Perceptions from a Pewboy

On the eve of World Communion Sunday, I find myself reflecting on what it means to live eucharistically instead of settling for what might be described as spiritual fast-food.

In my own discipleship, I must confess that, in the hyperactivity of the daily journey, I too often settle for the fast-food of a Facebook comment, a hasty e-mail response, or an abbreviated text message instead of making time for the “broken bread” of a more personal and incarnational interaction.

I too often settle for the fast-food of a hastily muttered invocation instead of investing myself in the sustained bread-breaking of authentic and attentive prayer.

I too often settle for the fast-food of quickly-voiced sarcasm instead of honoring someone with the holy bread of sensitive silence.

I am not suggesting that there isn’t a place for spiritual fast-food. (Where would we be, after all, without periodic “drive thru’s” in the life of prayer and discipleship?) If spiritual fast-food becomes the norm, however, instead of an occasional option, then our spiritual diet becomes something less than healthy and holistic. I have a feeling that anyone who reads these words will understand precisely the reality that I am describing.

I have no easy remedies to offer. But, for what they are worth, I offer three liturgical components that I have utilized in both corporate and individual worship over the last couple of years. The first component is a call to worship. The second component is a prayer of confession. And the third component is what I have entitled “A Shared Commitment to Eucharistic Living.” I pray that these prayerful words will be of some help to you as you celebrate Eucharist tonight and tomorrow and as you go forth from the Lord’s table in order to live eucharistically in a world that often prefers fast-food.

Call to Worship
Leader: In a world of fast food, we hunger for the One who is the Bread of Life.

People: Come, River of Life, and quench the thirst of our waiting souls!

Prayer of Confession
Eternal God, in a country where food is often consumed quickly and thoughtlessly, we confess that, all too often, we fail to live by the thankful and Eucharistic spirit that Christ makes possible. Instead of developing a healthy diet of prayer and worship, we often prefer the fast food of “how to” literature and “quick fix” conferences. Instead of partaking of the nourishment of authentic community, we often choose the fast food of spiritual self-reliance. Instead of gathering at the banquet table of your grace, we often stuff ourselves with the fast food of superficial busyness. Forgive us, God. Liberate us from an idolatry of fast food, that our entire life might become a thanksgiving feast, offered to the living Christ, in whose name we pray.

Words of Pardon and Assurance
Leader: Hear the good news: Christ is both the living water and the bread of life! When we come to him with a penitent heart, he will nourish us with the good food of his forgiveness and redeeming grace. In Christ, we are forgiven and free.

People: In Christ, we are forgiven and free. Thanks be to God!

A Shared Commitment to Eucharistic Living
(prayed in unison)
Almighty and everlasting God, in your grace, we will live eucharistically by allowing the Lordship of Jesus Christ to hold redemptive authority over every portion of our life and ministry.

We are yours, O God, and yours alone. Bring us into alignment with who you created us to be, that the entirety of our life might be nourished by a eucharistic spirit rather than a fast food mentality. We ask this in the name of the One who is the Bread of Life, Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

For most of my childhood and youth, there were three pets in my house. Or, perhaps more accurately, for most of my childhood and youth, there were three pets that permitted the rest of us to dwell in their domain. One dog and two cats. The dog’s name was Jiggers. He was part Toy Terrier and part Pekingese. One of the cats was Siamese. Her name was Wing Wong. The other cat, Muffy, was a tabby.

Jiggers. Muffy. and Wing Wong. It still feels very natural to me to say their names.

The three animals got along pretty well. In fact, they would even sample one another’s food periodically. But every once in a while, if Jiggers the dog became a bit too aggressive in his playtime with the cats, one of the cats would turn toward him and hiss. Whenever that happened, Jiggers, the mighty dog, the fearsome hound, would turn around and run away with his tail between his legs.

No matter how many times it happened, that moment would always fascinate me. It seemed humorously and ridiculously out of order. Dogs were supposed to scare cats. It wasn’t supposed to be the other way around.

