One of the most troubling and fast-growing issues in our society today is an identity crisis—especially among young people, but increasingly across all age groups. In a world driven by social media validation, economic pressure, ethnic suspicion, and political desperation, many Nigerians are no longer asking “What is right?” but “What will help me survive?” In that subtle shift lies the danger.

This Sunday, Christians across the world celebrate the Feast of the Baptism of the Lord. At first glance, it may appear to be a purely religious observance. But at its heart is a message that speaks powerfully to our national condition: identity precedes action. Before Jesus performed any miracle, preached any sermon, or confronted any injustice, he stood in the waters of the Jordan and heard a voice say, “You are my beloved Son; with you I am well pleased.” Nothing had been done yet—but identity was affirmed.

Our society, unfortunately, often reverses this order. Worth is measured by wealth. Respect is demanded through power. Identity is built on tribe, political affiliation, or social class. The result is predictable: corruption justified as “smartness,” violence excused as “self-defence,” dishonesty normalized as “how things are done.” From examination malpractices to ritual killings, from cyber fraud to abuse of public office, we are witnessing not just moral failure, but a loss of shared moral identity. When people no longer know who they are—or what they stand for—anything becomes permissible.

The Baptism of the Lord reminds us that identity is not manufactured; it is received. It is rooted in dignity, not performance. In a nation where many feel unseen, unheard, and unloved by systems meant to protect them, the temptation to define oneself through shortcuts becomes strong. Yet history teaches us that societies collapse not first from poverty, but from the erosion of values.

There is also something striking about where this affirmation of identity took place: in a river. Not a palace. Not a temple. The Jordan was a place of humility, repentance, and new beginnings. It suggests that renewal—personal or national—does not begin with loud declarations, but with honest self-examination.

Nigeria stands today at such a riverbank. We must ask difficult questions: Who are we becoming? What values are we passing on? What kind of success do we celebrate? When leadership is divorced from service, when religion is divorced from conscience, when education is divorced from character, the society may progress technologically, yet regress morally.

The feast also carries a communal implication. Jesus did not step into the river alone; he joined a people seeking renewal. This is a reminder that identity is not only personal, but collective. Nations, like individuals, must periodically return to their foundational ideals—justice, dignity, responsibility, and the common good.

As another week unfolds, perhaps the message of this feast offers a quiet but urgent challenge: before we fix policies, we must heal identity. Before we demand change from others, we must rediscover who we are meant to be.

The river still flows. The voice still calls. The question is whether we are willing to listen.