T
he journey shaped in the development of one’s faith is marked by events terribly significant to its formation. So it was for me when the form of Jesus disappeared beneath the currents of the Jordan. I had heard John speak and preach of Jesus countless times. His reality though, seemed almost like a ghostly celebrity, a tale of fiction related as if it were true. To actually see that Jesus was real evoked scattered feelings of the ordinary mixed with awe. I was not prepared for the dove nor for the voice out of the brilliant blue of the sky. The nature, tenor and tone of the voice made it clear that no one standing by could have uttered it. Unlike many miraculous events in life, this one left no ambiguity as to its supernatural character.
It wasn’t however, the deific features of this event that so shaped my soul to follow Jesus until my last breath. It was Jesus himself. He certainly had sought no recognition of himself other than he had through this act with his cousin, publicly committed his life to the worship and service of God. I wish I could tell you what it was that so compelled me, that so made me want to be with him. He was a young man, yet his demeanor spoke of wisdom and depth beyond his years. When his eyes met mine, it seemed that he knew me, yet he had never met me. It was as if he had said, “Hello Justus, my old friend.” Yet beyond his smile, he spoke nothing.
As I write these words now, I try in retrospect to understand my compulsive attraction to him. I cannot, these many years later, I cannot understand. Today as I write, I know that the bond that occurred between his soul and mine on the day of his baptism, is more tightly bound today than ever. I know that we are inseparable – one, together forever. How I long to see you again, my Jesus!
--Joseph Barsabbas, called Justus
