In those days Jesus came from Nazareth of Galilee and was baptized by John in the Jordan. (Mark 1:9)
I am prayer-reading the story of Jesus’ baptism. Using the tools of lectio divina, I read it slowly once, twice, three times. Using my sacred imagination, I place myself in the crowd, watching; as a priest, coming down against this baptism; as John, holding people close as I plunge them into the river …
… and suddenly I am in the golden light in the waters of the Panmure swimming hole. I can hear a rushing in my ears, my slow heartbeat, the sound of bubbles rising as I sink into the murky shadows. A pause, then I’m kicking, swimming back up out of darkness, back through the tannin-stained waters, back through the golden light, up, up, breaching the surface, the sky wide overhead and eucalypts on the bank witnessing, bending, blessing. A voice ripples through me like a stream of living water: ‘You are my beloved.’ Beloved. Yes, you. Also you. Ω
Image found here.
Alison and the whale 