Last week, I went down to the Crypt with our Junior Choir to reflect on Christ’s baptism. Our young people, as always, offered sharp insights through their questions. (They never disappoint me!)
One boy asked thoughtfully, ‘Why do we baptise infants when Jesus was baptised as an adult?’ A teenage girl eagerly responded with theological precision: ‘It is because of original sin. Since we’re born with sin, we need salvation through baptism as early as possible—especially considering infant mortality rates in ancient times!’
As a theological skeptic rather than just an RE teacher, I posed a challenging question: ‘If baptism is about cleansing, how can we ensure we remain clean until death? If we know we’ll sin again, why baptise so early when we only have one chance? Why shower before playing football if you only get one shower in your life?’ (I confess to being a somewhat naughty curate in stirring up such debate!)
We often miss baptism’s deeper meaning when we reduce it to mere sin-washing, like taking a spiritual shower. We long for something with a lasting impact—a magical transformation that would permanently free us from sin and failure. But in focusing on this, we forget the crucial question: What comes after this one-time baptism?
In our faith journey, we frequently demand immediate signs from God. When instant results do not appear, we question, complain, and doubt. We may even reject God for not meeting our efficiency-driven expectations of immediate problem-solving.
Today’s reading from Isaiah reminds us of God’s covenant faithfulness amid apparent silence. The prophet spoke to people in desperate circumstances, not unlike our own. When we ask, ‘If God exists, why does not he stop wars or deliver us from our enemies?’ we echo their struggles. Yet Isaiah’s prophetic tradition persistently
affirms God’s promises—even when God’s kingdom seems far from restored.
Isaiah uses powerful imagery: God’s people will be a ‘crown of beauty’ and a ‘royal diadem’. They will no longer feel abandoned or forsaken. God will delight in them. Isaiah proclaims with conviction that ‘the time’ will come!
This theme of divine timing resonates in John’s account of the Cana wedding. When Jesus says ‘My hour has not yet come,’ He refers to his future glorification through crucifixion. Yet he doesn’t abandon the celebration to empty wine jars. Instead, Jesus transforms water into the finest wine—even before his appointed hour.
In our efficiency-obsessed world, where instant solutions and immediate results reign supreme, baptism stands as a powerful counter-cultural witness. It reminds us that God’s transformative work rarely follows our rushed timelines or productivity metrics. Like the water turned to wine at Cana, like the restored glory promised to Israel, baptism initiates us into a different way of measuring time – God’s time. The waters of baptism do not offer a quick fix or an instant spiritual upgrade. Instead, they immerse us in the slow, patient work of divine transformation.
There is the time to come – a time Isaiah proclaimed, a time Jesus pointed toward at Cana. Baptism marks not an endpoint but our incorporation into this great journey of waiting and becoming. Just as the water at Cana was in the process of becoming the finest wine, we too are in the process of transformation. We are still waiting for that real-time to come, that ultimate hour of fulfilment. But this waiting isn’t passive; it’s a dynamic participation in God’s ongoing work. When we resist the urge to demand immediate results from our faith, when we learn to trust in God’s timing rather than our schedules, we begin to recognise our role in this unfolding story of transformation.
Our baptismal identity thus becomes not a one-time washing but a continuous reminder that we are people of the ‘time to come’ – people who trust that the God who turns water into wine is still at work in us and through us, preparing us for that ultimate hour. This identity calls us to embrace the practice of patience and waiting, which is counter-cultural, and trusts that God’s seeming silence does not indicate absence, but rather the deep, lasting work of renewal that operates on divine rather than human timetables. The question then becomes not ‘Why isn’t God fixing everything now?’ but ‘How can we faithfully participate in God’s patient work of transformation?’