For most people, Christmas is already over. The decorations are boxed away, the trees are on the curb, and the familiar rhythm of daily life has returned. The music has faded, the gatherings are finished, and what remains are the ordinary demands of work, school, and responsibility.
For the world, Christmas is a season. But for the Church, it is a revelation. And today’s feast of The Baptism of the Lord does not gently close the Christmas season—it opens it up and shows us what it has always been about. Not simply a miraculous birth or treasured stories that stir nostalgia, but the earth-shattering truth that God has come to save His people.
Today is the moment when Jesus steps out of the quiet of Nazareth and into the public eye, revealing the reason He has come. This is the beginning of His rescue mission.
MERRY CHRISTMAS! Thank you for taking the time to read this homily for THE FEAST OF THE BAPTISM OF THE LORD – January 11, 2026 – Your support means a great deal to me, and I’m deeply grateful for the many who share these messages with their friends, families and social media followers. If you’ve found meaning in these words, I’d be grateful if you’d share them with others who might benefit.
And for those who prefer listening, you can find the audio version on SoundCloud HERE or subscribe to the podcast on iTunes HERE. Your comments, messages, and the way you’ve embraced these homilies continue to inspire me. Sincerely in Christ -Father Jim
Just last week, I was at SEEK, a Catholic conference with our students from Newman Catholic at Montclair State. This annual gathering of five days brought more than 17,000 college students from across the country… 17,000! That’s a lot of hoodies, coffee, and restless hearts. Seventeen thousand — actually 27,000 if you count the other two locations this was being held —young men and women searching for meaning, direction, and hope as a new year begins.
Among the many powerful testimonies shared, one story stayed with me.
It’s the story of Alex Jones—not the controversial public figure, but a normal Catholic young man from Notre Dame.
After college, Alex slowly drifted from his faith. Not out of anger or rebellion, but simply through distraction. Life became busy, work became demanding, and prayer quietly slipped to the margins. Though outwardly successful, something inside him remained restless.
Like so many today, Alex turned to meditation apps in search of peace. They helped him slow down, but couldn’t touch the deeper ache within him. Eventually, Alex reached out to a priest from his Notre Dame days and asked a simple question: “Does the Church have anything like this?”
The priest laughed—“Alex, did you sleep through theology class? We’ve been doing this for two thousand years.” He introduced Alex to Lectio Divina, a way of meditating on scripture. As Alex read the Gospel, he landed on the words the disciples heard when they asked Jesus how to pray—the Our Father. One phrase wouldn’t let go of him: “Hallowed be thy name.” That word — “Hallow”- meaning “to make holy”—became the seed of something much bigger.
Alex and two friends made a decision that, by every normal measure, looked reckless. They left stable careers, moved into small apartments, and poured all their savings into building a prayer app—Hallow. Their dream was to make the richness of Catholic prayer accessible in a world shaped by noise and distraction.
The app grew rapidly. Today it’s the top Catholic app in the world, with millions of downloads, thousands of prayers, and partnerships with voices like Mark Wahlberg, Chris Pratt, and Jonathan Roumie. But for Alex, the moment he truly saw what God was doing came not through milestones of success, but through suffering.
Early on as they were launching Hallow, Alex’s cousin—only forty-five, newly married, with a child on the way—died suddenly. His aunt was understandably devastated. That first Christmas, while others prepared to celebrate, she struggled simply to endure. No one in the family knew what to do… Could anything possibly console her?
Then, one day, she wrote to Alex: “I honestly didn’t think I would survive my first Christmas without my son. But these short prayers [on the Hallow app] were the only thing that reminded me I could still hope. They helped me get out of bed and carry on.”
In that moment, Alex realized this was never about technology or influence. It was about rescue—about God reaching people right where they are most vulnerable.
That is what today’s feast reveals.
The Baptism of the Lord pulls back the curtain on Christmas and shows us its true meaning. God has not entered the world to remain distant, admired from afar. He has come close—so close that He steps into the same waters as sinners.
Isaiah foretold this kind of Savior in that first reading: “A bruised reed he shall not break, and a smoldering wick he shall not quench.” Jesus does not come to overpower weakness or shame fragility. He comes to heal it.
Many people arrive today feeling worn down by grief, anxiety, disappointment, or loneliness. The promise of this feast is that Christ does not turn away from that reality. He enters it.
Jesus’ baptism in today’s Gospel can be puzzling. Even John the Baptist is caught off guard—he protests, insisting it should be Jesus baptizing him, not the other way around. After all, Jesus is sinless; He has nothing to repent, nothing to be cleansed of. So why does He wade into the waters with everyone else? Because real rescue never happens from a distance. Jesus steps into the river to stand with us, shoulder to shoulder in our mess, making it clear: He’s not here to watch from the sidelines—He’s here to save from within.
By entering those waters, Jesus chose solidarity over separation. He placed Himself among the broken, not above them. As He rises from the water, the heavens open, the Spirit descends, and the Father proclaims, “This is my beloved Son.”
From this moment forward, Jesus begins His public mission—teaching, healing, forgiving, and ultimately giving His life. The rescue has begun.
The central claim at the heart of Christianity is radical: That God would humble Himself, step into human suffering, and embrace our weakness. In many belief systems, this is unthinkable. For Muslims, for example, it’s considered blasphemy—a major dividing line. Yet this is precisely the Good News: Jesus reveals Himself as the way, the truth, and the life.
Our God is not distant.
He is Emmanuel—God with us. Born in poverty, baptized in muddy water, and ultimately crucified outside the city walls, Jesus reveals a love that does not remain untouched by pain.
Most of us do not remember our baptism, but that moment was our own entrance into the river. There, we were claimed, named, and drawn into Christ’s mission. The same God who spoke over Jesus speaks over us… The Father looks at us and calls us His beloved sons, beloved daughters.
In a world that constantly measures worth by success, appearance, or productivity, baptism declares a deeper truth: you belong to God.
So as the final notes of Christmas fade and the decorations come down, we can’t let our hearts slip back into the ordinary. The rescue has only just begun.
Jesus is still stepping into our troubled waters—still seeking out the bruised, the restless, the nearly extinguished. And now, through our baptism, that rescue continues through us. We are not bystanders in this story. We are living proof that God chooses to work in the midst of real lives, real suffering, real hope.
Christmas was never meant to be packed away. It was meant to upend everything—to change how we see God, how we see ourselves, and how we see the world. The Baptism of the Lord pulls back the curtain: God has already entered the depths. He stands with us there and refuses to leave us behind.
So while the world returns to business as usual,
we remember the river
We remember the voice that calls us “beloved.”
And we remember that the rescue did not end in Bethlehem, or at the Jordan, or on the cross.
It is happening here.
It is happening now.
Through Him. Through us.
Step into the water. The rescue continues.