We tend to pay particular attention in those moments, don’t we—those moments in which things are out of order? When a cat chases a dog out of a room, we chuckle at the role reversal. When a young child puts her hands on her hips and corrects a parent—“Mommie, you shouldn’t be saying that bad word”—we find humor in the transfer of authority. When a student corrects a teacher’s mistake—“Uh, Mrs. Smith, the correct answer is 14 not 16”—the entire class enjoys the sudden pedagogical shift. We tend to pay uncommonly close attention during those moments in which things and relationships seem to be out of order.

Perhaps that is why the story of Jesus’ baptism has always captured my attention in a very particular fashion. Perhaps I’m intrigued by the story because it places before us a situation that is clearly out of order. Jesus, the Son of God, the incarnation of God’s very heart, comes to John (commonly known as John the Baptist) in order to be baptized in the river Jordan.

According to the Gospel of Matthew’s description of the event (which has always been my favorite description, even though it is not a part of this year’s lectionary), John himself senses that Jesus’ presence before him is out of order. After all, the baptism that John offered was a baptism of repentance, meaning that people would come to him for baptism only when they were ready to turn away from their sin. Why would Jesus, God’s messiah, God’s chosen one, connect himself to such a blatantly human practice?

It is interesting that, in Matthew’s Gospel (Matthew 3:13-17), we are told that John would have prevented Jesus from being baptized: “No, Jesus, this is wrong. This is out of order. This isn’t how it should be. You are God’s Messiah. You are God’s Christ. YOU should be baptizing ME, not the other way around.”

Jesus’ response is significant. “John, let it be this way. Let it be out of order. Because my baptism will fulfill all righteousness.”

What does Jesus mean by that, do you think? “My baptism will fulfill all righteousness.”

In Matthew’s Gospel, righteousness normally means accomplishing the will of God. Therefore, when Jesus says that his baptism will fulfill all righteousness, he may very well be telling John that his baptism will accomplish or bring to fruition God’s perfect will. And why would it be God’s will for Jesus to be baptized? Perhaps because, by allowing himself to be baptized, Jesus creates a public solidarity and oneness with the very people he came into the world to save. By allowing himself to be baptized, in other words, Jesus is making clear to John and the people that he is willing to enter the very same water that they are occupying. He is willing to connect himself to human sin through the water of baptism.

Is God pleased with this moment of baptism? Apparently so. I say that because, during the baptism, something happens. Something supernatural. Something revelatory. Jesus discerns that the heavens have opened. Jesus discerns that God’s Holy Spirit has descended upon him and anointed him. And Jesus discerns the voice of God, whispering a parental word of affirmation: “This is my beloved Son with whom I am well pleased.”

I wonder how many parents have thought the same kind of thing during the baptism of their son or daughter? “This is my beloved child with whom I am well pleased.”

It is an out of order moment. John the Baptist knows that. But according to Jesus, it is God’s will for him to subordinate himself to the water of John’s ministry. “John let it be this way, let it be out of order. Because my baptism will fulfill all righteousness. My baptism will accomplish the will of God. My baptism will make tangible the incarnational solidarity with the Divine that my ministry represents.”

I invite you to consider a possibility. Consider the possibility that we, like John the Baptist, actually have the wherewithal to baptize Jesus all over again. This, of course, is not an effort on my part to minimize or distort the foundational baptism that only Jesus can offer. But perhaps the baptism that we experience in Christ is first received from him and then offered back to him in response.

As people who carry on with the ministry of John, preparing the way for Jesus’ coming and heralding his arrival, perhaps we, like John, actually have the spiritual capacity to offer back to Jesus the ministry of baptism. Only, instead of baptizing Jesus with water as John did, perhaps we have the opportunity to baptize Jesus with the outpouring of our ministry and our discipleship.

