Bright ideas, simple reflections — a little light for every step of the way.
What do you do with a bunch of old sermons? Turn them into a blog – refined, condensed, made for today’s world – feel free to use as written, or as fodder for your own message. For you! No permission needed or credit given. (I mean, it’s not that great…) 😀
Sunday, January 11, 2026 – Baptism of Our Lord.
Grace and peace to you in the name of our Beloved Savior, Jesus Christ. Amen.
Have you ever had that moment when you’re in a group—maybe in a meeting, or a class, or even worship—and the person speaking seems to be looking right at you? At first, you think, They’re just making eye contact. Then it keeps happening. And suddenly you’re uncomfortable. Who, me?
And then—of course—while you’re busy wondering if you’re being singled out, the speaker asks a question, still looking in your direction, and you realize you have no idea what they were talking about because you were too busy wondering whether they were talking to you in the first place. Awkward!
I imagine John the Baptist having a moment like that today.
We are a couple of weeks past Christmas now, and the lectionary moves us quickly from manger to river. Jesus is grown—around thirty years old—and ready to begin his public ministry. And the way he begins is not with a sermon or a miracle, but by showing up at the Jordan River and asking his cousin John to baptize him.
John is not comfortable with this at all. You can almost hear him say, “Who, me? No, Jesus—you should be baptizing me.” John knows who Jesus is. He’s already told the crowds that the one coming after him is more powerful, more holy, more worthy. And now that very one is standing in front of him, asking to be baptized.
It doesn’t make sense to John. It feels backwards. Awkward.
And yet, Jesus insists. “This is necessary,” he says, “to fulfill all righteousness.” Not because Jesus needs to be made worthy—but because Jesus is choosing to stand fully with us. To step into the water of human life, vulnerability and all.
And when Jesus comes up out of the water, the heavens open. The Spirit descends like a dove. And a voice speaks:
“This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.”
Before Jesus heals anyone.
Before he teaches a parable.
Before he feeds the hungry or challenges the powerful.
God names him Beloved. Before he’s done a single thing in his ministry here on earth.
That matters.
Because our understanding of baptism is rooted right here. In baptism, by grace, we are drawn into this same declaration. We stand alongside Jesus, and the words spoken over him are spoken over us.
You are God’s beloved.
And God is pleased with you.
Sit with that for a moment.
So often, we hear—or imply—that God’s love comes with conditions. Yes, God loves you… now go prove it. Go serve more. Go believe harder. Go fix yourself.
But notice this: Jesus hadn’t done anything yet. He simply showed up. And that was enough.
In baptism, we are claimed before we accomplish anything at all.
“Child of God, you have been sealed by the Holy Spirit and marked with the cross of Christ forever.”
Forever.
Nothing—nothing—can separate you from the love of God. Not failure. Not doubt. Not grief. Not death itself.
Rev. Vicki Flippin once wrote that baptism reminds us that no one determines our worth in this world or the next other than God. To the imprisoned, it says: you do not belong to your chains. To the addicted: you do not belong to what grips you. To the depressed: you do not belong to your sadness. To the exhausted and overworked: you do not belong to what demands everything from you.
You belong to God.
And even when it feels like you belong to fear, or shame, or loss—as sure as water is wet and God is good—a voice still speaks: You are my beloved.
Who, me?
Yes. You.
Walk in that love. Rest in that love. Bask in it.
Jesus loves you—and there is nothing you can do about it.
Amen.
God's Yes + My Amen 