Every great story has a moment that makes us stop and say, “Why would he do that?”
The Baptism of the Lord is one of those moments. Jesus walks a long road from Galilee to the Jordan River. He steps into a line filled with sinners: people confessing their failures, regrets, and brokenness. And John the Baptist is shocked. “I need to be baptized by you, and yet you are coming to me?” John is right. Jesus has no sin to confess. No guilt to wash away. No need for repentance. So why does he insist? Jesus answers with words that sound simple but are very deep: “Allow it now, for thus it is fitting for us to fulfill all righteousness.” Those words open the mystery of baptism, not just his baptism, but ours.
Historically, John’s baptism was a baptism of repentance; a public admission that life needed to change. People went down into the water as a sign of humility and came up ready to live differently. Jesus did not need repentance. But he needed solidarity. To “fulfill all righteousness” does not mean checking a religious box. In Scripture, righteousness means right relationship. Faithfulness to God’s saving plan. Doing exactly what love requires. By stepping into the Jordan, Jesus steps fully into our human story. He chooses not to stand above sinners, but among them. He does not save us from a distance; he saves us from within. That is the first shock of the Baptism of the Lord: Jesus identifies with us before we ever identify with him.
The Gospel writer Matthew is also doing something brilliant here. The Jordan River is not just water. It carries memory. It is the river Israel crossed to enter the Promised Land. It is the river where Elijah passed his mission to Elisha. It is the river of transition, of promise, of new beginnings. When Jesus enters the Jordan, he is stepping into the long story of God’s people and rewriting it. He sanctifies the waters, not because he needs cleansing, but because we will. The Fathers of the Church loved to say: Jesus was not baptized by the water; the water was baptized by Jesus. From this moment on, water becomes a womb of new creation.
From this moment on, baptism will not just symbolize change; it will cause it.
Then something extraordinary happens at the end. The heavens open. The Spirit descends like a dove. And the Father speaks: “This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased.” Notice the timing. Jesus has not yet preached a sermon. He has not healed a single sick person. He has not performed a miracle. He has not gone to the cross. And yet the Father says, “I am well pleased.” Why? Because identity comes before achievement. This is important for understanding our own baptism. In baptism, God does not wait for us to prove ourselves. He claims us first. He names us first. He loves us first. Before we do anything for God, God says to each of us, “You are my beloved. I delight in you.”
When we were baptized, whether as infants or adults, we were not just washed. We were joined to Christ. We were immersed in his obedience, his faithfulness, and his righteousness. To be baptized is to hear the same words spoken over us, not because we are perfect, but because we belong to him. And this is where baptism becomes demanding. Because if we are sons and daughters, then we are also called to live like sons and daughters. Baptism is not just about what God does for us; it is about what God does through us.
So what does it mean, practically, to “fulfill all righteousness” today? It means choosing faithfulness over convenience. Integrity over shortcuts. Mercy over judgment. Commitment over comfort. It means stepping into messy places instead of standing safely on the shore. Like Jesus, baptism sends us into the waters of the world, not to condemn it, but to love it from the inside. Every time we forgive when it would be easier to resent, we fulfill righteousness. Every time we stand with the vulnerable instead of protecting our image, we fulfill righteousness. Every time we remain faithful when no one is watching, we fulfill righteousness.
The greatest gift of baptism is not the water; it is the voice. In a world that constantly tells us we are not enough, baptism anchors us in a deeper truth. Before you succeed. Before you fail. Before you figure everything out. God says: “You are my beloved. With you, I am well pleased.” If we truly believed that, it would change how we live. We would stop performing for approval. We would stop fearing rejection. We would live with courage, humility, and trust.
The Baptism of the Lord is not just about something that happened to Jesus long ago. It is about what continues to happen to us every day. Each morning, we are invited to step again into our baptism. To live as beloved daughters and sons. To fulfill righteousness, not by being flawless, not by being perfect, but by being faithful. And when we do, even in quiet, unseen ways, the heavens still open. And the Father still speaks. And His voice still says: “You are my beloved. In you, I am well pleased.”
Homily for the Feast of the Baptism of the Lord Year A 2026
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