January 7, Baptism of the Lord B (Mark 1:4–11)
As if he were working on an assembly line, John dips and raises, dips and raises.
It was a cold day on the river—January in the Galilee. I was with fellow pilgrims from the United States, traversing the Holy Land with hearts open and mouths agape. We walked where Jesus walked. We smelled the salty sea air he smelled. We ate food he might have eaten. And on that brisk, biting day, we stood on the banks of the river in which Jesus was baptized.
I had hoped we might wade in the river, but it would have been unwise to do so that day. The riverbank was slick with reeds and rushes. The water was dark and cold. I was not willing to risk hypothermia for a photo opportunity. But at the very least, I wanted to touch the water.
In true American consumer fashion, I also wanted to obtain the water. I wasn’t interested in the prepackaged bottled Jordan River water available everywhere from street vendors; I wanted the real thing. Creeping carefully down the bank, I knelt at the river’s edge with a small bottle I had brought along specifically for this purpose and scooped up a scant cupful of this veritable holy water.