Nineteen years ago, I officiated at my very first adult baptism. The one baptized was a 67-year-old woman who had been a woman of faith for many years. Somehow, however, she had missed the sacrament of baptism. Her parents had not pursued baptism for her when she was an infant, and, although she had come to a rich and vibrant faith in Christ, she had simply put off the sacrament. In fact she had put it off for so long that people stopped asking her about it. But it never stopped troubling her that she had not experienced the baptismal water.

And so, at the age of 67, Lottie Cavanaugh came under the water of baptism, and I had the honor of officiating.

Following that worship service, I asked Lottie what she was going to do now that she was a baptized believer. This was her response: “Jesus baptized me with his grace,” she said, “and now I’m going to baptize him right back.”

“Lottie, I’m not sure what you mean by that. What do you mean you’re going to ‘baptize Jesus right back?’”

“That’s how I look at it,” she said. “It’s like this: I look at my life as a pitcher of water. And what I’m telling you is that I want to pour that pitcher all over Jesus so that he can be drenched with my outpoured life.”

Lottie was a bit of a poet—and perhaps a bit of a sacramental theologian.

If I truly believed that I have the wherewithal to baptize the Lord Jesus afresh with the spiritual water of my outpoured love and compassion and mercy, I wonder how it would impact the way I treat people. I wonder how it would change the way I looked upon my possessions and my financial resources. I wonder how it would affect the way I worship and commune with other believers. I wonder how it would deepen the way I live out my discipleship.

It seems out of order, doesn’t it, that we would have the opportunity to baptize Jesus (the very One who baptizes us in grace)? And yet, as John discovered, such an “out of order” experience may very well be a portion of the fulfillment of all righteousness.

The following words appear in the welcome literature of the congregation that I am privileged to serve. On this World Communion Sunday, I find myself reading through these words and meditating upon their meaning.

The United Methodist tradition maintains that the bread and cup of the Lord’s Supper are not merely symbols, but conduits for the real presence of the Living Christ. We believe, therefore, that Christ-followers are to partake of the Lord’s Supper often and with joyful reverence.

As United Methodist Christians, we believe all are welcome at the Communion table who repent of their sin and place their trust in Christ, regardless of their denominational affiliation or church membership status. One need not be a member of any particular congregation in order to commune at Central Highlands Church. All that is required is an availability to the grace of Jesus Christ and a willingness to acknowledge our need for him.

This day, I pray that many if not all of you are able to taste a portion of the goodness of God in the bread and cup of the Lord’s Supper.

I’ll be with you at the table.

Back in 2003, Rolling Stone magazine (issues 925 and 926, July 2003) featured an article entitled “The Killer Elite”. The author of the article, a reporter by the name of Evan Wright, had spent two months in 2003 traveling with a Marine reconnaissance battalion in Iraq. This particular battalion, populated by young, courageous, and well-trained soldiers, was at the forefront of the charge toward Baghdad.

In the article, the author spends some time addressing the role of the military chaplain who was a part of the battalion. The chaplain believed that it was his primary responsibility to help the soldiers to cope spiritually and emotionally with the almost incomprehensible horrors of combat. On Easter Sunday of 2003, that chaplain held a worship service in a barren field in Iraq. About fifty Marines were in attendance. One Marine, new to faith, chose to be baptized at that worship service. When the chaplain poured the baptismal water over the soldier’s head, the rest of the Marines applauded. The chaplain believed that the baptism boosted the collective morale of the battalion and served as powerful evidence that the Holy Spirit was moving even across the sands of Iraq.

Later that day, however, when Sgt. Brad Colbert, the team leader and one of the most respected Marines in the battalion, heard about the baptism, he became angry. In fact, the article maintains that, when Colbert heard about the baptism, he could not conceal his outrage: “Give me a break,” Colbert exclaimed. “Marines getting baptized? This used to be a place of men with pure warrior spirit. Chaplains are a goddamn waste.”

