Murky Water, Holy Ground

When I stood at the Jordan River last week—on the Jordan side this time—I couldn’t help but compare it to when I visited in 2022 from the Israel side. Back then, I saw the Jordanian flag waving gently across the water. This time, I was standing beneath it, looking back toward Israel. Same river, different vantage point. And yet, both times I felt the weight of where I was.

To be honest, the Jordan River isn’t what many people imagine. It’s not wide or rushing. It’s shallow. Murky. More like a meandering creek than the mighty barrier the Israelites once crossed. There’s a heaviness to the area too—guarded by military posts on both banks, with national flags flying above sacred water. It’s a holy site, but also a tense one.

Just beyond the main riverbank, tucked back among the trees, there’s a small spring that quietly feeds into the Jordan. It collects in a low, shaded pool. Tradition holds that Jesus was baptized somewhere near that spot—beyond the Jordan. I imagine it once looked more like a flowing, vibrant river fed by that spring. Today, it’s slower, smaller, quieter.

But as I stood there, it struck me: God doesn’t need the water to be impressive to make it holy.

That little muddy stream is where Jesus stepped into the water and heaven broke open. It’s where the Father said, “This is my Son, whom I love.” It’s where the Spirit descended like a dove. And it’s where something new began—not just for Jesus’ ministry, but for all of us.

This same stretch of land is packed with firsts and transitions. Joshua led Israel across the Jordan here into the Promised Land. Elijah was taken up here in a whirlwind. Jesus was baptized here, crossing into public ministry. It’s a place of thresholds. Of endings and beginnings. Of old things passing and new things starting.

The water may be murky, but the moment was clear: God shows up in unexpected places.

It reminded me that God often meets us not in grand, impressive settings, but in the quiet, overlooked corners of our lives. He doesn’t wait for us to find the perfect place or have it all figured out. He just steps in—into the shallow, into the tension, into the ordinary—and says, “Let’s begin again.”

And maybe that’s what I needed to hear that day.