On day three, we left Jericho and headed to the Jordan River. This was a day that I was looking forward to. It was our first time coming out of a hot, dry, and desolate environment to water! I love the heat and sun, but the dryness took a toll on my skin and hair. The thought of being in water always excites me. That is where I find peace and calmness; however, being in the Jordan River is beyond exciting. We would renew our baptismal vows in the same river our Lord was baptized.
I was awakened as I walked down the stairs to the river and stood in the cool muddy water. I was alive. Standing with my sisters in Christ, I could not help but take it all in. The river was not what I had pictured in my mind. It is not the Mississippi but more like the large creek that ran behind my childhood home. I reached for the bank to feel the mud as I waited and prayed. It was slippery, slick, silky, gray, and smooth. I couldn’t figure out why the mud felt so familiar. Finally, when it was my turn, I stepped down the steps, prayed with our leader, and went under. Fully under, like I did in the swimming pools before practice, as I did in the mountain lake where I grew up, like I did when I am in any body of water. I let it surround me in peace and calmness, but it was different this time, so very, very different.
After our group was finished, we all changed and boarded the bus. We had a 2-hour drive to our next hotel. During that bus ride, I had time to reflect on the similarities of that humble muddy river to my childhood home. I wondered why did Jesus choose this place? This tiny muddy river? I can only imagine it was because it is the lifeline that feeds all the other bodies of water in this area. It is small but mighty; it is not crystal, clear, and clean, yet it is muddy, rich, and full of life. Throughout the Bible, Jesus chooses people that others least expect, much like Jesus chose the woman at the well to be the first he reveals himself to as the Messiah. I believe that’s why he picked the Jordan River.
It wasn’t until the following day when we were visiting the Nazarene village museum that one of the tour guides mentioned that the word yotzer means potter. As I watched the guide use the clay, I realized that the Jordan River’s mud bore a striking resemblance to the clay being molded on the wheel before me. It struck me hard; that tiny river and all its mud reformed me that day. It humbled me, and I am still being remolded.
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