Jesus, I suppose, will always be looked upon as a dangerous threat by all those who are more invested in the kingdoms of this world than they are in the kingdom of God. Think about it. King Herod saw Jesus as a threat to his throne 2,000 years ago. Current-day soldiers occasionally see Jesus as a threat to the “pure warrior spirit.” Perhaps such conflict is inevitable. Jesus, after all, came to inaugurate a new kingdom, and new kingdoms, it seems, are never established without considerable resistance.

As the presidential race goes into high gear, I find it particularly urgent to remind myself of which kingdom it is in which I have my primary citizenship. It is a kingdom that is governed, but not by Republicans or Democrats. It is a kingdom that is protected, but not by Marines. It is a kingdom in which a single baptism is more threatening and unsettling than an M-16 rifle.

I recently read a compelling and disturbing article written by William Schweiker entitled “Baptism by Torture.” The entire article can be found here.

In the article, Schweiker sheds important light on the torture technique known as “waterboarding.” Waterboarding might be defined as simulated drowning forced upon a person for the purpose of obtaining information. In waterboarding, an individual is immobilized on his or her back while water is poured over his or her face, thereby causing the inhalation of water into the lungs. Schweiker is particularly interested in the intersection between baptismal theology and water torture throughout the history of the church:

Roman Catholics and Protestants alike persecuted the Anabaptists or ‘re-baptizers’ since these people denied infant baptism in favor of adult baptism. The use of torture and physical abuse was meant to stem the movement and also to bring salvation to heretics. It had been held—at least since St. Augustine—that punishment, even lethal in form, could be an act of mercy meant to keep a sinner from continuing in sin, either by repentance of heresy or by death. King Ferdinand declared that drowning—called the third baptism—was a suitable response to Anabaptists. Water as a form of torture was an inversion of the waters of baptism under the (grotesque) belief that it could deliver the heretic from his or her sins.

When I reflect upon the kind of theological misapplication that would lead people of faith to assign an almost sacramental identity to a particular form of torture, it becomes tempting for me to believe that the shared acumen of contemporary disciples would prevent them from ever accommodating such a primitive sacramentological distortion. After all, these days we are far too theologically advanced to mistreat and misapply the sacred.

Aren’t we?

How many times have I nurtured a secret prayer in my heart—”Lord, remove this negative and trouble-making parishioner from MY church”"—thereby reducing the sacred mystery of prayer to a spiritual hit-list?

How many times have I sat in worship with a critical spirit—”I would have preached that text from a much more creative angle!”—thereby reducing the sacred environment of worship to a reinforcement of my own proclivities and preconceived notions?

How many times have I smugly complained about various blog conversations—”Oh no! Not another discourse on the merits or dangers of contemporary worship!”—thereby reducing a potentially sacred dialogue between Christian brothers and sisters to an occasion for cynicism.

How many times have I had something other than the love of Christ in my heart as I shared the bread and cup with my people, thereby reducing Eucharist to a crass remembrance of who my “favorites” are?

If I ponder these questions honestly, I can come to only one conclusion: The impulse that once led the church to link the baptismal water with the water of torture is still at work within me. It is the impulse to distort the sacred for the purpose of justifying our own behavior and our own presuppositions. If left unchecked, this impulse can still lead to horrific theological reductions and heartbreaking patterns of behavior.

Forgive me if this post seems too personal and too confessional. But, then again, it is Advent. Repentance, I suppose, is somewhere very close to the heart of this holy season.

Thanks for being there.

In the summer of 1985, I participated in a celebration of the Lord’s Supper at Arbutus Park Retirement Community in Johnstown. (I spent that summer working as a member of Arbutus Park’s program staff). Sitting beside me in that worship service was Ruth Physaglia, a 75-year-old woman who was in the advanced stages of Alzheimer’s Disease.

Ruth didn’t talk much. But she sang—a lot. The problem with her singing was that there was only one song in her repertoire. That song was this:

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy when skies are gray. You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you. Please don’t take my sunshine away.”

