Rogue State of Heart

As I enjoyed our Sunday baptism service, which was all about people telling stories of how they came to Jesus, I hearkened back to a chapter in The Jesus Creed which viewed the baptism of Jesus like I had never seen before. I remembered a new angle for reflecting on Jesus’ baptism in the Jordan River, and why it is such a powerful image for me even today as I watched people take the plunge.

You may recall that before Jesus arrived, John the Baptist was calling people to repent—that is, to change their strategies for living and coping and seek God’s way instead. It was time to make a clear and decisive change from the past, humbled by the reality of personal darkness and aided by the Spirit of God. It’s easy to see why everyone else was “going under” – they wanted to stop living independently of God’s truth and love and forge a new direction in a right relationship with Him. That’s a no-brainer.

So why did Jesus do it? What did he have to repent of?

This part is way cool: Jesus doesn’t go under because he’s got “issues” of his own to address. He’s doing it for me. You see, I am imperfect (like, duh!). So nothing I do will ever be perfect—even my repentance. Even that will be tainted with an imperfect approach, an imperfect commitment, an imperfect resolve, and an imperfect outcome. In fact, I’d need to be dunked daily throughout the day to repent of the sinful actions committed in…oh…the last 10 minutes since the last dunking.

Only a perfect man could offer the perfect repentance, the lasting kind that will reflect a truly changed life over time. Since Jesus is perfect, he is in effect carrying out the perfect repentance I need to make but am unable to accomplish. His ‘act of repentance’ is sufficient for me to cling to in my darkest moments when that habit rears its ugly head, when that sinful attitude bests me again for the millionth time, when I look around the landscape of my heart and realize I am incapable of pulling myself up by my own bootstraps. In that moment, the perfect repentance of Jesus can become my repentance, my resolve, my cleansing from the chains of a rogue state of heart.

And Jesus wasn’t just putting on a how-to clinic. He is not just modeling a good idea. His act that day in the Jordan was the embodiment of perfection—and I get to be the recipient of it.

I had two reactions to this: One was “yeah!” I felt an immense freedom from the weight of trying to bear my own burdens on my own. Ironically, there’s a release in realizing that I am incapable of even offering a complete repentance for my own sins. Jesus needs to provide it. Things are so dark inside, I can’t even muster up the wherewithal to get the ball started and begin to change. Jesus enables me to do even that.

The other reaction was one of heartfelt and humble gratitude. Jesus was willing to undergo a procedure unnecessary to him, and even looking a bit odd to the outsider—all because he loves me enough to do it. What profound love. I am undone with an overwhelming sense of a love that is more grand and seismic than I can even imagine.