptism is not just about cleansing or belonging. Baptism is about participation. About transformation. It is about becoming, together, a flourishing people of God.
Matthew tells us that when Jesus comes to John for baptism, John hesitates. He knows something isn’t quite right. John’s baptism is for repentance. Jesus has nothing to repent of. Yet Jesus insists: “Let it be so now; for it is proper for us in this way to fulfill all righteousness.” In other words, Jesus chooses solidarity over separation. He does not stand above the waters. He steps into them. This is the moment, more than any other, that Jesus humbly enters into our humanity. And this moment matters. It matters deeply for us as individuals, and even more so for us as a congregation. Jesus does not begin his ministry with a sermon or a miracle. He begins by joining our humanity in the waters of vulnerability, obedience, and trust. And in doing so, he reveals something essential about what it means to flourish in God’s way.
When Jesus is baptized, the heavens open. The Spirit descends. The voice of God names him beloved. Notice the order. Jesus has not yet healed the sick, preached the kingdom, or gone to the cross. Before accomplishment comes affirmation. Before mission comes belonging. Flourishing in God’s economy begins not with what we do, but with who we are claimed to be.
This is where baptism reshapes our imagination. Baptism tells us that flourishing is not about success, size, or survival. Flourishing as God’s people is about rootedness in God’s love and openness to God’s Spirit. An author in Church Leadership, Tony Robinson, recently wrote an article for my alma mater (Vancouver School of Theology) about flourishing congregations in this challenging era in which we live. I had saved some of his insights for this special Sunday and so I integrate them for our consideration. Robinson reminds us that healthy churches are not driven by anxiety or fear of decline. They are grounded in trust. A trust that God is active, present, and still calling the church into new life. Jesus enters our humanity in order that we might enter into his divinity. And so we ask, are we grounded in a trust that God is calling us to new life? Or are we driven by anxiety, fear and decline?
Flourishing congregations, Robinson continues, are deeply centered on God’s mission rather than their own maintenance. This is, exactly, where Jesus begins: in presence, in humility, in shared humanity. Jesus does not launch his ministry from the temple or the palace. He begins in the muddy waters of the Jordan, shoulder to shoulder with people longing for renewal. Jesus enters our humanity in order that we might enter into his divinity. And so we ask, are we centred on God’s mission or our own maintenance?
Bringing in the Acts reading, Peter, standing in the home of Cornelius, makes a stunning declaration: “I truly understand that God shows no partiality.” This is not an abstract theology. This is lived revelation. Peter realizes that the Spirit has already gone ahead of the church, breaking boundaries, crossing lines, and welcoming those named ‘outsiders’. This, too, is baptismal language, isn’t it? The same Spirit that descends on Jesus at the Jordan is the same Spirit poured out on Gentiles, Romans, and strangers. Baptism is not a fence. It is a doorway. A flourishing congregation understands that God’s grace is never scarce, never exclusive, and never exhausted. Flourishing churches cultivate a generous, outward-facing posture. They are curious rather than defensive. Hospitable rather than fearful. They expect God to be at work beyond their walls. Baptized into Christ, we are baptized into this same expansive love. Jesus enters our humanity not to make us comfortable, but to make us courageous. Jesus enters our humanity in order that we might enter into his divinity. And so we ask, are we inwardly focused on our community? Or are we outwardly focused on the larger grace of God that pours out far beyond these four walls?
Flourishing is not free. It does come with a cost. You all know the story, don’t you? Following Jesus’ baptism , the next part of the story leads him into the wilderness: hunger, thirst, temptation for 40 days. Belovedness does not exempt him from struggle. And baptism does not promise ease for the church either. What it promises is presence. The Spirit who descends is the same Spirit who sustains. Jesus enters our humanity in order that we might enter into his divinity. And so we ask, having been named beloved, are we also ready for the wilderness struggle ahead?
Another crucial insight from Robinson was that flourishing congregations are not perfect congregations. They are resilient ones. They face conflict honestly. They practice forgiveness. Baptism reminds us that transformation is ongoing. We are not baptized into arrival; we are baptized into transformation. This is a deeply practical application of Jesus’ entrance into our humanity. As we enter Christ’s life, we now share in his Way: self-giving love, trust in God, openness to the Spirit, and commitment to the common good. Flourishing is not measured by how impressive we look, but by how faithfully we live this pattern together. And so we ask, are we committed to living the Way of Jesus?
At Jesus’ baptism, the Spirit descends “like a dove.” Like the choral anthem: Gentle Voice. The Spirit is gentle. It is Relational. Flourishing congregations pay attention to this gentle, relational Spirit. They make space for prayer, discernment, and listening. They are not rushed by urgency or driven by nostalgia. They ask, again and again: Where is the Spirit moving us now? Robinson emphasizes that flourishing churches are learning communities. They are willing to experiment, to take risks, to let go of what no longer gives life. This requires deep trust in our baptismal identity. When we know we are beloved, we are less afraid to change. When we know God is with us, we can step into unknown waters. Jesus enters our humanity in order that we might enter into his divinity. And so we ask, are we ready to listen, and pray, and see where the Spirit is leading?
It is QUITE the story: the heavens open and God’s words echo. Interestingly, the voice from heaven does not say, “This is my Son, whom I will love IF he succeeds.” The words say, “This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.” That voice still speaks over the church today, over this congregation, over every baptized life. Before we strive, before we plan, before we worry about the future, God has already named us as beloved. To be baptized into Christ is to be baptized into that hope. Not a naïve optimism, but a deep, resilient hope. The kind of hope Peter proclaims in Acts; the hope that God is raising life where death seemed final, that the Spirit is still being poured out. Jesus enters our humanity in order that we might enter into his divinity. And so we ask, are we ready to live this baptized life of hope over worry?
And so, we can see what truly makes this day so profoundly moving. This is the moment that Jesus enters our humanity and we begin to enter into his divinity. So today, we remember who we are. We remember whose we are. Baptized into Christ; blessed to be a flourishing congregation, a flourishing people following the Spirit bravely into this new year ahead.
Amen.