The Jordan River is a geographic feature that figures prominently in much of the Bible, which would lead one to believe that it’s a mighty waterway requiring large bridges to span it or ferries to get you and your mode of transportation across. I remember as a child reading the story of the Israelites crossing the Jordan River to go into the Promised Land and it seemed to be an ominous undertaking. The priests were instructed to wade out into the water, whereupon God “stacked up the water like a heap” and allowed the people to cross on dry ground. All the flannelgraph pictures I remember from that event looked like a Mississippi River crossing.
Ah, but then there’s the reality. The truth is that the Jordan River isn’t much more than a creek. Even during the first century, it was a pretty modest waterway but in a desert you take what you can get. Walking across it is no big deal—perhaps requiring a hiking up of one’s pant legs or, depending on the century, one’s robe. Sure, it can flood during the rainy season, but other than that it’s not really much to look at.
Today the Jordan forms the border between Israel and the country of Jordan, which means that it’s in the middle of a tenuous situation. When we read this story about Jesus’ baptism, we have to remember that the place where it most likely occurred, near where the Jordan empties into the Dead Sea, is no longer open to visitation. Instead, some Israeli entrepeneurs have established an alternative site closer to the Sea of Galilee called Yardenit and encourage Holy Land pilgrims to come there for an encounter with the famous river and the stories it yields.
We pulled into Yardenit in October, parking the bus in the massive lot and going through the turnstiles, past the gift shop, the snack bar, the stands selling little bottles of purified river water. For a fee you could have a full immersion baptism in the Jordan, which includes rental of a baptismal robe and a shower afterward. Hundreds of pilgrims were already lined up down the steps into the water to have a John the Baptist-like experience (followed by shopping for souvenirs, of course—it kind of felt like “Baptisms R-Us”).
There were a bunch of us Methodists on the trip and since we don’t re-baptize people we decided instead to do a remembrance of baptism, inviting people to step down into the water and receive a blessing. Larry Lenow, a UM pastor from Fredericksburg, VA and I rolled up our pant legs (ok, I zipped mine off—always prepared), and stepped into the water to administer the rite.
Two sensations greet you when you step into the Jordan—one, it’s pretty slimey and slippery on the bottom and, two, the tilapia fish like to nibble at your feet, which is a bizarre sensation and not particularly holy-feeling. I wondered if John the Baptist had felt the same sensations in his own day.
We were moving from one person to the next doing the ritual that day. “Remember your baptism, and be thankful.” There were only a few of us in our group—John certainly would have had many more over many, many days. Into the water they’d come, John would dunk them, tell them to repent, and on to the next one. Maybe it got to be routine with him, maybe the sensation of the fish sucking on his toes drove him crazy (it did me and I was only in the water for ten minutes). Day after day John did this, baptizing the curious, the confused, the hopeful, the skeptical, the contrarians and the committed. Some, like today, were probably tourists wanting to have the experience while others, like John himself, saw ominous signs of things to come and wanted to be ready. John was out there every day—pray, dunk, bless, next. Even holy work can degenerate into a routine.
But then there was that day—that day when the next person in line interrupted John’s routine. Matthew doesn’t tell us how John knew that it was the Messiah. Unlike in Luke’s Gospel, there’s no family connection between John and Jesus here (in Luke they are second cousins). Jesus hadn’t yet begun his ministry, so it wasn’t about reputation. John just knew and when he saw Jesus, the Galilean from Nazareth, standing there on the bank of river, I imagine that he started sloshing his way out of the water. The one who John had preached about, the one whose sandals the prophet said he wasn’t worthy to untie, was standing at the water’s edge.
I imagine John standing there for a long moment. The moment he had prepared his whole life for was now at hand. He knew who this was, he knew it. How did he know?
Clearing of the throat. He addresses the man on the bank. “I need to be baptized by you. Why do you come to me?” Why did you come down here with all the tourists and wanna-bes? Why humble yourself by being baptized for repentance—if anyone doesn’t need this, it’s you. Why now? Why me? Why this?
Jesus answers. “Let it be so now; for it is proper for us in this way to fulfill all righteousness.” To be righteous means to fulfill God’s will, to be obedient to God’s direction for one’s life. These are the first words that Jesus speaks in Matthew’s Gospel and they are words of obedience, humility, and faithfulness to accomplish the purpose for which God had been preparing him his whole life. In coming to the waters of the Jordan, Jesus was not only identifying with the people but also offering himself completely to God.
I pictured that moment while I was standing in the water at Yardenit. I’ve baptized a lot of people during the course of my ministry, holding infants in my arms with all their promise and potential. I’ve baptized youth who were professing their faith for themselves and adults who were making a radical change in their lives. I’ve done baptisms in churches, in rivers, in a Baptist baptismal pool, and in a swimming pool. Everyone is memorable, every one is special, and every one has its roots in this moment when John and Jesus met at the Jordan.
