Dunked and Drained... Baptism

Our lily white liberal diverse UCC congregation had a baptism by immersion in worship. When we moved into the First Christian Sanctuary space, we inherited a baptistry... an aqua blue tank with a river scene painted on the back wall covered with burgundy velvet curtains. It doesn’t fit with most of our members religious experiences (except for former Baptists) and our community does not know the rich history that surrounds this ritual (I really sound like a Baptist now). Conversation with several different people in our congregation has caused me to re-visit my baptism and reflect on its meaning for Lent.
"Buried in the waters of baptism.... raised to walk in newness of life"... I heard those words at every baptism I ever saw and at my own. Being buried in those waters is a messy business. Your hair gets wet... you are sopping wet from head to toe... no way to avoid being covered by the water... and before the age of portable hair dryers, you came back into the sanctuary with your hair clinging to your head. It is an uncomfortable process... a scary process... a public recognition of a private process. It can be a powerful transforming ritual that marks in a very tangible way one’s decision to follow in the path that Jesus walked.
In our little church, most of us were baptized as children. Baptists were big on the "age of accountability"... ages nine to twelve... and that fit my spiritual timetable. The baptistry was tacky but the experience was not. As the congregation began to sing a hymn...usually "Shall We Gather At the River" even though we had forsaken the river for clean well water... I walked down the steps into the pool wearing a clean white robe with lead drapery weights in the hem. You didn’t want your robe to billow up in the water. It was warm... and very, very wet. Brother Kannon waited for me, holding out his hand, guiding me to the little platform that was used for children to keep the water below their chin. He held my hands, crossed on my chest, raised his other hand and said... " Peggy Calhoun, you have desired to become a follower of Christ and a member of our congregation. Do you confess the Lord Jesus Christ as your personal Savior?" My voice quivered as I made my public statement of faith. "I baptize you, my sister, in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost... buried in the waters of baptism... raised to walk in the newness of life." Archaic language... perhaps... powerful, transforming experience for me... absolutely.
The gospel of Mark tells the story of Jesus’ baptism. "And it came to pass in those days that Jesus came from Nazareth of Galilee and was baptized by John in the Jordan. And straightway coming up out of the water, he saw the heavens opened and the Spirit like a dove descending upon him And there came a voice from heaven saying, Thou art my beloved Son in whom I am well pleased. And immediately the Spirit drove him into the wilderness." It was no accident that the wilderness followed his baptism. The wilderness of Lent is necessary for our souls. How can we celebrate newness of life at Easter without the deaths and darkness of Lent?
Baptism by immersion shares with Lent some uncomfortable images and symbols. We are buried... buried by water... buried by our inner darkness that threatens our soul’s survival... buried by the nit picky quality of our lives... buried by the trivial business of living that prevents us from doing the work that really matters. We run from our darkness. We use our daily living routine to protect us from ourselves. If you observe Lent honestly, faithfully, you cannot avoid the messy waters of self knowledge and judgement. Without this process, grace is cheapened... a house brand of grace that doesn’t carry the same flavor of grace that comes through true repentance and forgiveness. This is hard, hard work to do. It leaves us standing in front of ourselves and others, dripping wet, every part of our essential selves revealed... not an easy place to stand... necessary for growth and grace however.
As I came up from the water, I turned and looked in the congregation. Everywhere I looked, I saw joy... my parents, Mrs. Tyre, Mrs. Davis, Mr. Thompson, Mrs. Morris, Mr. Bland, my friends... I was home. Lent at its best can be for us a way to come home... a way to dive in to the dark waters of our true selves...offer them up, warts and all, to the One who loves us just as we are... wash off the dust and dirt that has covered up the light of the Holy that shines in each of us and start over... Easter is coming. I must get ready.