“The Beginning”
January 11, 2026
Rev. Rebecca Migliore
We are in the season of Epiphany. The season where we take some time to get to know this Jesus, this Immanuel (God with us), the adult who was that new born king whom the Magi came from afar to worship and adore. What are we going to discover about this servant who Isaiah says is “given as a covenant to the people, a light to the nations, to open the eyes that are blind, to bring out the prisoners from the dungeon, from the prison those who sit in darkness”? What will these stories tell us about who God is, and who God is to us?
We are at “the beginning” of our quest. And how does the story of this Jesus begin (in each of the gospels)? It begins with baptism. We remember that John, the one who sees himself as “preparing the way,” has been baptizing people in the Jordan river. “And Jerusalem and all Judea and all the region around the Jordan were going out to him.” He preached “Repent (turn around), for the kingdom of heaven has come near,” and people confessed their sins, and made the sign of turning over a new leaf by full-body immersion in the river Jordan (usually a rite reserved for a Gentile who was becoming a Jew).
We also remember that John was very aware of who it was who was coming to be baptized—he calls out the Pharisees and Sadducees as a “brood of vipers!” And he told the assembled crowd that he was just preparing them for another—one who is more powerful, one whose sandals I am not worthy to carry, one who will baptize with Holy Spirit and fire!
“And Jesus came to John at the Jordan, to be baptized by him.” How did that work? No one knew who Jesus was. So, he would have been standing in line, with all the others.
He would have waited his turn, with all the others. He would have confessed his sins and been next to be dunked into the water.
And John was paying attention. He wasn’t just going through the motions. He must have been looking at every single person that was wading out to join him in the stream. And all of a sudden, he yells, “STOP.”
Does he look intently at Jesus? What does he see that no one else had seen? What does he perceive that tells him that this is the one he has been talking about? You would imagine the powerful one would be more like the great and terrible OZ. That you would notice him no matter where he was. That people would feel his power and shrink away. But no. Just like the star in the sky being seen only by the Magi, John seems to be the only one who looks at this man, this person, standing with all the others, waiting his turn, and knows who he is.
And then Matthew records a conversation that we hear only in this gospel. John doesn’t want to baptize Jesus. In fact, he suggests that it should be the other way around. Jesus disagrees, says, “this is the way it should be to fulfill all righteousness.” Let’s think about that for a moment. In the beginning, God comes to be with us, Immanuel, as a baby, born in a humble manger. And in the beginning, Jesus, this Immanuel, is standing alongside of everyone else, ready to make a show of turning towards God, like everyone else, wanting to be baptized, like everyone else. Humbling himself by acknowledging his faults, his mistakes, like everyone else. It is shocking. We understand why John was confused.
God with us, Immanuel, the servant talked about in Isaiah (and elsewhere) is one of great power. One who could bring justice to the nations. One who would wield power to separate the wheat from the chaff; one who could burn with unquenchable fire. How could this one be needing repentance? How could this one need anything? But that is a false image of what power is. That is not all that Isaiah says about this servant of God.
This power isn’t one of “shock and awe.” This power isn’t one of rant and rave. No, “[this servant] will not cry out or lift up his voice or make it heard in the street; a bruised reed he will not break, and a dimly burning wick he will not quench; he will faithfully bring forth justice.” This power comes in gentleness. This power doesn’t snuff out other lights. But it brings forth justice all the same.
I have a feeling that there was more discussion between John and Jesus. But however it happens, John gets convinced and Jesus is baptized. And as Jesus is coming up out of the water we get this split screen. On the one hand we get to see what Jesus saw (the heavens opening and God’s Spirit descending like a dove and alighting on him)—a private trinitarian moment; and on the other hand, everyone gets to hear the voice that rings with the announcement—“This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.”
So what have we learned about Jesus in this beginning. We learn that Jesus is truly God with us. He doesn’t stand apart from us, but is in the midst of us, living life the way we do. Jesus isn’t afraid to humble himself, to go through a turning around ritual, because it means he is with us. Jesus comes onto the scene as an adult, the way he came onto the scene as a baby—quietly, gently, and yet some know who he truly is. And we have a glimmer of the idea that Jesus is reminding us of a God truth—that power isn’t always evident. But God’s intention for justice, for Shalom, for kin-dom, will not fail.
What might that say to us, in our everyday lives? It reminds us that we too, in the beginning, were baptized. For many of us, it happened when we were babies, before we could know anything about God (consciously). But even for those who are baptized when they can remember, it is our beginning on a journey of faith. How symbolic, from the water of the womb, to the water of the font.
Often, on this Baptism of the Lord Sunday, we make a special point of remembering our baptism. We remember that God loved us before we were knit together and God’s love never ends.
We remember that although we only get baptized once, we spend a lifetime turning and returning and turning again towards God. We remember that through the waters of baptism we are made clean and new. We remember that through the waters of baptism we are transported (like Moses and the Israelites) from bondage into freedom. We remember that we too hear those words, “You are a beloved child of the covenant.”
But it shouldn’t be a warm fuzzy insular personal experience. This Baptism of the Lord was an experience of solidarity. It was an experience of “being with us.” And so, maybe today, we can remember all the people who have surrounded us and cared for us and shared their faith with us and walked along beside us. None of us gets to baptism alone. And none of us is to live a life after baptism alone either.
Presbyterians encode that idea as part of their sacrament of baptism. Yes, we ask questions either of the person being baptized or their parents, but we also ask a question of the congregation—those who are witnessing this great event, those who are standing alongside the family, those who represent the extended church family. We ask, “Do you, as members of the church of Jesus Christ, promise to guide and nurture [this child], by word and deed, with love and prayer, encouraging him or her to know, trust, and follow Christ and be a faithful member of Christ’s church? We do.”
We make this promise for the children we baptize, but I think today’s lesson is intended to point us toward a greater truth. As followers of Christ, as those who seek to be like him, we make this promise to every child, everyone we might come in contact with. If the very first thing we are to understand God reveals to us is the primacy of “God WITH us”—shown in Jesus’ standing with us in the baptism line, Jesus being willing to not assert his power as a show of strength (but to be willing to humble himself so he could be with us and for us)—then our footsteps need to trod in those spaces as well.
Last week we talked about standing with the vulnerable and the least in our community as a way of embodying all that Epiphany stands for. And I handed out whistles, so we could be prepared, if we so chose, to be a warning system, eyes and ears and hearts for others. Never in my wildest dreams would I have imagined that within days there would be such a stark image of push back from the empire—of those who believe that might makes right.
That disregard of life is intended to crush any resistance—to make us afraid. No one is asking for there to be martyrs. And we all are heartbroken at the senseless violence. All the more we must be “wise as serpents and gentle as doves” as Jesus will tell his followers in the gospel of Matthew. But gentle does not mean unconnected. This story of Jesus’ Baptism, this beginning, is a call to us.
If we would follow Jesus, then we too have to be with others, especially those who are in terrible situations, especially those who are frightened, especially those who are portrayed as “less than.” If we would follow Jesus, we too have to remember that God’s message of justice/shalom is given to the nations, and so God has said those good news words to everyone—“You are my child, my beloved.” If we would follow Jesus, if we truly are the body of Christ in this world, it is up to us to stand with, to stand beside, to stand up for all those “least of these.”
We may have spent a lifetime doing so. We may start, or restart, today. That is what the season of Epiphany is all about. Seeing the light more clearly. Recognizing the star for what it is, seeing the person right in front of us. And being in solidarity with the Holy One who has chosen to be “with us” in all our humanity, amidst all the inhumanity of this world. And it’s just the beginning.
May it be so, Alleluia, Amen.