January 11, 2026: Your Last Thing

YOUR LAST THING

What would be the last possession you would give up?

[Hold up a cell phone] Some of us would hold on to our phones for dear life—our entire lives are on that chip: contacts, photos, calendars, passwords, memories.

For others, it might be one of these. [Hold up a credit card] A small piece of plastic, but it feels like security: food, shelter, emergencies, comfort. A modern sacrament, really. Salvation by Visa.

Some of us would cling to something less visible: our résumé. [Hold up folded paper] Degrees. Titles. Positions. Years of experience. Things we worked hard for.

Or maybe it’s an award of some kind. [Hold up a trophy] It’s proof that we mattered—proof of that great thing we accomplished.

OK, now think beyond a material possession. What would be the last thing you’d give up about yourself… a relationship? An identity? Such as being a parent? A grandparent? A spouse? A friend?

[Joke] At a wedding dance, the DJ announces, “All married people, please stand next to the one person who has made your life worth living.” The bartender was almost crushed to death.

Now think of the Gospel. We have Jesus coming to the Jordan River—which is not very wide, similar to the size of the Rum River. And it’s a murky, muddy river, not at all clear or beautiful.

Anyway, Jesus leaves everything at the river’s edge—including his very divinity. John, the fiery preacher who presides over those baptisms, is embarrassed by Jesus coming forward to be baptized. But Jesus insists. He empties himself of all that he is. He becomes the slave, the poor laborer, the leper, the forgotten man or woman standing next to him in line. He plunges headlong into the dark, dirty water of the human condition.

And, as Matthew the Gospel writer notes, some remarkable things happen. The heavens open, the Holy Spirit comes down like a dove (hence all the imagery we have of the Holy Spirit as a dove), and God speaks from heaven, saying, “This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased.”

But the most remarkable thing of all is this: Jesus is modeling for us what it means to let go of our identities, our roles, our trophies, our résumés, our credit cards, our phones—and to open ourselves to God. Now, I know that sounds cute and spiritual, but here’s what it can mean in your life.

Look at one of your hands. Open it up. This represents all the “stuff” of 2025—everything you did or that happened to you. This is meant simply to start a deeper conversation with loved ones or with God. As we enter this new year, what are the things you want to continue? The actions? The rituals? The connections?

Now close your hand into a fist. Take some time—today or later this week—and name the things you want to stop. That habit? That negative attitude? The social media ranting? That unhealthy behavior?

Now open your hand again. Once more, take some time—today or later this week—and name the things you want to add or include in 2026. Or better yet, what do you want God to place there? Maybe it’s mercy. Maybe it’s patience. Maybe it’s acceptance of a disease or physical pain that may not go away—your new normal. Maybe it’s silence.

Because baptism is not about what we achieve. It’s about who we belong to.

It’s like the song we will hear at the Preparation of the Gifts: “Open our eyes in wonder.
Show us who You are. Fill us with Your heart, and lead us in Your love to those around us.”

As the baptism in the Jordan River marked the beginning of Jesus’ ministry, every time we make the sign of the cross we recall our own baptism and are invited into a new beginning. And maybe, as we do that now—[lead the Sign of the Cross]—we are reminded of God’s words spoken to each of us: “You are my beloved son. You are my beloved daughter.” And the heavens open again.