New Year, New Baptism

I've always found it strange that in the church liturgical calendar, Baptism of Christ Sunday is right after Christmas and Epiphany. But this year, as I've studied the texts from the Revised Common Lectionary, I've seen an interesting correlation between the texts, Christ's baptism and ours, and the beginning of a new year with all its unexplored possibilities and delights. (And sorrows, yes, I know, but let's not worry about them yet!)

If you could have been present when John baptized Jesus in the Jordan, what would you have experienced? Here are some of my imaginings on the subject.

I am a widow, trudging along with my face averted and my shoulders low. You can't see the burden, but I can feel it. It weighs me down, down. Maybe tomorrow I won't get up. I don't really know why I'm following along in this noisy crowd to "see the prophet!" What could any prophet say that would lift the weight? But it's something to do.

Some boys, big enough to know better, jostle me as they rush past, yelling. I catch my balance and keep trudging. Time was, I'd have yelled right back. Don't really care that much, today.

The mob begins to slow and push together, like sheep all trying to get in the door of the fold at the same time. I can't see a thing. Why did I come?

I hear a voice, and slowly the shouting around me quiets. Someone is calling, "Another one will come after me. I'm not even worthy to tie his shoes!"

The messiah, I suppose he means. They've been saying that since Moses' time. I remember when I used to pray, as a young girl, that I'd be the one who bore God's chosen one. Sure glad that prayer wasn't answered!

"I baptize you with water," the voice says, "but he will baptize you with the Holy Spirit."

He has a really good speaking voice. I can hear him clearly. Don't know what he's talking about, but I can hear him, anyway.

Suddenly, inexplicably, the crowd parts and I have a clear view of the muddy Jordan. Everyone nearby turns and looks at me. At me? I look around and discover a young man passing me. He pauses as he passes, and looks right at me. I look back, and can feel my jaw dropping. I don't know why. Something is. . . something. . .

I back away and he walks on, going into the water where John is. They seem to be saying something, but I don't hear. I can still see those eyes. Feel those eyes. Feel them in my soul. I think my mouth is still open as I watch John put the young man under the water and help him back up.

He rises out of the river, hair plastered to his head, eyes blinking water, looking upward. The most brilliant--glorious--I can't find words. His eyes shine. His head shines. The sun is suddenly in my eyes, and they're wet, my eyes, I mean. There's a bird, I think. Or a flame. A voice! It vibrates my bones.

Sometime, a minute or a century later, I walk home. I walk tall. I've forgotten the burden.

But I remember the eyes.