Ruth sang that song over and over again, sometimes a hundred-and-one times a day. It was her love song to life, I suppose, the last vestige of a once vibrant personality. I never heard Ruth sing any other song—except once. During the Communion service, the chaplain came to Ruth with the bread and cup (as she quietly sang “You are my sunshine.”) Ruth stared at the elements for a little while. Then, in a split-second, she changed her tune. The change sounded something like this:

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy when skies are…………….Jesus loves me this I know, for the Bible tells me so. Little ones to him belong. They are weak but he is strong.”

Tears began to form in the eyes of Ruth Physaglia as she came to the chorus. “Yes, Jesus loves me. Yes, Jesus loves me. Yes, Jesus loves me. The Bible tells me so.”

It was the first and last time that I heard Ruth sing those words. In fact, it was the first and last time that I heard her sing anything other than “You Are My Sunshine.”

Why had she changed her tune so suddenly? Who knows? But my personal conviction is that it had something to do with the living presence of Jesus Christ, making its way into Ruth’s soul through the bread and cup of the Lord’s Supper, in such a way that not even Alzheimer’s Disease could distort the profundity of the moment.

Such is the mystical power of Eucharist, I suppose. When believers partake of the bread and cup, Jesus finds his way into human souls, transforming lives and inspiring people to change their tune in all kinds of significant ways.

On this World Communion Sunday, I thank God for my memory of Ruth Physaglia. She speaks to me from my past and, in spirit, joins me at the Lord’s table.

It’s good to be home.

Our trip abroad was replete with experiences of wonder, laughter, and discovery. It was beyond anything that we could have anticipated. God is abundantly good.

Thanks for praying for us in our travels.

One of the highlights of our journey was an excursion to the catacombs in Rome—the expansive underground network of tunnels and tombs in which the early Christians buried their dead and called boldly upon the name of the Lord. The profundity of seeing the ancient Christian symbols painted on the walls of the catacombs left me breathless. Seeing a fish on the back of an automobile is encouraging. Seeing a fish painted by Christ-followers during an age of brutal persecution, however, is nothing short of awe-inspiring.

During a momentary lapse of concentration in the catacombs, I allowed myself to become separated from Tara and the rest of our excursion group. I had stayed behind to take an extra long look at some of the images and symbols on the walls. When I caught up with people, I soon realized that I had rejoined the wrong excursion group. (There were four or five different groups in the catacombs at the time.) Realizing my mistake, I quickly left that group in order to search for Tara and the others. The result, of course, was that, for about 3 minutes, I was lost in the catacombs.

Come to think of it, that would make an interesting song, wouldn’t it?
“Let me be lost and found in catacombs of grace,
Listening to echoes of martyrs whose witness we trace…”

During my…uh…lostness, I stumbled upon a mass being held in one of the tombs—a common occurrence in the catacombs. Given the catacombs’ holy history, priests are permitted and encouraged to help their people to worship in the various chambers of that hallowed ground. That day, I stood at the door of that particular chamber and watched as the priest broke the bread and lifted the cup, speaking those familiar words of institution: “Jesus said, ‘This bread is my body broken for you…This is cup is my blood shed for you and for many for the forgiveness of sins.’” I quietly moved just beyond the door, out of sight, but not out of earshot. I leaned against the cold wall of the tunnel and listened as fifteen Christ-followers feasted on the Bread of Heaven and the Cup of Salvation. Tears welled up in my eyes as I pondered the significance of what was transpiring. Nineteen hundred years ago, our spiritual ancestors spoke words of faith and hope in those dark chambers, believing in their hearts that, in Jesus Christ, death is never given the final word to speak. Nineteen hundred years later, disciples are still gathering in those same chambers, calling upon the name of that same Christ, honoring the witness of the martyrs, and feasting upon the life-altering banquet of God’s grace.

I eventually caught up with Tara and the others. Naturally, Tara asked where I had been. I explained that I had been simultaneously lost and found.

