Several years ago, on a warm and overcast July afternoon, I waded waist-deep into a lake in the region of the world I had lived in my whole life long, passed by curious joggers and bemused ducks. As the lake muck squished in between my toes, the water seeped through my shorts, and the shivering started—both cold and nerves—I turned and addressed the group of friends and family gathered on the shore and told them why I had decided to be baptized.
My baptism was a long time coming. I had “prayed the prayer” when I was five years old, and never really felt that I had fallen away or lost any faith. But somehow, through all of the years of Sunday school, youth group, Christian high school, Christian college, working at a Christian camp, and attending a handful of churches, I had somehow managed to avoid a traditional Protestant water-baptism. It wasn’t on purpose, but it did feel like I was past due, at that point firmly in my late twenties and attending a very loving neighborhood community church. It was definitely time.
It wasn’t until recently that I learned that I share my Protestant baptism date with the Catholic feast day of Mary Magdalene, July 22nd. That also was not on purpose, but I do find meaning in it. While much of the details of her life are still obscured, one thing seems certain: if anyone understood the mystery of emerging from the ashes of your old life and becoming a new person, it was certainly her. She was a woman not unacquainted with letting the past die and turning full-face toward the brightness of the dawn. Whether Mary was ever baptized by water or not, we know she was baptized by life and loyalty to her Savior.
Our topic here this week has been, in some sense, rehabilitation, and the conditions we require to be renewed. When I think of regrowth and renewal, I think back to that overcast July day, my feet rooted in the lake floor, my head framed by buzzing dragonflies. I wish I could say that my baptism was a powerful, life-altering experience. That after that, nothing was the same.
I’m not sure if I can say that with any certainty. After all, I have had so many “mountaintop moments” in my Christian life, so many experiences that were more profoundly spiritual, emotional, dramatic.
In truth, my baptism was brief. It flew by faster than I expected, just like so many of our life events that we prepare for. No magic descended upon me when I emerged from the water.
But when I think back and remember that day, there was a moment between me, that lake, those people, and my God. A shiver of recognition over the water, however brief, accompanied my words of testimony. When I think of what renews me, I think of that day. I think of that brief, overcast day.
Because on that day, feet in the muck and head in the clouds, I stood halfway between earth and sky and told my story of grace to those who would listen. Ducks, joggers, friends, family, and the Creator-God hovering over the waters beside me. I joined every other saint who has ever told that story, surrounded by witnesses.
And when I was plunged into the deep, I came back spluttering, yet alive.
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Beautiful ❤️ Thank you for sharing!
What a beatiful testimony... brought tears to my eyes!