Tuesday, 07 November 2006

• Twenty Years

  Please excuse the relative lack of details about what I consider a rather important day in my life.  As a child of the 80's (1980), twenty years ago I was still a child.  I can tell you that it was a Friday, the last day of what us Baptists called a Revival, but might be better understood as a crusade, or just five straight weekdays with the same guest speaker.  I remember neither who the guest speaker was, nor what he preached upon.  Understandable, I suppose, since I was less than three weeks from my sixth birthday.

  But these Revivals were run on a formula.  Each day was aimed at a different group (but again, being young, all I remember was hot dogs for the kids, on Tuesdays, and pizza for the youth later in the week).  Each night, there'd be food at 6:00 or 6:15, feed 'em, then bring 'em in for the church service (which I don't remember as being much different than a normal service at the church, besides the certainty that the sermon would be very evangelistic.)  Like any church service at Leavenworth Baptist, there would be an altar call. 

  Three days prior, on that Hot Dog Tuesday, I'd responded to that altar call.  I'd went off into another room with the rest of the people who'd responded, and some lady re-explained the plan of salvation, and I prayed the sinners prayer.  And then they brought us all back, and the pastor would do what he'd usually do, look at the decision card, and announce that so-n-so had (accepted Jesus / rededicated their life / joined the church), and the congregation would applaud.  Except on that Tuesday, I was one of those people.  I'd been saved.

  That was Tuesday.  Today was Friday.  And it was (in my five-year-old mind) the next logical step (as I'm sure it was explained to me by either Pastor Bob or my parents).  I was going to be baptized.  Baptisms usually were between the prelude and the first hymn, so I'd be able to get changed and get back into the service.

  The pastor had come to our house earlier in the week (he only lived a few miles away) and explained how the baptism would take place  - mainly discussing the details about the fact that for a moment, I would be under water (so, as the pastor would baptize me, I'd be holding my nose with one hand, holding that hand with the other hand, and one of his hands would be on those two hands, while his other hand was on my back, making sure I didn't fall into the baptismal.)

  Three converts from Tuesday night were going to be baptized that night.  I knew the other two.  One was a classmate who lived about a mile from my house. 

  The time had come.  It must have been a little before 7.  In a room, off to the side of the baptismal, I changed into the baptismal robe provided, (it would be another decade before I would learn the process behind making sure that robes were washed and ready, but that's another story) and stood in line with the other two, Eric and Tristan Robert.  I don't remember in what order we were baptized. 

  I do remember walking down onto the block on the baptismal, and I remember Pastor Bob saying something about my having made a "profession of faith".  Then he said

  Steven, my little brother, I baptize you now in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, Amen.

  By lowering the hand he had on my back, and gently moving the hand he had on my hands, he baptized me.  And, of course, being in a Baptist church, I got wet head to toe.  He brought me back up, I walked out, and the service began.

  ---

  Twenty years ago.  Since then, I've seen dozens of other people baptized, both at Leavenworth, and later at Word of Life - no, that's not a Pope-Window up there.  I helped my parents wash the baptismal robes for the year that they were the baptismal committee.  I've heard about people who had dramatic experiences when they were baptized, I've heard people discuss what the "proper formula" is for baptizing, and I've heard people discuss whether a child as young as I was should be baptized - not talking about me or my baptism, but just in the general case.

  I know that the pilgrimage I've taken now has progressed twenty years and three days.  There are days I've followed my Shepherd close, and there are days I've been the one He's had to leave the 99 behind to find. 

  In a house in Leavenworth county, there is a photo album.  In that photo album, there's a picture of that moment.  Since that day, (as in any two decades), so much has changed.  Families have grown, branched off, ancestors have passed away.  I've went from being the oldest of four to being the father of four.  I've changed churches, I've even changed denomination.

  But, I still look back from time to time.  To a watery landmark on this walk.  November 7, 1986, Leavenworth Baptist Church.

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