As I prepare myself spiritually for World Communion Sunday, I find myself focusing upon the image of those spiritual pilgrims in the catacombs, celebrating Eucharist. As the people of Central Highlands Church taste of the bread and the cup this weekend (three times!), my prayer is that we will sense the presence of the saints and martyrs who have gone on before us; who have bequeathed to us a rich legacy of faithful discipleship; and who are now feasting at the heavenly table—an eschatological banquet that we foreshadow every time we commune.

Blessings upon all of you as you make ready for the Lord’s Supper. May it be a genuine Eucharist for you and your people.

As a continuation of the baptismal reflection that I began in my last post, it is on my heart to share with you some of the “pillars” that I endeavor to communicate to people in our church’s pre-baptismal gatherings and teaching sessions. The wording is my own. The ideas, I trust, are both biblical and Wesleyan. At least that is my goal.

What Is Baptism?

1. Baptism is God’s initiative and act of grace in the life of the church. Baptism, in other words, is not something that WE accomplish. It is entirely dependent upon the activity of God. This is why United Methodists (along with several other Christian denominations) encourage the baptism of infants. We believe that the effectiveness of baptism is dependent upon God’s gracious initiative and not our capacity to respond. Therefore, infants are welcome at the baptismal water, since God’s grace surrounds them even in their infancy.

2. Baptism, if it is to come to fruition in a human life, must be looked upon as a lifetime ordination to discipleship and ministry for the cause of Jesus Christ. It is not sufficient to allow baptism to become nothing more than an isolated ceremony, marked on the calendar and then quickly forgotten. Rather, baptism must be “lived out” in faithful discipleship to Jesus Christ, if it is to become everything that God wants it to become.

3. Baptism is an entrance into the faith community, the church. Through the water of baptism, the one baptized is recognized as being sacramentally connected to the Body of Christ. This, of course, does not mean that we shun or reject those who are not baptized. It simply means that, by virtue of baptism, we are uniquely and supernaturally joined to one another.

4. Baptism introduces a process of the washing away of sin that will manifest itself regularly throughout the life of the one baptized. If the one baptized is old enough to have repented of sin, then baptism celebrates that repentance. If the one baptized is not old enough to have repented of sin, then baptism anticipates that act. Either way, baptism manifests the washing away of sin that only God’s grace in Christ can bring about.

5. Baptism is God’s permanent watermark of grace on a human soul that never has to be repeated. This watermark of grace serves as a lifelong proclamation of who we are, WHOSE we are, and at what price we were purchased.

Baptism Is NOT…

-Baptism is not, for lack of a better expression, a heavenly insurance policy. United Methodist tradition does not teach that those infants who die before they are baptized will be denied the fullness of God’s salvation. We believe that the prevenient grace of God (the grace that covers us even before we can speak) is sufficient for such precious children.

-Baptism is not only for the benefit of the parents (in the case of infant baptism). Unfortunately, many United Methodists believe otherwise. They believe that baptism is only a symbolic happening and is therefore beneficial only to the parents who make the promises. This notion, however, reduces the meaning of infant baptism significantly and is not in alignment with what our tradition teaches. Granted, the promises that the parents make are covenantal and powerfully significant. But, though infant baptism, God places a mark of baptismal grace upon the soul of the infant. This sacramental marking is dependent upon God’s activity, not the parental promises.

These “pillars” have led me into some wonderfully meaningful sacramental conversations with those preparing themselves for baptism.

What are some of your “pillars?” I’m anxious to hear and learn about them.

After all, as Wesley phrased it in his Treatise on Baptism, “By baptism, we enter into covenant with God; into that everlasting covenant…we are admitted into the Church, and consequently made members of Christ, its head…we who were ‘by nature children of wrath’ are made the children of God.”

Early on in ministry, I scheduled a meeting with a husband and wife who wanted to have their child baptized. Before I shared any of my thoughts on the meaning of baptism, I asked the husband and wife why they thought that it was important to have their child baptized. “To tell you the truth,” the husband responded, “I think that baptism is more about us than it is about our baby. After all, we’re the ones making the promises.”

