“This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased.”
These words thunder across the Jordan River as Jesus rises from the water. The heavens tore open. The Spirit descended. The Father’s voice broke through.
Here is what stops me every time I hear this reading: Jesus hasn’t done anything yet. No miracles. No teaching. No healings. No feeding of thousands. No raising of the dead. He’s just stepped into the water with sinners, identifying with broken humanity, beginning his ministry.
And the Father says: “I am well pleased.” Not “I will be pleased when you accomplish great things.” Not “You’ll please me if you’re successful.” But “I am well pleased”—right now, at the very beginning, before the work starts.
What if that’s the whole point?
What if God’s pleasure isn’t in our achievement, but in our willingness? Not in our perfection, but in our practice? Not in the destination, but in stepping into the water? I’ve been thinking about this a lot as we begin this new year. We come with our resolutions, our plans, our determination to do better, be better, achieve more.
And God says: “You are my beloved.” Right now. Not when you get it right. Not when you achieve your goals. But now—in our stumbling, in our uncertainty, in our honest willingness to show up.
When Jesus stepped into the Jordan River, he was claiming something profound: solidarity with humanity in all its brokenness and beauty. He didn’t come as distant judge or aloof deity. He came as one of us, willing to stand in the water with sinners, to identify fully with the human journey. And the Father’s response? Pure delight. “This is my beloved Son.”
That’s what we claim in our own baptism. Not that we’re perfect. Not that we have it all figured out. But that we’re beloved—chosen, claimed, delighted in—exactly as we are, exactly where we are in the journey. The voice from heaven isn’t conditional. It’s declarative. You ARE beloved. Not you might become beloved. Not you could be beloved if you try hard enough. You ARE.
If God is well pleased with our willingness to begin—to step into the water, to show up, to practice—then maybe we can stop measuring ourselves by achievement and start embracing formation.
Formation isn’t about perfection. It’s about practice. It’s about showing up day after day, stumbling forward, admitting when we don’t know, choosing the good even when we’re tired.
It’s learning to notice what’s real (self-awareness), admitting we don’t have all the answers (humility), choosing what truly serves others’ good (love), recognizing existence as gift (gratitude), discerning together rather than alone (community), acting faithfully despite uncertainty (hope), and finding deep gladness in meaningful practice (joy).
These aren’t achievements to unlock. They are practices we return to again and again, imperfectly but faithfully. And every time we return to them, every time we step back into the water, the voice from heaven says: “You are my beloved. I am well pleased.”
The Father’s voice reveals something essential: God delights in the beginning. In the willingness to start. In the courage to step into the water even when we don’t know what comes next.
The baptismal journey isn’t about traveling alone toward personal perfection. It’s about walking together—sometimes carrying each other, often being carried—toward becoming more fully human, more genuinely ourselves, more truly community.
God isn’t waiting for us to get it right before being pleased with us. God is pleased with our practice—our stumbling, faithful, imperfect practice of showing up, choosing the good, walking together.
Think about that. Really let it sink in.
You don’t have to achieve anything for God to delight in you. You don’t have to perfect anything for God to claim you as beloved. You just have to be willing to step into the water. To begin, To practice. To show up.
Here’s my invitation to you as we begin this liturgical season after Epiphany:
Listen for the voice. Not the voice that says “do more, be better, achieve more, prove yourself.” That’s the voice of a secular world that measures worth by accomplishment. It is not God’s voice. Ignore it! Listen instead for the voice that says: “You are my beloved.”
Practice stepping into the water. Not perfectly. Just faithfully. Not because practicing will make God pleased with us—God already is. But because practicing will help you hear the voice we’ve been beloved all along. Because practicing forms us into who we’re meant to become. Because practicing together makes us the community God dreams for us.
That’s where we are today. At the beginning of a new year. Standing at the water’s edge. Wondering if we’re ready. Wondering if we’re enough. Wondering if we can really do this. And the voice from heaven speaks: “You are my beloved. I am well pleased.”
Not when you succeed. Not if you’re perfect. But now. Right now. Exactly as you are. Step into the water, my friends. Practice the journey. Trust the voice. You are beloved.
God bless,
Fr. Brendan