It is hard to imagine it now, but in 1963 the Beatles were listed last on a concert poster in England. They were not the main attraction. They were one of several opening acts, touring town to town, hoping simply to be noticed. The headliner was a young pop star named Helen Shapiro. As Ringo later recalled, she was the only one with a television in her dressing room—because she was the reason people bought tickets.
John and Paul spent long hours at the back of the tour bus, writing songs they hoped someone else might record. But somewhere in the middle of that tour, something shifted. Their music caught fire. Audiences began coming specifically to hear them. The opening act became the headliner. Others faded into memory.
I am not comparing the Beatles to Jesus—but the dynamic is useful.
In today’s Gospel, John the Baptist is the headliner. Crowds pour out to the Jordan River to hear him preach. He is dramatic, unsettling, impossible to ignore. His appearance calls to mind the ancient prophets. His words cut sharply. He challenges the powerful and unsettles the religious elite, while ordinary people find his honesty refreshing.
“You brood of vipers!” he shouts.
“Who warned you to flee from the coming wrath?”
John is fearless. He is effective. He is famous.
And yet, all along, John insists that he is not the point.
“There is one coming after me,” he says, “whose sandals I am not worthy to carry. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire.”
Then, one day, Jesus steps forward from the crowd.
And suddenly the headliner hesitates.
John tries to stop Him. He protests. He resists. Not because he doubts Jesus’ goodness, but because he does not yet understand God’s plan. Why should the sinless One submit to a baptism of repentance?
But Jesus insists:
“Allow it now, for thus it is fitting for us to fulfill all righteousness.”
This moment is crucial.
Jesus does not come to the Jordan because He needs cleansing. He comes because we do. He steps into the water not for Himself, but for us. He stands where sinners stand. He identifies fully with the human condition. From the very beginning of His public ministry, Jesus reveals that salvation will come not through distance or power, but through solidarity and humility.
And when He rises from the water, heaven opens.
The Spirit descends.
The Father speaks.
“You are my beloved Son; with you I am well pleased.”
This is not only a revelation of who Jesus is. It is a revelation of who God is—a Father who names, claims, and delights in His Son.
And it is also a revelation of who we are.
Because in our baptism, that same declaration was spoken over us.
You are not baptized into an idea.
You are baptized into an identity.
Before Jesus preaches, before He heals, before He performs miracles, before He suffers—He is first named Beloved. Our worth does not come from what we accomplish. Our failures do not erase our dignity. Our struggles do not silence God’s voice.
Baptism does not remove hardship—but it anchors us in truth.
Immediately after this moment, Jesus enters the wilderness. Baptism is not the end of the journey; it is the beginning. But now He walks forward knowing who He is and to whom He belongs.
John the Baptist understood his role.
For a time, he was essential. For a time, all eyes were on him. But he knew when to step aside. “He must increase; I must decrease.”
That is not failure. That is faithfulness.
There is an old saying from the German Baptists, spoken at funerals: “He filled his place.” Nothing more. Nothing less.
John filled his place. And so must we.
Not everyone is called to be the headliner. But everyone is called to be faithful. Some of us are called to prepare the way for others—to mentor, to encourage, to step aside so new leadership can emerge. Some of us are called later in life, bringing the wisdom of experience into new forms of service. Some of us witness through suffering—through illness, loss, divorce, disappointment—showing that God is present even in the desert.
Sometimes we are central in someone’s life for a season. And then that season ends. And that is okay.
Because there is only one true headliner.
When we place ourselves at the center, we set ourselves up for disappointment. But when Christ is at the center, our lives—quiet or public, brief or long—find their meaning.
John the Baptist is great not because he held the spotlight, but because he pointed beyond himself.
May we do the same.
And may our baptism remind us, again and again, who we are:
Beloved sons and daughters,
claimed by God,
sent to fulfill our place,
so that Christ may be seen.
Amen.