Why was Jesus baptized? The thought of the baptism of the sinless Son of God in the Jordan River might strike us as odd. Yet, He comes to the Jordan, submits to John’s baptism, and something extraordinary happens: the heavens open, the Holy Spirit descends as a dove, and God says to the newly baptized Christ, “You are my beloved Son; with you I am well pleased.”

This moment is more than symbolic—it is the public revelation of Jesus as the Messiah. The Spirit poured out on Jesus at His baptism was not just for Him; it is the same Spirit poured out on us at our baptism. Jesus’ baptism inaugurates His mission, and our baptism does the same for us. We, too, are anointed for a purpose.

The Spirit descending “in bodily form like a dove” reminds us of something that is both tangible and real. Baptism is not a static identity—it is a calling to continually live in Jesus’ spirit of love. As the Catechism reminds us, in baptism, we are “sealed with the indelible spiritual mark of belonging to Christ” (1272). With this identity comes a responsibility to live out the mission of the Kingdom, to resist sin, and to bear witness to God’s boundless love.

But, at least in my experience, this passage about Jesus’ baptism is often read through a certain lens: “Go, be baptized, be Christian.” I find this interesting when considered alongside the passage from Acts 10, in which Peter, following a divine vision, realizes that the Gospel extends beyond traditional Jewish-Gentile divisions. In this passage, he declares, “I truly understand that God shows no partiality, but in every nation anyone who fears him and does what is right is acceptable to him.” Peter’s encounter with Cornelius serves as a kind of baptism in itself—not of water, but of understanding. Through this encounter, he is able to realize that God’s love extends to all people- Jew and Gentile. He is invited to see the expansive, boundary-crossing work of God in ways he had not previously imagined.

This is where the concept of holy envy becomes invaluable. I was first introduced to the idea during my freshman year of college when I read Barbara Brown Taylor’s Holy Envy: Finding God in the Faith of Others. Taylor, an Episcopal priest, spent two decades teaching world religions at a small college in rural Georgia. As part of the class, she required her predominantly Christian students to encounter mosques, synagogues, Buddhist monasteries, and Hindu temples—not through textbooks, but in person.

Taylor borrowed the term holy envy from Krister Stendahl, a Swedish theologian and bishop of the Church of Sweden. Stendahl coined the phrase in 1985 at a press conference in Stockholm, in response to resistance against the construction of a new temple of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. To promote interfaith understanding, he proposed three rules for religious dialogue:

1. When trying to understand another religion, you should ask the adherents of that religion, not its enemies.
2. Don’t compare your best to their worst.
3. Leave room for “holy envy.”

This oxymoron of holy envy reframes envy—one of the seven deadly sins—as a sacred act imbued with divine meaning, order, and relationship. It asks us to see and appreciate the beauty and wisdom in beliefs and practices outside our own faith without feeling threatened. To many of us, this might seem ambiguous and risky. It might even appear to be a wildly inaccurate reading of today’s Gospel. But I want to suggest that far from being relativistic, holy envy offers us the baptism of repentance, much like the baptisms performed by John in the Jordan River. Holy envy implores us to recognize that God’s image cannot be confined within the limits of our own assumptions, beliefs, or traditions.

Pope Francis echoes this vision. In 2024, during an interfaith dialogue with young people in Singapore, he remarked, departing from his prepared notes:

“Religions are seen as paths trying to reach God. I will use an analogy—they are like different languages that express the divine. But God is for everyone, and therefore, we are all God’s children... There is only one God, and religions are like languages that try to express ways to approach God.”

This insight challenges us to resist the tendency to see the Catholic way as the only way. Baptism calls us to live as witnesses who see God’s Spirit at work not only in the Church but also in places that aren’t always easy to reach—among the poor, the oppressed, and those who do not share our faith. It calls us to honor the divine in what others hold sacred and to resist the temptation to privilege our personal comfort over fostering relationships. It calls us to engage with the particularities of other’s beliefs, even when they challenge us or make us uncomfortable. It calls us to see our neighbor not only as a recipient of love but also as its originator.

As Taylor writes: “I asked God for religious certainty, and God gave me relationships instead. I asked for solid ground, and God gave me human beings instead—strange, funny, compelling, complicated human beings—who keep puncturing my stereotypes, challenging my ideas, and upsetting my ideas about God, so that they are always under construction.”

The story of St. Francis of Assisi and the Sultan during the Fifth Crusade is depicted as an icon in my graduate school’s student lounge. In my view, it beautifully embodies what holy envy can look like in action. Though their initial meeting was marked by attempts to convert one another, they soon found common ground in their shared devotion to prayer and God’s will. Their dialogue became a testament to how mutual respect and humility can create space for encountering the divine in one another.

The flames depicted in the icon hold dual meaning: in Islamic art, flames often signify holiness, and here they also disarm the medieval legend of Francis challenging Sufis to prove their faith in fire. Instead, the flames in this icon symbolize divine love. The inscription, “Praise to God, Lord of the worlds!” is from the Qur’an, and underscores St. Francis and the Sultan’s shared reverence for the Creator.

Our baptismal calling challenges us to live out this holy envy. Peter’s words—“I see that God shows no partiality”—are as relevant today as they were then, challenging us to examine our assumptions and be open to the ways God is working beyond the borders we often impose. This doesn’t mean abandoning our own faith but recognizing that the Spirit can move in ways we might not expect.

As we reflect on the baptism of our Lord, let us pray for the grace to live out this calling fully. May we embrace the Spirit’s work not only in our own lives but also in the lives of others, particularly those whose beliefs, practices, and backgrounds are different from our own. This sort of baptism happens when we open ourselves to the Spirit’s presence in unexpected places. Like John the Baptist at the Jordan River, we are called to bear witness to the boundless love of God at work in our world today, in ways that surprise and challenge us, but ultimately lead us into deeper communion with one another and with God.

Amen.