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| My Great Grandparents, H.S. Calahan & Lala Shelby Calahan, 5th&6th from the right, at their baptism, probably in Louisiana, circa 1900. |
I grew up in the Texas Panhandle the small farming community of South Plains that centered around a school with eight grades and a Baptist Church where my great-grandmother was a charter member and half the deacons were my great uncles.
As a second grader, I tried
again. This time I really did understand, but Brother Spearman and the
congregation assumed that I had just followed several of my older cousins. This time Brother Spearman said a short prayer of blessing that
I would continue to “grow in faith” and sent me back down the aisle to my
parents.
After service dismissed, I
was sitting on the steps that went down into the sanctuary, feeling forlorn and
embarrassed, frustrated, and wondering how I was ever going to follow Jesus if they
wouldn’t let me be baptized.
Grandaddy came back into the
building to get his hat from the shelf where the men left Sunday-go-to-meeting
Stetsons. He saw me sitting there and walked down the steps to join me. He
wrapped an arm around me and said, “Hard time tonight. Tell me about it.”
He listened. We talked.
For the next year I got to
spend some one-on-one time with him, often riding in his pick-up around the
farm or walking the pasture with him to pull out undesirable weeds that could
compromise the Jerseys’ milk. One day toward the end of
summer, Grandaddy said that he was convinced that I did know what sin was, that
I was sorry for all I’d done, that I understood what it meant to repent and
surrender my life to the Lord. He said he was going to "speak" to Daddy and Mother
and to Brother Spearman for me. He assured me that the next time I “was called”
to walk down that aisle I would not be turned away.
And so it was.
Following the Spring revival,
a few months after my 9th birthday, I walked down the aisle and
professed faith in Jesus. Brother Spearman accepted my confession, and I was
welcomed by the church membership.
The following Sunday evening,
the South Plains Baptist Church and most of the community traveled to the
larger town of Silverton where we had arranged to “borrow” their baptistry. All
those who had “come forward” during the meeting—several adults, a couple of
older teens, almost every 12-year-old in our church, and I—stood and affirmed
our faith in Jesus Christ as the Son of God who had died on
the cross for our salvation. We declared our intention to follow Him as a
disciple and to “obey all things whatsoever He commanded.”
Then we all marched
out to the hallway behind the baptistry, took off our shoes and socks, and waited
in line to be baptized, one by one. Several of our Sunday School
teachers and a few mothers went with us. We each carried a bath towel. Mother
had given me one of our fluffy “company” towels.
Back in the sanctuary, my
grandmother was seated beside her parents; she held a homemade quilt to wrap me because
everyone went home still wet from the water. There were no robes, no head coverings. We all wore regular clothes. Brother Spearman had waders over his regular suit trousers.
I remember the tears in Gran's eyes, the sweetness of her smile, and the extra warmth of her hug enwrapping me.
Kathy was baptized immediately before me, and I watched from the top of the steps. She was wearing a new bright yellow chiffon dress which floated up and ballooned around her when she was in the baptistry. She coughed a bit coming up from the water and then the most lovely, serene smile. I was so happy for her!]
My mother was standing beside me and handed me one of Daddy’s freshly ironed white cotton handkerchiefs to put over
my nose and mouth. She had to give me her hand for the first couple of steps
down into the water.
Then Brother Spearman took my
hand and said, “I’m going to baptize you now in the name of the Father, and of
the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.”
He led me a few steps deeper into the water,
not too deep because if we got very far from the edge my feet wouldn’t be able
to touch the bottom. I was on tiptoe. Then
he whispered, “Take a deep breath.”
Placing his hand over my hand that held Daddy’s
handkerchief, he said, “Buried with Christ in baptism…” He tilted me back under
the water. Then he lifted me out of the water, supporting me with his arm
because I had no solid footing, saying, “Arise now to walk in newness of life, dead unto
sin, but alive unto God through Jesus Christ our Lord.” [All phrases from the 6th
chapter of Romans, KJV.
I remember it like it was yesterday!
The great joy!
