Baptisms

   My first baptism occurred when I was 12.  It was at Fernwood Baptist Church in Dallas, Texas.  Of course, being Baptist meant I would be immersed in the baptismal font which was up behind a wall above the choir loft.  The choir loft was behind the altar in the church.  The baptismal font was hidden behind a curtain except on the Sundays when people were baptized, so it was a mysterious sort of place for a 12 year old.  I remember standing in the "wings" as it were, waiting my turn to walk down into that water toward Brother Bob, as we called our pastor, and turning around to lay backward into his right arm as he lowered me into that water and said he baptized me in the name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit.   I just trusted that he wouldn't drop me.

   Recently I have commemmorated that baptism while on a trip to the Holy Land.  This time I walked into the chilly, dark blue-green water of the Jordan River at Yardent.  This time I had a Methodist pastor on either side of me to make sure I wouldn't fall.  I was blessed by them to remember my dedication to a Christian life.  This was a highlight of my pilgrimage to the land of the beginnings of my religion.  A long line of us stepped into that cold water and made our way out to our leaders.  We all felt an exhilaration and a new energy.