February 27, 2018, is a day I will never forget. It was my birthday, but that is not why it is memorable. That was the day I baptized Joyce in the Jordan River. Robin Team took a picture that has preserved a defining moment in our life.
I have been to the Holy Land seven times. I am ashamed to say that on our first trip in 1996, I would not baptize anyone. I did not give them the option of being baptized in the Jordan River. I did not believe that a person should be baptized a second time. I look back now and say, “What was I thinking?”
Before our second trip to Israel, Gary Wikstrom told me that he wanted to be baptized in the Jordan River. I remember us walking down a rather old boat ramp into the river. I forgot to bring flip-flops and Dr. Bob Team loaned me his. I asked Bob how old they were. They looked like he had them in medical school. The combination of the slick boat ramp and old flip-flops made for an almost comical descent into the Jordan. I managed to baptize Gary, but then slipped and he caught me, almost baptizing me! But in spite of our antics, I realized what a powerful experience a baptism in the Jordan River could be.
My son, Ray Nance, went on one of our trips to Israel. I baptized him and then he swam out into the water. The Jordan River was so compelling that he wanted to savor the moment. He did not want to get out.
In subsequent trips, almost everyone wanted to be baptized. It became a spiritual highlight of our pilgrimage.
Joyce told me before our 2018 pilgrimage that she wanted to be baptized in the Jordan River. She packed her bathing suit so that she would be prepared. But the morning of the scheduled baptism, we woke up to heavy rain.
At breakfast, everyone was asking me if we planned to go ahead with the baptism. I really did not know. The rain continued to fall. We boarded the bus at the hotel, not knowing if there would be a baptism or not.
But as we were pulling away from downtown Tiberias, the rain stopped. Before we got to the Jordan River, the clouds parted and the sun appeared. God was shining on our plans. Yes, there would be a baptism in the Jordan River.
Remarkably, everyone on the bus planned to be baptized, with one exception. Robin Team had been baptized on the previous trip to Israel. He announced that he would be the photographer.
We gathered beside the river, everyone dressed in their white robes. Someone read the Scripture and I made a few comments. Then we all sang, “Shall We Gather at the River.”
The Jordan was cold that day. It took your breath away when you stepped into the water. But no one backed out. One by one, everyone was baptized. Only Joyce remained.
Joyce had been baptized as a child at her home church, the Pollocksville Baptist Church where I later served as pastor. She vaguely remembered being baptized by Rev. Hill. But this was so different.
Joyce was determined to be baptized in the Jordan. I could tell that this was something she felt that she needed to do. Neither she nor I would understand at the time why it was so important, but I do now.
When I baptize someone, I will call their name and say, “I now baptize you my brother . . . or my sister in the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit.”
But this was my wife.
You can see in the picture the moment just before the baptism. The way Joyce looked at me was so powerful and meaningful. You can see the love, you can feel the trust. Suddenly, I was overcome with emotion. I could barely say the words. I whispered, “I now baptize you, my wife, . . . “
When Jesus was baptized in the Jordan, the heavens parted and the dove descended and a heavenly voice proclaimed, “This is my beloved son.” Jesus was being empowered and blessed for the journey before him, a journey that would lead to a cross.
I look back on that powerful moment in the Jordan and realize that Joyce and I both were being empowered and blessed by our Heavenly Father as we were about to embark on the most difficult and painful journey of our lives. The beginnings of dementia were already at work inside of Joyce, and we were about to begin a journey that would result in Joyce’s debilitating illness and death.
I didn’t recognize Joyce’s dementia at first. Maybe I didn’t want to. I look back now and see things that were out of character. The dementia was slowly invading her mind, preparing to take her away from me.
The doctor first diagnosed her with Mild Cognitive Impairment. But by the next visit, the doctor officially told us that Joyce had dementia.
We tried to keep things as normal as possible in the beginning. You could talk to Joyce and not realize that anything was wrong. But slowly, our world was changing.
There was one constant in Joyce’s life. It was our church. Joyce loved to go to church. She loved to worship. She loved the people. She loved to sing the hymns of our faith. For a long time, the first question she would ask me in the morning was, “Are we going to church today?”
If we would go to the church during the week, Joyce was confused. She wanted to know where the choir was. Why aren’t people here? Don’t they want to go to church?
As Joyce’s dementia progressed, I would place a marker in her Bible so she could find the Scripture. I would mark the hymns in her hymnal so she could find the hymns. She would insist that she have a dollar, not five dollars, not twenty dollars, but one dollar to put in the offering plate.
One Sunday I saw her holding a hymnal. It was upside down. Even though I marked the Scripture, she could no longer read her Bible.
One Sunday during a hymn, Joyce walked down front. I came down from the pulpit area and asked her what was going on. She looked at me and said, “Are you ready to go home?”
I realized that her days of attending church were limited. But there was one more Sunday that was important for her to attend.
One Sunday in September, I baptized my granddaughter, Ella Rae, and my daughter-in-law, Sang. The choir sang, “Shall We Gather at the River.”
Ray Nance sat with Joyce during the baptism. When I came back into the sanctuary, I sat with Joyce because Ray Nance was going to deliver the sermon. When I sat down beside Joyce, she looked at me and said, “Where have you been? You missed the baptism.”
She would only come to church one more time. We brought her to the Nine Lessons and Carols. Two months later, Joyce passed away.
At her funeral service, our wonderful choir joined by others in the community filled the choir loft and sang, “Shall We Gather at the River,” as we walked into the church. That was the song I wanted. It took me back to that February day eight years earlier, when we gathered at the river and Joyce was baptized.
Soon we’ll reach the shining river,
Soon our pilgrimage will cease;
Soon our happy hearts will quiver
With the melody of peace.
Yes, we will gather at the river,
The beautiful, the beautiful river;
Gather with the saints at the river
That flows by the throne of God.
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