12.01.2026
Saint Francis
Rev. Christian Jennert, Bridge Pastor
Baptism of Our Lord (Year A 2026)
January 11, 2026
Matthew 3:13-17 Acts 10:34-43 Isaiah 42:1-9
The church year began several weeks ago, on the First Sundy of Advent. The calendar year began just eleven days ago, on January 1st.
And yet - the baptism of our Lord has a strong claim to being the real beginning of the church year.
By now, Christmas decorations have come down. Travel is finished. Schedules are filling up again. The adrenaline of the holidays has passed, and many of us are just finding our footing. This Sunday feels like a moment to pause, to breathe, and to begin again - not frantically, but intentionally.
It's a good Sunday to ask: Who are we? And whose are we?
In Matthew's gospel, the baptism of Jesus is also a beginning. A joyful beginning. Matthew moves quickly - from Jesus' infancy, to John the Baptizer's preaching, straight into Jesus stepping into the waters of the Jordan. And once Jesus is baptized, everything begins to move: temptation in the wilderness, teaching, healing, proclaiming the reign of God, and the long road toward Jerusalem and the cross.
Baptism marks the beginning of Jesus' public ministry.
And that raises an old, uncomfortable question: Why does Jesus need to be baptized at all?
John's baptism was a baptism of repentance - for people who knew they were broken and longed for a new beginning. Even John is baffled. "I need to be baptized by you." he says to Jesus. Why should the sinless child of God step into waters meant for sinners?
The theologian Frederick Bruner once suggested that Jesus' first miracle happened not a Cana, but here - at the Jordan.
The miracle is humility.
Jesus does not stand above humanity. He does not exempt himself or opt out. Instead, he steps into the water with us and everyone else. He lines up with the weary, the hopeful, the broken, the ashamed, the longing. He enters the river of repentance - not because he needs it, but because we do.
This is where God chooses to meet us: not above us, not ahead of us, but with us.
Then something astonishing happens. The heavens open. The Spirit descends, and a voice says, "This is my Beloved, with whom I am well pleased."
Notice what Jesus has not done yet. He hasn't healed anyone. He hasn't preached a sermon. He hasn't performed a miracle.
God's pleasure comes before accomplishment - before productivity or usefulness. God delights in Jesus simply because he is beloved. That matters deeply in a culture where worth is measured by output, success, image, title, or relevance. Baptism reminds us that before we do anything, we are already named and claimed by God.
At baptism, God does not say, "You are my beloved - now prove it." God says, "You are my beloved." Full stop.
That truth feels especially urgent this week. Many of us have been holding the news of a woman named Renee, whose life was taken suddenly and violently during a law enforcement operation in Minnesota. Beyond the arguments and headlines remains this: a human life lost, a family grieving, a community shaken. Baptism insists that before anyone is a case or a controvrsy or a news headline, they are a beloved child of God - and when that dignity is lost, we lament and pray.
Some years ago, while traveling, I had the chance to sit anonymously in a pew - to simply be a worshiper. When I arrived at the church, I was warmly welcomed and shown where to sit. In front of me sat a man who, by all apearances, seemed unhoused. He knew the hymns. He shared the peace. He received communion.
After worship, a friendly congregant offered me coffee. But when the man quietly slipped out - doughnut in hand - she sighed and said, "I'm sorry about that guy. He breaks in here every week."
The contrast was jarring.
It's easy to proclaim radical grace - and much harder to live it. Baptism delcares that all are welcome at God's table., yet our fears and habits often draw quieter boundaries.
In Acts, Peter makes a stunning confession: "I truly understand that God shows no partiality."
That sentence was scandalous then - and it still is.
God shows no partiality. Not by nationality, class, race, gender, orientation, housing status, zip code, or resume. Baptism erases hierarchies and replaces them with kinship. At the font, we are not ranked - we are related - made into one family, like it or not.
Isiah names the work that flows from this truth: opening blind eyes, freeing prisoners, bringing light into deep darkness. We love the language of freedon, yet wome are far freer than others. Vulnerability multiplies. And baptism sends us not only into welcome, but into justice.
What might it look like - not just to include - but to change the conditions that hinder full participation in the life of the church?
Here, God meets us in ordinary things: water, bread, wine, human voice, shared space.
God does not wait fro perfection. God shows up here - for all to see, for all to experience.
Today, as we remember Jesus' baptism, we remember our own. We are claimed, named, and sent. We begin again - not because we have it all figured out, but because God is faithful.
As Christ steps into the waters and begins his ministry so do we, grounded in grace, grounded in love, and open to the Spirit's leading.
May we live our baptism boldly. May we welcome generously. May we serve courageously.
And may the world glimpse, through us, the voice that still speaks: "You are my beloved."