The feeling of freedom.
The deep sense of belonging.
And that could be the end of
the story, but it wasn’t.
When I was 14 years old and a
freshman in high school, having been a faithful Christian for 7 years, I had a
crisis of faith, "a dark night of the soul." I declared myself to be an atheist and, refusing to be a
hypocrite, I stopped going to church.
A few months later, I repented all that non-sense
and considered if I had perhaps been too young and if I needed to be baptized
again. I talked with my parents, my favorite Sunday School teacher who remained
my life-long mentor, and Grandaddy who said,
“Oh, Sweetheart, if ever'one had to
be baptized ever' time we did anythin’ wrong or foolish, we’d all be jumpin’ in
the crick ever' week.”
Since the memory of my
baptism was still so vivid for me, I chose to walk down the aisle, publicly
confess my sin, and rededicate my life to Christ.
And that could be the end of the story, but it wasn’t.
The subject of baptism came
up again 4 years later when I was a freshman at Rice. It was David’s and my
first date... [this next part may sound familiar to those who heard Dee Pipes tell her baptismal story. If you're going to date one of Betty Pipes's son, the subject will come up.] ...David and I debated the meaning of Jesus’ words to Nicodemus:
"except a man be born of water and of the Spirit, he cannot enter into the kingdom of God. That which is born of the flesh is flesh; and that
which is born of the Spirit is spirit…. Ye must be born again.”
It was an oft
repeated discussion until David acknowledged that in his view my childhood baptism
was indeed valid and was affirmed by the faith and discipleship that I lived, and then he added “but I doubt my church and maybe my family will agree.”
For the record, my Baptist
family was no happier than his Church of Christ one to see their pride and joy "unequally yoked, to
marry outside the church.” But, in fact, I
had already left the Baptist Church over issues surrounding Communion which I
believed should be weekly and open to all.
As the wedding date
approached, there were whispering; several people asked, “Do you think she’d agree to be baptized
again.”
She would not.
My baptism remained fresh in
my memory and was far too sacred to me. I felt that undergoing “an empty rite”
would be a denial of Jesus and of the Spirit’s working in my life for well over
a decade.
Since David and I agreed that
unity in the home was a key value, we explored other options: I favored Lutheran
or Disciples of Christ, or maybe even Episcopalian. David visited my favorite
churches which I had been attending on Sunday mornings. I had been attending
Sunday evening and Wednesday nights at Central with him for several years. In
the end, our choice was that we would worship with Central Church of Christ and
see how it went.
And so it was.
We had been married about 3 years, when Central's minister, Dan Anders, paid an unexpected visit to our apartment rather late at night. He’d come directly from a meeting of Central’s Eldership who wished to extend an invitation to me to be recognized as a “member of the body of Christ.” They affirmed my baptism and welcomed me into the congregation. A tiny + cross or plus sign was added beside my name in to the church directory, and I was soon asked to join the elementary teaching staff [Camille Dailey and Marjorie Bourland as well as David, Andrea, and at least two of Central's Elders--R. L. Sanders and Don Calendar, Sr.--and several others had been advocating on my behalf.
Once again, Great joy!
A
feeling of freedom.
A deep sense of belonging.
And so it was and is and has
been for 51 years.
Baptism is individual; we are all baptized one by one.
Faith may be generational. We have a duty to teach those who follow us.
Both Baptism and Faith are always communal, happening in the context of a community, a communion.
I am most grateful to have lived my live in this beloved community that knows that love, not fear, is the
motivation for baptism. A people who welcomes little children and listens to
them and teaches them gently. A leadership that knows that we are all God’s
children and that we gather at the Lord’s Table which is free and full of abundant grace
for all who come.
Spirit calls to spirit.
Churches that are Spirit- led recognize the work of the Spirit when we see it
in others.
“The
Spirit testifies with our spirit that we are children of God… For I
am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor
principalities, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor
height, nor depth, nor any other… thing will be able to separate us
from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.” [Romans 8:16a,
39]
Let us commune with God and with one another.
