First Sunday after the Epiphany

We are already beloved 
Rev. Jennifer Masada - St. Augustine’s Episcopal Church - Kapa’au, Hawai'i
January 11 - First Sunday after the Epiphany - The Baptism of Jesus - Year A
Isaiah 42:1-9; Acts 10:34-43; Matthew 3:13-17; Psalm 29

Ever-present Creator, open our hearts to hear again the truth spoken over us: that we are already beloved. Help us listen and respond to our highest call to be the beloved community. Amen.

Welcome to the season of Epiphany! Sneaking in after the busy holidays, Epiphany is sometimes overlooked. Still, I do love that our church year starts with Advent and Christmas. We get to watch the calendar year roll in with the renewal of the Christmas season already in full swing! 

During Advent and Christmas, we prepared for and welcomed the light of Christ into the world. And now Epiphany invites us to notice how that light moves, where it appears, and what it asks of us.

Through the readings we’ll hear during Epiphany, we discover that this is an exciting time of unveiling — of revealing what’s already here. This light gives us a glimpse of what things are and what they are not. During these next six weeks, we'll focus on our capacity to listen and respond to the light of Christ in us all. 

Today’s gospel story brings us to the water. Every Sunday, we pour the water, which flows from mauka to makai, nourishing us. This water connects us with Ke Akua, with the ‘āina, with one another and all creation. Through this water, we see our own baptisms. We remember Jesus entering the river Jordan in human form to be baptized by his cousin. We are unified with all who have ever touched water when we do this - when we touch the water - and anoint one another with such tenderness. 

In the light of Epiphany, we see what this water is and what it is not. This is not water to be used for cleansing after failure. It’s not the water of repentance after wrongdoing. And it’s not water that proves us worthy.

This water is a threshold, a doorway, a portal. Jesus steps into the river before he has healed anyone, before he has spoken to a crowd, before he has challenged any authority or performed any miracle. This timing matters!

Jesus does not enter the water because he has something to prove. He enters the water to listen. And what happens next reshapes everything. The heavens open. Spirit descends—not with force, but gentle as a dove’s feather. And a voice speaks—not to instruct, not to correct, not to command—but to bless. “This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.”

Nothing has been accomplished yet. No résumé has been built. No ministry has begun. Jesus is named and loved before he heals, teaches, preaches, or proves anything at all. That means we do not have to earn our worth, prove our goodness, or justify our existence before God. This is the first revelation of Epiphany: Before anything is asked of us, something is spoken over us. It comes quietly, alighting on us, telling us we are beloved.

We hear echoes of this truth in today’s reading from Isaiah. We hear God speak in the same quiet and loving voice, saying, “Here is my servant, whom I uphold, my chosen, in whom my soul delights.” Notice the tone. Not domination. Not pressure. Not urgency.

God describes Isaiah’s quiet authority: “He will not cry or lift up his voice, or make it heard in the street; a bruised reed he will not break, and a dimly burning wick he will not quench; he will faithfully bring forth justice.”

Listen to this voice: our Creator speaks gently. God calls us to tend what is fragile, to protect a light that is barely glowing, and to trust slow movement toward justice.
Epiphany reminds us that Divine power is not loud. It is faithful. It listens. It blesses before it sends.

Which brings us to baptism. When we listen as we touch the waters of baptism, we are not remembering a moment when we signed up for God. We are remembering a truth about who we already are. Baptism is not a spiritual merit badge. It is an orientation of the heart. To live as one who is baptized is to live from a place of already belonging.

If we, like Jesus, enter the water of baptism to listen, our hearts open. And from that place, promises naturally emerge—not as rules to follow, but as ways of being shaped by love. Of all our baptismal promises, I heard one most clearly this week:
To love and serve all people, regardless of difference.

This is what Becca Good believes. She spoke to reporters after her wife, Renée Good, was shot and killed by an ICE agent in Minneapolis. 

“We were raising our son to believe that no matter where you come from or what you look like, all of us deserve compassion and kindness,” Good said. “Renée lived this belief every day. She is pure love. She is pure joy. Renée was a Christian who knew that all religions teach the same essential truth: we are here to love each other, care for each other, and keep each other safe and whole.” 

We are hearing stories that people like Renée Good and people who are immigrants don’t deserve love, care, or safety.

But the voice at the river interrupts these stories. “You are my beloved.” Not if. Not when. Already. We are ALL already beloved without having to prove it. This is a basic truth. Through today's gospel story, we hear this truth. We recognize that entering the water teaches us to listen while fully immersed in life. We respond to the world with loving compassion as we learn that God claims Jesus—and all of humanity—as beloved.

As we move through this season of light, may we remember our baptism not as a past event, but as a present orientation. Each day, we stand again at the water’s edge. Each day, the Spirit still descends gently. Each day, the voice speaks—often quietly, often beneath the noise of the world. “You are my beloved.”

And from that truth, our lives unfold.

E pule kakōu.
May we live as your beloved; may we treat all people as ones worthy of love and care. Guide us to be the beloved community that flows like water. And may the light revealed in Epiphany continue to widen our vision, soften our hearts, and guide our steps. Amen.