We have been to the water, Richard and I. Metaphorically speaking, we have stood...
On Jordan's stormy banks...
and cast a wishful eye
to Jordan's fair and happy land
where my possessions lie.
In reality, the baptistry wasn't all that stormy, but the water was warmer than I had anticipated -- almost bath-like, in fact; or womb-like, given the birth that was transpiring. And it was good. As I mentioned earlier, I had my misgivings. I was prepared for a perfunctory "splash and dunk" magical "solution" to a sick man's impending death, in the company of the requisite words that would would "tie up all the loose ends."
But as it unfolded, the actual experience was something else. We gathered -- family and candidate; wife, sons, daughters-in-law and granddaughter -- soberly; friendly, to be sure, but more than a bit awestruck it seemed. Richard and I left the others, changed our clothes, shared a prayer, and descended into the water. The others were out there, nearby and watching, but Richard was somewhere else: focused in on the experience and the breathtaking immensity he was experiencing it to be. Remembering out loud the promise of John 3:16, I asked him the question -- what we, in the church, refer to as "the Good Confession." It took him a moment to respond -- not, it became apparent, for indecision or lack of conviction, but for emotion. "I do," he finally managed to whisper; words that recall the marriage vows that, in their own way, they are.
We prayed; we ascended; we dried and dressed; we gathered around the table where we prayed again and ate and drank in remembrance. We stood silent, except for the various tearful sniffles. We stood in the silence, knowingly aware that what we had participated in together was not mechanical at all; not, as I had surmised, a desperate attempt to "put one's affairs in order," but the very encounter with the holy that I so deeply value.
And on this chilly, snowy, interrupted Saturday morning, it was blessedly, tearfully, joyfully good.
On Jordan's stormy banks...
and cast a wishful eye
to Jordan's fair and happy land
where my possessions lie.
In reality, the baptistry wasn't all that stormy, but the water was warmer than I had anticipated -- almost bath-like, in fact; or womb-like, given the birth that was transpiring. And it was good. As I mentioned earlier, I had my misgivings. I was prepared for a perfunctory "splash and dunk" magical "solution" to a sick man's impending death, in the company of the requisite words that would would "tie up all the loose ends."
But as it unfolded, the actual experience was something else. We gathered -- family and candidate; wife, sons, daughters-in-law and granddaughter -- soberly; friendly, to be sure, but more than a bit awestruck it seemed. Richard and I left the others, changed our clothes, shared a prayer, and descended into the water. The others were out there, nearby and watching, but Richard was somewhere else: focused in on the experience and the breathtaking immensity he was experiencing it to be. Remembering out loud the promise of John 3:16, I asked him the question -- what we, in the church, refer to as "the Good Confession." It took him a moment to respond -- not, it became apparent, for indecision or lack of conviction, but for emotion. "I do," he finally managed to whisper; words that recall the marriage vows that, in their own way, they are.
We prayed; we ascended; we dried and dressed; we gathered around the table where we prayed again and ate and drank in remembrance. We stood silent, except for the various tearful sniffles. We stood in the silence, knowingly aware that what we had participated in together was not mechanical at all; not, as I had surmised, a desperate attempt to "put one's affairs in order," but the very encounter with the holy that I so deeply value.
And on this chilly, snowy, interrupted Saturday morning, it was blessedly, tearfully, joyfully good.
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2 comments:
Wow! What a neat experience for everyone! Your retelling of it brought a tear to my eye, too.
Tim -- Thank you for sharing your story. I had a very similar experience a few years ago in my church. John and I had many long conversations before he asked me to baptize him. Unfortuantly, John was too weak to go into the baptistry -- so we held a service on his farm and I sprinkled him. He was surrounded by family and close friends and afterwards we shared communion and used a bottle of his homemade wine that he made the year before. I felt the holy spirit more that day and was truly blessed by knowing this man. Thanks again -- Linda Hunsaker
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