Those comments, though well-intentioned, give expression to a baptismal theology that I have encountered frequently throughout my ministry. It is a de-mystified theology, one that maintains that the true meaning of baptism resides in the parental promises rather than in the mystical movement of God’s grace, making its way into the soul of the one baptized through the baptismal water.

Please don’t misunderstand me. I am not suggesting that the Kingom of God stands or falls upon the issue of baptism. Nor am I suggesting that our eternal destination hinges on the theological “rightness” of our baptismal theology.

That said, baptism is a crucial practice in the biblical story, in our denominational heritage, and in the church’s worship life, both past and present. My sense, however, is that, when it comes to baptism, we are in a bit of a sacramental mess in United Methodist circles. We have parents believing that baptism is nothing more than a list of parental promises. We have “Roman Catholic” Methodists who refuse to take a long trip with their child until s/he is baptized, out of fear that an unbaptized child would be sent to a purgatorial condition if s/he died. We have pastors who treat baptism as nothing more than glorified symbolism, thereby ignoring what both Scripture and Wesley recognize to be the more mysterious and mystical portions of the baptismal practice (heavens opening, doves descending, that kind of thing!). We have both pastors and laypeople who reduce baptism to a high-church ceremony, to be marked on the calendar and quickly forgotten.

My fear, in other words, is that we have a sacramental theology that is, at best, truncated and, at worst, impotent.

Again, I realize that life is all about Jesus. Jesus, not baptism, is at the heart of our story.

But how can we help our people (and ourselves) to look upon baptism as a practice that can lead the entire church more deeply into Christ and his Way? That is the question with which I find myself struggling on a regular basis, especially when I look into the eyes of parents who are desperate for a deeper understanding of what they are doing when they present their child for baptism.

Clergy and lay folk…do you have any thoughts for me in this regard? Is there any sacramental help and support for this humble old pewboy? What does your church do to help people to experience the richness, the mystery, and the meaning of baptism?

Back in 1989, I attended an Easter vigil at Duke University Chapel on the Saturday night before Easter. The vigil began at 11:00 PM and didn’t end until about 1:00 in the morning. It was quite an experience.

One of the key components of the vigil was a time of baptismal reaffirmation. At the appropriate time, we were invited to come forward to receive the sign of the cross, placed upon our foreheads with the baptismal water.

The officiant that night was Dr. Carol Noren, who, at that time, was a professor of homiletics at Duke Divinity School. In her words of introduction to the baptismal reaffirmation, Dr. Noren said that, for centuries, the church has looked upon the Saturday night before Easter as a time for paying attention to the baptismal water–a time to celebrate baptism and to reaffirm the baptismal covenant.

Why? Why has the church seen Holy Saturday as a day for baptismal emphasis?

“Because,” Dr. Noren said, “the church understands that the baptismal water reminds us of the urgency of dying or drowning to sin and allowing ourselves to be resurrected to newness of life in Christ Jesus. What better time to reflect upon this pattern of death and resurrection than Easter weekend?”

Later on in her words of introduction, Dr. Noren shared with us a wonderful image that I will never forget. “The church has come to understand,” she said, “that it is better to swim into Easter through the water of baptism than to walk into Easter relying on our own merits.”

I love that image! Swimming our way into Easter through the water of baptism!

Tonight at Central Highlands Church, we will hold our 4th annual Easter Eve Service of Baptismal Reaffirmation. One person will be baptized (nine-year-old Douglas Zachary–pray for him). And all the folks in attendance will have the opportunity to reaffirm their commitment to the baptismal covenant.

Between the Service of Darkness that we had last night and the Resurrection celebrations that we will hold tomorrow, the Easter Eve service has become a really important time for us at Central Highlands Church to catch our liturgical breath and to prepare ourselves for an authentic celebration of the good news that Christ is risen. Beyond that, tonight’s service brings us more deeply into the baptismal water, through which we swim our way to the resurrected Christ.