Under Water

Matthew 3:13-17
Gospel Reading for Baptism Sunday/First Sunday after Epiphany (Year A)

Note: The flu has struck our in the midst of a really busy season at church, so I’m going to take a break this week from writing a new Weekly Lectionary reflection. Since it is Baptism Sunday, I am going to re-post a reflection on my own baptism from the old “Ausgustine Confessions” blog. This was originally published on May 18, 2008 (ironically our oldest son’s birthday before we ever knew we were going to have an oldest son). I’m certainly not the same person I was then, but who of us are a dozen years down the road?

Remember your baptism.

It has been awhile since i had heard that. That exoneration was a staple of college and seminary; a reminder to stop and reflect on where it all started. 

Tonight, we were at the Furman chapel service to see my sister and future sister-in-law lead in worship. During the welcome, a spring storm sprung up. One of the chaplains noted the rain and recommended that we remember our baptism. This afternoon, I had been writing and re-writing a Bible study section about the baptism of Jesus. The reminder brought on a flood of memories.

I don’t remember this happening. But I hear the story every time our family is at the beach, so I can almost see it in my head. When I was not much older than a baby, Dad was playing with me out in the ocean. An enormous wave swelled out of the water. My dad saw it and braced for it; holding me as tightly as he could. It wasn’t enough. The wave wrenched me from my father’s arms. Acting quickly, Dad dove forward in hopes of finding me somewhere. And he found me; very likely saving my life.

There was this time that both sides of my family were over at my grandparents’ house for a party. I could not have been more than five or six years old. Everyone was playing in the pool. Somehow, I got into my little mind that I was going to push Pop, my dad’s uncle, into the water. It took all the strength I had in my tiny body, but I got my great uncle over the edge. And I went with him. I don’t know if I couldn’t swim at that point or if I was just as surprised as Pop was. All I remember is the blue. Everywhere. And a pair of arms reaching down and pulling me out.

I remember that my socks were completely wet. And that felt really weird. I remember seeing my mom out in the sanctuary. I remember my dad talking about the commitment I had made. There was lots of white; white robes on me and Dad, white baptismal, white washcloth that went over my nose and mouth when I went under water, and those wet, white socks. I was around seven and I had a seven year old’s understanding of what was going on, which is perfectly fine. I think God honors that; probably prefers it sometimes to the way we muck up our relationship with Him. I remember the red carpet of the sanctuary and people saying they were proud of me afterwards. I think that struck me as kind of funny since it was what God wanted me to do anyway. I think I was a practical seven year old.

My mind has been flittering back and forth. I close my eyes and I can almost see these moments. The first two stories don’t really seem like baptisms, but my mind flashed to them anyway. Like baptism itself, I think they are symbols of how this whole relationship with God got started. Stories where I was rescued; one where I was swept away by a wave beyond my control and another where I was sinking because of my own foolish error. And I was rescued; in the same way that God rescued me. In the same way that God still rescues me.

I could have squirmed my way out of those arms that saved me. But as a child, I knew better. I knew those arms would carry me to safety where I could not. But I am an adult now and I think that I can swim. I think that I can pull myself to safety and maybe I can get my head above water for a bit. Then I sink again and wonder why things are so much more difficult now. I struggle on my own while rescue is waiting right there. And by doing it my way, I choke on the water that is supposed to bring me life.

I guess this is what Jesus was talking about when he said we needed faith like a child.

My mind is back in the present; dry, sitting in my office as a candle flickers on my desk. It’s funny how those three words, in a way, sent me back in time. Now I have a peace that I have not had in awhile. After spending time thrashing about, I guess you could say I have remembered my constant: the God who saves.