FATC Days of Christmas (Day 9)…Into the Water

FATC Days of Christmas (Day 9)…Into the Water 

Remember…Our FATC motto —It’s not just about the fly fishing. Well, Christmas is approaching and I have a gift for my FATC brothers. Who knows…for some it may be just the gift they need, but didn’t realize it.

I’ve recently enjoyed reading Daniel Bryant’s book, GOD MUST BE A FLY FISHER, and I think many of you will enjoy it also. I’m reprinting a short chapter each day from now through New Year’s Day. This is not just a book about fly fishing. It’s a book about slowing down. It’s a book about seeing that every moment outdoors might be an invitation to come closer to the One who created it all.

(From God Must Be A Fly Fisher by author Daniel Bryant)

Into the Water

Before there were miracles…

Before the disciples left their nets…

Before the storm was calmed, the blind could see, or the tomb was empty…

Jesus stepped into the Jordan River.

He didn’t have to. He had no sin to confess. No past to wash away. No guilt to surrender.

But He went anyway.

“Then Jesus came from Galilee to the Jordan to be baptized by John.” (Matthew 3:13)

Imagine it: the Messiah –the Holy One of Israel– walking down the same dusty path as thousands of ordinary people. Waiting in line. Standing quietly. No fanfare. No thunder. Just sand, water, and the prophet’s call:

“Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near.”

John the Baptist had been preparing the way. Dressed in camel’s hair, wild-eyed and wild-hearted, John had been baptizing in the wilderness, fulfilling Isaiah’s prophecy—a voice crying out in the desert, “Make straight the way of the Lord.”

And then… He saw Jesus.

The Lamb of God.

John froze. “I need to be baptized by You, and do You come to me?” (Matthew 3:14)

But Jesus replied,

“Let it be so now; it is proper for us to do this to fulfill all righteousness.” (Matthew 3:14)

So, John lowered the Savior of the world into the water.

He who formed the rivers now stood submerged in one.

And when Jesus came up?

“At that moment heaven was opened, and he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove and alighting on Him. And a voice from heaven said, ‘This is My Son, whom I love; with Him I am well pleased.’” (Matthew 3:16-17)

There it is—the Trinity on display:

The Son, standing in the water.

The Spirit, descending like a dove.

The Father, speaking love from above.

This wasn’t just a moment. It was a beginning.

The Jordan River was more than geography –it was a sacred symbol of crossing over. The Israelites had crossed it to enter the Promised Land. Naaman the leper had washed there and been healed. And now… Jesus was anointed there, stepping fully into His mission.

We fly fishers know the feeling of stepping into moving water.

There’s always a moment of pause –the cold wraps around your legs, the current pushes gently at your knees, and the sounds of the world seem to hush.

You don’t just enter a river casually. You enter with awareness.

That’s how Jesus entered the Jordan –not because He needed the water, but because we did.

His baptism was a declaration: I stand with humanity. I identify with sinners. I will walk the path you walk, bear the burden you carry, and make a way back to the Father.

It was also an invitation:

Come. Step in.

Let the water wash away the past. Let the Spirit fall like a dove. Let the Father’s voice declare your identity —not based on what you’ve done, but on who you belong to.

We wade into baptism not to get wet, but to be made new.

And every time we return to the river –rod in hand, heart in need of grace— we remember:

The same Jesus who stood in the Jordan now stands with us.

Still calling.

Still cleansing.

Still saying, “Come, follow Me.”

———///———-

(The following is a personal story that the author, Daniel Bryant added to this chapter.)

A Hatch to Remember: Fish After Fish on the Eagle

There are good days on the river.

There are great days.

And then there are the days that feel like God just decided to put on a show.

This was one of those.

It happened on the Eagle River, just across the highway from my mom and dad’s house. I’d fished that stretch before —many times, in fact— but nothing could’ve prepared me for what unfolded that afternoon.

It started quietly, as these things often do. The sun was high, the water clear, and I was working a dry-dropper rig —an elk hair caddis riding the surface, with a small caddis pupae dropper dancing just beneath. The kind of setup you fish with hope, not certainty.

Then the first rise.

Then another.

And then… it erupted.

A caddis hatch came off like a fireworks finale, mid-afternoon and seemingly out of nowhere. The air filled with insects. Trout began rising everywhere —aggressive, splashy takes followed by the sound only a fly fisher hears: a tight line singing in the current.

I hooked into a brown trout, strong and wild. Released it. Cast again. Another. And another.

Fish after fish.

To the point that —no joke— my arms got tired. I actually paused and laughed out loud, waist-deep in the water, rod in hand, heart full. It was joy. Pure and simple. Like being caught in the middle of God’s own river sermon.

I reeled in, bolted up the bank, and ran —in full waders, dripping wet– across the highway. I must’ve looked like a lunatic.

But I didn’t care. I flung open the door, breathless and smiling, and said:

“Dad –get your gear. You have to come see this.”

To his credit, he didn’t ask questions. He just grabbed his rod.

I took him down to the river, to the very spot where the water was alive with rising trout and caddis dancing in the afternoon light. And I got to watch him —my father— step into one of the greatest hatches I’ve ever seen. We fished together, side by side. Laughed. Hooked browns. Missed a few, landed more.

That day… was a gift.

It wasn’t about numbers, though we certainly lost count. It wasn’t even about the size of the trout, though they were impressive. It was about what it felt like.

To be in the right place.

At the right time.

With the right person.

And to know —really know— that what you’re experiencing isn’t luck.

It’s grace. It’s God’s grace.

That hatch didn’t just change the river that day. It marked something in me. A reminder that God still writes beauty into our lives when we least expect it. That sometimes, His voice sounds like a splash, a rise, and a heartbeat pounding in your chest.

I’ll never forget the way the light hit the water. The bend of my father’s rod. The feeling that heaven and earth were just a bit closer in that moment.

A day to remember?

No.

A day to cherish. Forever.