What really hooks me about this story, though, is that in the midst of it all, God speaks. The heavens opened to Jesus as he came up out of the water, he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove, and then the voice—“This is my Son, the beloved, with whom I am well pleased.” Matthew and the other Gospel writers don’t tell us that anyone else heard the voice—just Jesus. We’d expect him to hear God’s voice, though. The truth is that we’d like to hear it sometimes, too.
One of the questions I get asked frequently has to do with God’s voice—why doesn’t God speak to us like he talked to people in the Bible? Why aren’t we having visions in the night or theophanies on mountain tops?
The flip side of that, of course, is that if someone says they’re hearing voices we usually want to immediately send them for psychiatric help.
My take on it? I think God is always speaking, but God’s communication tends to go way beyond language. John knew that Jesus was the one—how? Because he had spent most of his life out in the silence of the desert listening for God, preparing for the one moment for which he knew he had been called. I don’t think God was speaking to John with words, but with silence, reflection, and symbols, through hunger and thirst, through a thorough study and imitation of the prophets. John knew who Jesus was because he was prepared to know.
Matthew tells us that when Jesus came up out of the water, the “heavens were opened”—another way of saying that the veil between God and humanity was lifted for a time. Only those who are looking for it, see it. Heaven is not far away, but very close. It is the place where God dwells near us. The Celts called certain places “thin places” because in those places the veil was thinner than in others. I think it works like that with our relationship with God, too. When we make ourselves available to God, when we decide to listen instead of speaking, when we choose prayer over posturing, when we are obedient instead of obstinate—that’s when we begin to see things thin out for us and heaven opens just a little bit. Jesus took 30 years to prepare for his ministry so that when he stepped into that water he was ready—the space between the human and the holy had become transparently thin. After 30 years of listening, it’s no wonder that Jesus could hear God’s voice clear as a bell.
The lesson here? Listening to God is no quick fix—it’s a lifelong process. It’s a process that I think begins with baptism.
We get baptized, like Jesus did, because it is a sign of humility and helplessness on our part and a sign of God’s favor on God’s part. When we are baptized into Christ we, like him, are marked as “beloved” and are children with whom God is “well-pleased.” Baptism is never about our worthiness or our full understanding of God—it’s always about a relationship that happens at God’s initiative. In baptism, God offers to us a new life, a life of being “beloved.”
Coming up out of the water, though, and heading back home we begin to hear the other voices around us—the earthly voices that tell us that we need more, that we should have more, that we should do more. We hear voices that tell us to buy products and sell ourselves. We hear the voices telling us to fear others who aren’t like us. We hear the voices of pundits and politicians making promises. We hear voices of seduction, voices of greed and hate, voices that call us to go in a thousand different directions. We hear so many voices that the voice of God is drowned out and we go from being “beloved” to being “beleaguered.”
How do we hear God’s voice? Well, I think we have to go back in the water. We have to learn to listen all over again.
When we baptize someone, we mark them with the water and the sign of the cross and we use the words, “May the Holy Spirit work within you, that being born through water and Spirit you may become a faithful disciple of Jesus Christ.” God speaks through the water—an outward sign of an inward grace—a wordless communication that tells us we are washed and prepared to receive an invited guest—God’s Spirit—within us. We are in the water of baptism once, but the Spirit of God descends on us every day—that is, as long as we continue to extend the invitation. Remembering our baptism should be a constant process—a daily affirmation of who we are and whose we are. It’s an opportunity to once again hear the voice of God speaking in us and through us.
I think the reason that so many of us become distracted by other voices is that we don’t set apart the time to listen. I know that I need to take some time every day to focus on listening to God, remembering my own baptism, inviting God’s Spirit to work in me and through me. When I fail to do that, I am subject to all the other voices that seek to pull me in other directions.
One of the habits that I have really tried to cultivate is getting up early and spending time reading scripture and writing in my journal, including writing out my prayers for the day. Interestingly, this usually happens right after I’ve gotten my morning shower—a daily reminder of baptism, if you will. Washed in the water, I then seek to be washed by God’s Spirit in the dark morning quiet. That half hour or so, sometimes longer, is a chance to hear God’s voice before I hear anyone else’s that day. Again, it’s not about an audible experience—it’s simply about being in God’s presence, a daily process of walking and listening, little by little, thinning the veil between God and me. I find then that I’m much more aware of God during the day, and when I’m feeling overwhelmed I know that it’s time to close the door and go back listening.
In a moment, I’m going to lead us in a remembrance of baptism, and as we do that I want to also encourage you to see this as an opportunity to go back into the water, to start over, and to begin to develop a daily habit of listening to God. I’d love to talk with you more about your own disciplines—about how you can listen for God. The means are a little different for all of us, but I really do believe that God’s voice, God’s Spirit, comes to us only when we are prepared to hear it.
“This is my son, my daughter, the beloved, with whom I am well pleased.” How would your life be changed if you heard that affirmation from God every day?
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