"Baptism is God’s public claim: 'This one belongs to Me!'" Octave of Epiphany 2026

14. January 2026
The Baptism of Our Lord (Octave of the Epiphany)
Text: John 1:29–34 (with Matthew 3:13–17; Mark 1:9–11)

In the Name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.

John sees Jesus coming, and he doesn’t say, “Here comes a great teacher,” or “Here comes a moral example,” or “Here comes the religious inspirer.” He says something far more dangerous and far more comforting: “Behold, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world.” That sentence is either true… or Christianity is just another self-improvement program with nicer music.

Because “sin of the world” is not a small problem. It’s not “a few bad habits.” It’s not “I’ve been under stress.” It’s not “I need to be kinder to myself.” Sin is rebellion against God. It’s the rot in the will. It’s the guilt that sticks even when you manage to behave for a week. It’s death working its way into everything. And John doesn’t say, “Behold, the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the fairly decent people.” He says the world. That includes the smug religious, the obvious wrecks, and the quiet respectable sinners who look fine on the outside and are a mess inside.

And that’s why the Baptism of Jesus is so offensive to religious instinct. John’s baptism is a sinner’s baptism. It is a baptism of repentance. People were coming out confessing their sins. John is not running a spa. He’s not doing a symbolic ritual as a spiritual retreat. He’s calling sinners what they are, and he’s pointing them to the One who will deal with it.

So when Jesus shows up and steps into the line, John tries to stop Him. “This isn’t right. You should be baptizing me.” John’s instincts are correct. Jesus has no sins to confess. He has no filth to wash away. So why is He there? Because He is the Lamb. And lambs don’t come to congratulate the flock. Lambs come to be sacrificed.

Jesus does not stand at a safe distance and shout helpful advice across the Jordan. He steps down into the same water with the same sinners. He doesn’t do this because He is confused about who He is. He does it because He knows exactly who He is: the Servant, the Righteous One, the One who bears iniquity, the One on whom the Lord will lay the sin of us all.

This is how God’s righteousness works: not by keeping a holy distance from dirty people, but by the Holy One joining Himself to dirty people to cleanse them. That’s the scandal: God saves by solidarity. Not solidarity like political slogans. Real solidarity: Christ takes your place under God’s judgment. Christ puts Himself where your sin is. Christ stands where you should stand—condemned—and He will carry it all the way to the cross.

So when Jesus says to John, “Let it be so now… to fulfill all righteousness,” He is not talking about performing a religious checklist. He’s announcing the plan: righteousness will be fulfilled by the Righteous One taking the sinner’s place.

Now notice what happens next. Heaven opens. The Spirit descends. The Father speaks: “This is My beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased.” The Father puts His Word on the event so you don’t miss what is happening. Without God’s Word, you’d misread it. You’d say, “Nice moment. Powerful symbol.” But God does not give you symbols to interpret. He gives you a Word to believe.

And then John, in our Gospel for the Octave of the Epiphany, says the same thing in his own office: “I saw the Spirit descend like a dove, and remain on Him… and I have seen and testified that this is the Son of God.” So put it together. Jesus steps into the sinner’s waters. The Spirit remains on Him. The Father declares delight in Him. John points and says: Lamb. Son. The One who takes away sin.

This is not a random episode in Jesus’ biography. It is the public unveiling of His mission: He is here for sinners, as the sinner’s substitute, to carry sin away by His death, and to give righteousness as a gift.

Now here’s where you need to stop lying to yourself. Your default move is to keep distance—either from God or from other people—because distance feels safer. Some of you keep distance from God by shame: “I’ve made too much of a mess. I can’t come close.” Others keep distance by pride: “I’m not like those people. I’m basically fine. God should be pleased with me.” Both are unbelief. Just dressed differently.

John’s first instinct was distance: “You should not be in this water with these people.” Jesus overrules that instinct. “No. Us.” This is not God waiting for you to climb up to Him. This is God coming down to you, into the water, into your dirt, into your death. And that is the only hope you have.

Because if your righteousness depends on your moral performance, you’re finished. Even your best deeds are infected with self-love. Even your repentance is mixed. Even your prayers wander. Even your worship can be a performance. If God’s delight depends on you, then you will either become smug or despairing—usually both, depending on the day.

But the Father’s delight rests on the Son. And now the truly astonishing thing: the Father has put His Word on you, too. St. Paul says in the Epistle: you heard the word of truth, the gospel of your salvation, and you were sealed with the Holy Spirit of promise. Sealed. Marked. Claimed. Not because you earned it, not because you were impressive, but because God decided to place His Name on you.

That is Baptism. Baptism is not your dedication to God. It is God’s dedication of you to Himself. It is not your public spiritual statement. It is God’s public claim: “This one belongs to Me.”

That means you don’t get to define yourself by your feelings, your failures, your past, your fantasies, your achievements, or your wounds. You can try—most people do—and it will crush you. The modern world is obsessed with self-definition, and it produces anxious, fragile, angry people because the self is a lousy god.

God gives you something sturdier: His Word attached to water.

So when you are tempted to drag yourself around like a lonely, guilty, fearful nobody—like you are an accident of atoms in a meaningless universe—cut it out. That is not humility. That is unbelief wearing black, taking the black pill.

You have been baptized into Christ. That means where He is, you are. If He has stepped into the sinner’s water and taken your sin as His, then your sin is not free-floating anymore. It has an address: on Him. And if His righteousness is His—and He gives Himself to you—then His righteousness has an address too: on you.

This is why John says, “Lamb of God.” Lamb means sacrifice. Lamb means blood. Lamb means atonement. Lamb means: your sin is dealt with by Someone else. Not ignored. Not excused. Dealt with—paid for.

And if you want to know where the Lamb takes away the sin of the world, don’t look inside yourself for spiritual progress. Look where He promises to be the Lamb-for-you: in His Gospel preached, in Absolution spoken, in Baptism given, and in His Supper—His body and blood—placed into your mouth.

That’s the pattern of God’s mercy: He does not save by vague inspiration. He saves by concrete gifts.

So today, behold Him.

Behold the Lamb who steps into the water with sinners.
Behold the Son who receives the Spirit and the Father’s pleasure.
Behold the Servant who will carry it all to the cross.
Behold the Christ who puts His Name on you and seals you with His Spirit.

And then live like it.

Not like a person trying to earn God’s delight.
But like a person who already has God’s delight in Christ.

Because you do.

In the Name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.

Rev. Christopher R. Gillespie
St. John Ev. Lutheran Church & School - Sherman Center
Random Lake, Wisconsin