Isaiah 42:1-9; Psalm 29; Acts 10:34-43; Matthew 3:13-17
The Rev. Candice B. Frazer
Every year on the First Sunday after the Epiphany, we hear the story of Jesus’ baptism. It is a story familiar to all four of the Gospels, and it includes Jesus and John the Baptist as its central figures. The account also gives us a voice from heaven and the Spirit of God descending like a dove. Witnesses, words, and signs—this is the power of this baptism.
It is a baptism unlike our own Christian baptism, which joins us together in community and proclaims God’s forgiveness of sin. Jesus’ baptism is neither of those things. He is not being incorporated into a community, nor is he being cleansed. Instead, his baptism is a revelation—an epiphany, if you will—of who he is in both his humanity and his divinity.
And that is what this season of Epiphany is about. It is not simply a space-filler between Christmas and Lent. It is an invitation to dwell with the stories of Jesus’ life that help us come to know him more fully: fully human and fully divine, fully present to the world and fully aligned with God.
John the Baptist, we are told, is reluctant to baptize Jesus. He already recognizes the power and glory before which he stands. John has been practicing a baptism of repentance, and he knows that Jesus has nothing of which to repent. And yet, Jesus insists that it happen. In response to John’s resistance, Jesus says to him, “Let it be…”
“Let it be…” These are words we hear throughout Scripture in the great stories of God’s call and God’s action in the world. Mary says to the angel Gabriel, “Let it be with me according to your word.” Hannah offers similar language when she prays, “Let your servant find favor in your sight.” The psalmists, again and again, use the language of “let it be” as an expression of surrender and trust in God. Even Jesus at Gethsemane will use this language when he says, “Not my will, but thy will.”
This language of “let it be” implies radical trust and deep humility. It is a consent to God’s work in the world that does not require our understanding. It models surrender not as a one-time event, but as an ongoing spiritual discipline. It moves us from anxious petition to faithful trust, from control to openness, from resistance to grace.
Years ago, I was paddle boarding with my Golden Retriever, Cuthbert. Avery afternoon the rain would come and pour down upon the bay so that paddle-boarding was not an option. But on this particular day, I thought I could get at least fifteen to twenty minutes in before the rain came. So, I paddle boarded toward the east, but the rain snuck up on me from the west and so I didn’t see it coming. So, by the time I felt the drops of rain and the wind began to blow, it was too late. I had to drop to my knees as my body was acting as a sail against wind and wave. The rain was pouring down now and Cuthbert who had sat so faithfully leaned forward and put his head right in my stomach. He recognized that in this moment, he could do nothing to control wind or waves or water. He had no power with which to save himself. His leaning into me was not an action of giving up, it was an act of letting it be. Trusting in the one he had always trusted in. having faith that I would get us both to shore.
To say “let it be” is not to give up; it is to be gathered into something larger than ourselves. It is a way of resting in the peace that passes all understanding, not because everything is resolved, but because God is present. In that moment, we de-center our own egos, our beliefs about the world, and re-center on God’s call to us. The call to participate in God’s kingdom. It is a posture that can only be entered through acceptance—not force, not certainty, and not resistance.
In this moment of John’s uncertainty and Jesus’ insistence, we are given a glimpse of what it means to live in the kingdom of God. We are reminded to “let it be.”
Kingdom living is the releasing of our resistance to God and our control of the circumstances around us. It is making space for the divine to enter in. It is the place where peace can be known even in the midst of the storm, suffering, darkness, and despair. It is the quiet, persistent hope that God is at work in our lives, and that all things—even those we cannot yet understand, or control, or are completely powerless to—are moving toward redemption and reconciliation.
Cutty’s leaning into my stomach was that moment of release; that moment of surrendering to something bigger than himself. He no longer resisted but accepted the circumstances. And in that act of faith, he empowered our partnership so that he did not disrupt or tump over the paddle board but instead allowed me to do the work of moving us toward shore.
John’s resistance to baptizing Jesus is not a failure of faith, but it is a reliance on his own ego. The belief that he knows better than what God knows. He sees that there is something holy and powerful but says “no” to the holy. He would prefer that Jesus baptize him. But Jesus understands something deeper about what it means to live in the kingdom. He understands that the work of God in the world is about partnership. He invites John to let it be—for divine and human, calling and response.
Jesus’ desire to be baptized by John is, in part, a recognition of that partnership. To “fulfill all righteousness,” as the Gospel tells us, requires human participation. Only God is righteous. God’s righteousness is already complete, it is not imposed upon us, we are invited to participate in it. It is offered, extended, and embodied through willing hands and open hearts. John’s consent—his “let it be”—is required for this moment of revelation to unfold.
Jesus may be the one who speaks the words, “Let it be,” but it is John who lives them out. His action becomes grounded in trust, in the relinquishing of power in the posture of a servant. And as John draws Jesus up from the waters of the Jordan, the heavens are opened. The Spirit of God descends like a dove and rests upon him. And a new voice is heard—a voice that does not command but delights. A voice of love: “This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.”
John’s willingness to say “let it be” an act of confidence—confidence that God will not abandon God’s people. Confidence that God will bring about his salvation.
“Let it be…” These words do not suggest that the suffering or harm of the world does not matter. They do not excuse injustice or minimize pain. Instead, they invite us to release our ego-driven desires and open ourselves to God’s call. And when we do—when our response is one of trust rather than control—we begin to discover our own belovedness.
So pay attention to this baptism. Attend to what the kingdom of God truly means. It is not a distant future that waits for us after death. It has already come near. It is already among us. We miss it because the busyness of our lives and the weight of the world distract us. Because we are more concerned with our purpose and belief, with our own ego and our own needs for control. But the kingdom is waiting to be seen.
In the storms of our life, when we simply lean in and let it be, God will bring us safely to shore.
Amen.