The Waters of Death

Matthew 3:13–17 (NRSV)

13 Then Jesus came from Galilee to John at the Jordan, to be baptized by him. 14 John would have prevented him, saying, “I need to be baptized by you, and do you come to me?” 15 But Jesus answered him, “Let it be so now; for it is proper for us in this way to fulfill all righteousness.” Then he consented. 16 And when Jesus had been baptized, just as he came up from the water, suddenly the heavens were opened to him and he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove and alighting on him. 17 And a voice from heaven said, “This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.”

The icy water quickly rushed over my head. I remained under the stream for just a few seconds, but time passed slowly. Then, I was raised, lifted up, brought back to the land of the living.

In the name of the Trinity, I was baptized in a stream swollen with spring runoff in the mountains of northern Utah. I was about seven years old, raised among the pews and folding chairs of the Church. I listened and learned from the sermons. Sometimes, I taught my Sunday school class. I was a Christian. It was my identity, my life, all that I knew how to be.

So, in that frigid stream, I dedicated my life to following Jesus.

It seemed like a natural progression to my spiritual development, and at the time it felt like the right thing to do. The tradition of Charismatic I was raised in didn’t plan baptisms very often, so mine was a spur of the moment. The pastor stepped into the stream, and those who felt moved by the Spirit of God were invited to come down to the river, to be plunged under the waters of death, and to be raised into a new life—symbolically of course.

The waters of death. That phrase has stuck with me ever since I heard it in my early twenties. It is a perfect descriptor of baptism, of the image of passing through death into new life. The waters of death cover our heads, and we die.

We are in that moment baptized with Christ.

Jesus was baptized. John the wild baptizer dunked Jesus in the muddy Jordan River, plunging him into the waters of death. Then Jesus emerged, breaking the surface tension, that liminal space between death and life, and rose into a divine blessing. The Holy Ghost haunted the scene in the form of a dove, and the voice that had spoken from Sinai thundered out the utter belovedness of Jesus.

Was there this level of involvement and love at my baptism?

There was no miraculous bird, no voice from beyond the clouds. There was only immersion, rising, and a dry towel.

Whatever the work of the divine in our baptism, the truth is we who have stepped into the waters of death have risen into something beyond new life.

We have risen into the work of justice.

When Jesus stepped into the waters of baptism, he was doing the work of justice.

Justice. That word feels intangible, far away, unreachable. From where I stand right now, justice feels elusive. I wonder if justice will ever be a reality, if we will ever feel it coursing through our bodies.

Right now, we are crushed by injustice.

We are surrounded by acts of evil, of power and dominion, of violence masquerading as righteousness. We bear witness in our very bodies to this time in history where systematic injustice is being praised as goodness, blatant lies are being paraded out as infallible truth, and cowardly cruelty is being called strength.

Murders and abductions by ICE agents.

The legislating of queer bodies.

The continued lynching of black people in the streets.

War rages around the globe.

The US government is militarizing itself against citizens who are dissenting.

Oligarchs flaunt wealth while the people lack housing and bread.

The trifecta of capitalism, white supremacy, and patriarchy seems to rule the day with no signs of loosening its grip.

We are besieged.

We are pressed from every side.

We are persecuted.

And we are called to the waters of justice.

And we are called to the way of justice.

God is calling us to follow Jesus, not only into the waters of death but into a life of justice, of opening the eyes of the blind and setting the prisoners in darkness free.

What could be more blinding than the lies of scarcity and wealth?

What’s more imprisoning than believing your own self-justifying lies to retain power?

We are called, urged, wooed to come walk in this way with Jesus, to let him show us what it means to bring a justice to the nations that we can feel in our bones.

When we plunge into the waters of death at baptism, we are telling the world that we follow this way. We are declaring through a public act that we who carry the name of Jesus are a people of justice, that we are willing to do the hard thing of doing justice for the sake of our neighborhoods, our communities, our world.

At his baptism, Jesus was declaring before heaven and earth that he was in solidarity with all those who needed to come down to the river for rest, renewal, solace, and strength. Those who the establishment had deemed “outsiders” and “sinners.” Those who felt they needed a washing to rid themselves of unrepentant hearts, stiff necks, and callous consciences were the very ones Jesus not only walked among but identified with.

The religious institution had its laws and regulations, proper ways to act, to dress, to live. John challenged all of that when he began baptizing people in the wild. There was no temple. There was no priest. There was no authoritative permission needed. John was a voice in the wilderness, crying out, “Repent, for the kingdom of God is nearer than you can imagine!” Everyone who responded to this guttural call was baptized, washed clean, and called to a life of justice.

Jesus responded to that call because he is one of us. He subjected himself to the waters of death that wash away impurities because he knows that we need to be cleansed of our complicity and captivity in the unjust systems of domination and oppression that wield violence and fear. Jesus knows that we are culpable and enslaved, that we are blind and imprisoned in this unjust world. So, he showed us the way to align with God, outside of religious institutions with their gatekeeping and regulatory approval.

Jesus walked into the waters of death so we could run to them. He was plunged so we could dive in. He was raised so that we could emerge clean and free, empowered to untangle ourselves from systems of injustice and begin the work of seeing justice come to the nations.

It was outside of the institutions that Jesus received baptism; outside of institutions that the dove came to visit him with the signs of life; outside the institutions that God thundered belovedness from heaven

Receiving our new life isn’t dependent on an institution. Coming up from the waters of death, we hear Jesus speaking of our lives made fresh, of our belovedness, of our part in the work of justice.

We are not beloved because we work for justice. No, we are beloved, and we work for justice, the same justice Jesus brought to us. Justice that opens the blind eyes. Justice that illuminates the dark prisons. Justice that refuses to let injustice stand unchallenged, especially when that injustice comes in the form of religious piety.

John and Jesus both called the religious elite to something better than institutions and religious gatekeeping. They called the religious elite to use their power and privilege to enact justice for the people Jesus was baptized in solidarity with: the poor, the oppressed, the suffering, the marginalized.

Jesus issues that same call to us, bringing us up from the waters of death with a bold statement that we are the beloved and justice is our legacy. In baptism, we are cleansed and set free from the world’s systems so that we can pray, protest, and prophetically live a different way that testifies to the justice that first called us to repentance.

So, let’s rise into this new life, passing through the waters of death into the declaration of the truth that we have always been—always will be—beloved. Let this new life strengthen our weak knees and brittle bones and renew our efforts to see justice in our neighborhoods, our communities, our world.

I am in the process of becoming a community chaplain with The Order of Hildegard. This program is designed to help form people into spiritual leaders that lead and serve from the margins. It’s for the people who don’t quite fit with the traditional church because of trauma, disability, or identity. If you, as my community, would like to help me fulfill the financial obligation this chaplaincy program has, you can give at the link below. Thank you for the myriad ways you support me.

If you’re aching to listen for God in the real stuff of life—grief, wonder, doubt, desire—I offer spiritual direction as a space to breathe and be heard. We listen together for the Spirit moving in the ordinary, the hidden, the in-between. No fixing. No formulas. Just presence, honesty, and room to be fully human before God.

If that sounds like what your soul needs, I’d love to walk with you