Last
week, in our Bible study on Mark’s Gospel, we focused on the baptism of
Jesus. In thinking about baptism, I
recalled one of the most significant baptisms I have ever performed. It was 30 years ago in my first church,
Pollocksville Baptist. I shared the
story with my Bible studies and they encouraged me to condense this into an
article for the paper. Last week this
story appeared in the Lexington Dispatch.
It
was 30 years ago when he rode his bicycle into our back yard and stopped for a
visit. Johnny was a kind, gentle, and
pleasant young man. I’m guessing he was
in his 20s. People told us he was “a
retarded boy,” a term we don’t use anymore.
Like many who are limited in different ways, Johnny made up for with an
over-abundance of love and kindness.
“How
do you get that water in the pool?” he asked. At first I didn’t know what he
was talking about. “What pool?”
“The
one in the church,” he said.
I
asked him if he wanted to go and see. We walked over to the church and I showed
him the pipes that supplied water to the baptistery.
“Is
it cold?”
I
explained to him how we heated the water with a makeshift gas stove that looked
suspiciously like a still. Satisfied,
Johnny got on his bicycle and returned home.
His
father approached me a few days later and told me that Johnny was talking about
being baptized. “We have never pushed
baptism with him,” he said. “There’s so
much about it that he doesn’t understand.”
Over
the next few weeks Johnny would stop by and we would continue our discussion
about baptism. We went from the
mechanics of the water, to what one would wear, to the meaning of baptism. He nodded his head in agreement but I didn’t
know how much he comprehended.
Finally,
Johnny told me one day that he was ready to be baptized. I explained to him that in our Baptist
Church, one would come down to the front during the final hymn so I could share
his decision with the church. He agreed
but when the time came, Johnny had disappeared. I found him later that week and asked if he
still wanted to be baptized. I sensed he
was fearful so I tried to reassure him.
As I was rigging up our homemade gas water heater, I wondered if we
would have a baptism or not.
When
it came time for the baptism Sunday morning Johnny was there, but he was scared
to death. I talked to him for a
moment. I really thought he was going to
back out. I could hear a hush in the sanctuary.
I knew they were waiting on us.
We
walked to the steps leading into the water.
I walked down into the water and looked up at him, holding my hand out,
inviting him to come. He hesitated. It seemed like a long time as he stared at
the water, trying to make up his mind.
“It’s
okay,” I said. “You will be fine.”
Slowly,
Johnny took a step and then another. As
he entered the pool he let out a yelp and loudly proclaimed, “Whoo boy, this
water’s cold!” It was more nerves than
anything else.
He
stood in the water, shaking. I
said. “Are you ready?” He nodded his head. I stated the baptismal formula, pronouncing
that Johnny Parker was being baptized in the name of the Father, the Son, and
the Holy Spirit. He held his breath and
went under the cleansing waters of baptism.
Just
as quickly he emerged, shaking his head like a puppy coming out of a bath, and
he looked at his hands as if they had been transformed. He smiled a big smile and confidently walked
out of the pool.
There
was a transformation that day, but not just with Johnny. Johnny was a child of God, always had been,
before and after the baptism. But as I
stood there before a trembling young man in the cool waters, I recognized not
his weakness, but mine. I was not the
one who lifted Johnny out of the water.
No, it wasn’t me, but a power much greater.
The
congregation was also transformed. Tears
of joy punctuated a celebration of God’s goodness and grace. We realized that in God’s family all are
favored and all are blessed. And I think
that if I had listened closely I would have heard the words, “This is my
beloved child, with whom I am well pleased.”
Ray
N. Howell III
February
4, 2012
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