MATTHEW 3:13–17
No one pays him special attention. Not that they should. Nothing in his appearance separates him from the crowd. Like the rest, he is standing in line, waiting his turn. The coolness of the mud feels nice between his toes, and the occasional lap of water is welcome on his feet. He, like the others, can hear the voice of the preacher in the distance.
Between baptisms, John the Baptist is prone to preach. Impetuous. Fiery. Ferocious. Fearless. Bronzed face, unshorn locks. His eyes are as wild as the countryside from which he came. His whole presence is a sermon—a voice, “a voice of one calling in the desert, ‘Prepare the way for the Lord’” (Luke 3:4 NIV).
He stands waist-deep in the cobalt-colored Jordan. He makes a wardrobe out of camel’s hair, a meal out of bugs, and, most important, he makes a point of calling all people to the water. “He went into all the country around the Jordan, preaching a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins” (Luke 3:3 NIV).
Baptism wasn’t a new practice. It was a required rite for any Gentile seeking to become a Jew. Baptism was for the moldy, second-class, un-chosen people, not the clean, top-of-the-line class favorites—the Jews. Herein lies the rub. John refuses to delineate between Jew and Gentile. In his book, every heart needs a detail job.
Every heart, that is, except one. That’s why John is stunned when that one wades into the river.
But John didn’t want to baptize him. “I am the one who needs to be baptized by you,” he said, “so why are you coming to me?”
But Jesus said, “It must be done, because we must do everything that is right.” So then John baptized him.
After his baptism, as Jesus came up out of the water, the heavens were opened and he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove and settling on him. And a voice from heaven said, “This is my beloved Son, and I am fully pleased with him.” (Matt. 3:14–17 NLT)
John’s reluctance is understandable. A baptismal ceremony is an odd place to find the Son of God. He should be the baptizer not the baptizee. Why would Christ want to be baptized? If baptism was, and is, for the confessed sinner, how do we explain the immersion of history’s only sinless soul?
You’ll find the answer in the pronouns: “Jesus answered, ‘For now this is how it should be, because we must do all that God wants us to do’” (Matt. 3:15 CEV, emphasis mine).
Who is “we”? Jesus and us. Why does Jesus include himself? It’s easy to understand why you and I and John the Baptist and the crowds at the creek have to do what God says. But Jesus? Why would he need to be baptized?
Here’s why: He did for us what I did for one of my daughters in the shop at New York’s La Guardia Airport. The sign above the ceramic pieces read Do Not Touch. But the wanting was stronger than the warning, and she touched. And it fell. By the time I looked up, ten-year-old Sara was holding the two pieces of a New York City skyline. Next to her was an unhappy store manager. Over them both was the written rule. Between them hung a nervous silence. My daughter had no money. He had no mercy. So I did what dads do. I stepped in. “How much do we owe you?” I asked.
How was it that I owed anything? Simple. She was my daughter. And since she could not pay, I did.
Since you and I cannot pay, Christ did. We’ve broken so much more than souvenirs. We’ve broken commandments, promises, and, worst of all, we’ve broken God’s heart.
But Christ sees our plight. With the law on the wall and shattered commandments on the floor, he steps near (like a neighbor) and offers a gift (like a Savior).
What do we owe? We owe God a perfect life. Perfect obedience to every command. Not just the command of baptism, but the commands of humility, honesty, integrity. We can’t deliver. Might as well charge us for the property of Manhattan. But Christ can and he did. His plunge into the Jordan is a picture of his plunge into our sin. His baptism announces, “Let me pay.”
Your baptism responds, “You bet I will.” He publicly offers. We publicly accept. We “became part of Christ when we were baptized” (Rom. 6:3 NCV). In baptism we identify with Christ. We go from tire kicker to car buyer. We step out of the shadows, point in his direction, and announce, “I’m with him.”
I used to do this at the drive-in movie theater.
Remember drive-in movies? (Kids, ask a grown-up.) The one in Andrews, Texas, had a Friday night special—a carload for the price of the driver. Whether the car carried one passenger or a dozen, the price was the same. We often opted for the dozen route. The law would not allow us to do today what we did then. Shoulders squished. Little guy on the big guy’s lap. The ride was miserable, but the price was right. When the person at the ticket window looked in, we pointed to the driver and said, “We’re with him.”
God doesn’t tell you to climb into Christ’s car; he tells you to climb into Christ! “There is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus” (Rom. 8:1 NIV). He is your vehicle! Baptism celebrates your decision to take a seat. “For all of you who were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ” (Gal. 3:27, emphasis mine). We are not saved by the act, but the act demonstrates the way we are saved. We are given credit for a perfect life we did not lead—indeed, a life we could never lead.
We are given a gift similar to the one Billy Joel gave his daughter. On her twelfth birthday she was in New York City, and the pop musician was in Los Angeles. He phoned her that morning, apologizing for his absence, but told her to expect the delivery of a large package before the end of the day. The daughter answered the doorbell that evening to find a seven-foot-tall, brightly wrapped box. She tore it open, and out stepped her father, fresh off the plane from the West Coast.
Can you imagine her surprise?1
Perhaps you can. Your gift came in the flesh too.