Cold Water To Remind You

On Sunday, December 22nd, we had the joy of celebrating the ritual of baptism. There was song. There was crying. There was water. Overall, I thought it was wonderful even if the baby cried a little because he woke up in the arms of a stranger putting cold water on his head. (There are some fairly amusing comics and memes online about this aspect of baptism.)

I had prepared the water long before worship began, so regardless of the temperature of the water I put in the pitcher, by the time we got to the baptism, the water had settled to chilly at best. When I dipped my hand in the water without intention, I commented out loud.

When I traveled to the Holy Land, the intention was to blend in, to let my colleagues, Olon and Leighton, lead their people and to tag along; we were going to be in tourist mode not pastor mode. However, rumor has it the road to hell is paved with good intentions. One thing and then another happened, and on the day we visited the Jordan River, Olon could not be with us. Leighton, who had recently had back surgery, could not (nor should he) help each person remember their baptism on his own. Megan, Debbie (another of our friends and colleagues), and I were invited to join Leighton in the Jordan River to help each and every person in our group remember their baptism through submersion if they so desired.

I grew up in Wisconsin and survived the ‘polar vortex’ of 1993. I spent almost a decade of winters in Chicago off from Lake Michigan. I’ve stood outside waiting for buses and rides, driven in snow storms, and shoveled more than my fair share of snow (including on snow days when I thought I could just veg out inside). I have never been as cold as I was standing in the Jordan River in the middle of February in a swimsuit and thin white alb. It was hours after we got back to the hotel before I was confident my toes were warm enough.

It was a split moment of memory and present day reality on Sunday morning. There was no clear way to communicate to the family standing to my right or the congregation in front of me that the temperature of the water was striking a serendipitous moment between the baby in my arms, my hour in the Jordan River, and our belief in Jesus’s baptism by John in the same river. There was only the power of the Spirit, and the shear joy that washed over me as I recognized the power of an infant being welcomed into a family of faith that spans 2000 years.

There is power in claiming ones own faith, wrestling with beliefs, and articulating a personal theology. And, at the same time, there is deep power in a community claiming a small one, accepting who they may be and enthusiastic to who they will become. The blind love of inclusion sets the course of the small one’s faith journey creating safety in space, in relationships, and in an adventure with God.

I don’t know that I had any idea when I was freezing in the Jordan River that I would miss that moment in time, but as I dipped my hand in the baptismal font on Sunday, I did. And, through the mystery of time, space, and a dash of God, I remembered my baptism, the baptism of all who have come before us, and the baptism of Jesus as we affirmed our commitment to the young boy baptized on Sunday morning.

May we all be graced with opportunities to remember our baptism and our community of faith shouting, “Welcome!”

Peace,
Rev Elizabeth