It's never too late

Yesterday, for the second time in less than a month, I stood at the front of my church and, with K and ER beside me, made a promise in front of the pastor, God and everyone at the church.

This time, though, the promise was to God. I was baptized.

It was something I had thought about for a long time, and it was a decision I did not take lightly. I started talking to my pastor about it close to a year ago. I talked to my grandparents, ER, my dad, K, Jeremy, and a few others about it.

I grew up Baptist. In the Baptist church -- at least how it was always explained to me -- getting baptized is a way of telling the church and the world that you were "saved."

I was 9 when I was saved. I was at summer church camp, which I loved. I spent an afternoon on the porch of our cabin talking with Beverly, one of the adults at our church. I had questions about things I had learned at the camp, and we talked for quite a while. That day, on the porch with Beverly, I became a Christian.

I remember how overwhelmingly amazing it felt. I couldn't wait to tell my grandparents about it when I got home. They were so excited! My mom wasn't religious, so I was worried that she would roll her eyes or quickly change the subject, dismissing the huge, life-changing realization I had had. My mom surprised me, though. She was happy for me. But I didn't really think about getting baptized.

For the first 20 years of my life, I was surrounded by so many examples of what it meant to be a Christian. There was my cousin (the preacher's daughter), who told my brother and me that we were going to hell because we didn't go to church.

There were my aunt and uncle (the preacher), who had their children living such sheltered lives that they forced the same rules on the other children who were around them, confiscating peace sign jewelry ("It's an upside-down, broken cross!") and outlawing things like PG-13 movies and Paula Abdul ("They're bad."). Sundays were spent doing absolutely nothing but going to church, and the TV was not allowed to be on the whole day. (It's no coincidence that my brother and I only spent one Sunday at their house when we were little!)

There were the people from the largest Baptist church in town, who were very pushy and judgmental in their attempts to guilt people into religion.

There were those people who, when I did go to Bible studies, demanded to know where I had been the previous Sunday morning or during the previous week's Bible study.

There was the roommate in college who was so religious that she refused to date, and she was actually even hard to carry on a conversation with (She often interrupted at random times with things like, "Jesus loves you." What is the proper response: "Thank you"? "I know"? "He loves you too"? "Does that mean you do want me to get you more milk at the grocery store?"?).

For the first 20 years of my life, there were a lot of extreme examples of Super Religious People that I didn't know if I could live up to. And to be honest, I didn't want to. Surely God didn't put me on this earth to be a zombie who was incapable of doing nothing but talking about Jesus and the Bible and God and the Holy Spirit (not to call anyone I've mentioned zombies ...). Did that mean I was a bad Christian?

When I started going to ER's church with her, I was relieved at how at home I felt. Everyone was so friendly, and I started going regularly. Even after ER moved, I went by myself. I started going to outings with the 20/30 something group, where I met plenty of people like me, including our associate pastor and his wife. These were religious people who were welcoming. They weren't judging me, they weren't pressuring me, and they weren't talking nonstop about religion. They were like me. They were good people who led good lives both inside and outside the church.

When I first started thinking about getting baptized, I thought long and hard about it. I wanted to be sure I understood the differences in the meanings of the ritual in the Lutheran church from the church I grew up in. I wanted to be sure I completely understood the promise I wanted to make. I wanted to be sure I was doing it for the right reasons, rather than because it's what you're supposed to do.

I talked with our associate pastor about baptism one final time last week. I told him about all the extremes and conflicting messages I had gotten growing up, and how it had confused me about baptism and the details of holding up our end of that promise.

When I left from our meeting, I felt so much better, so much clearer. I no longer felt like I was making a promise to God that would be impossible for me to live up to.

So on a sunny Sunday morning at the age of 25, I was finally baptized.






































ER's sister put it well: "Our church had a great day: three babies and two adults baptized!" Amen!

I feel excited about the promise I made. I feel glad that I took the time to learn more about it before I dove in. I am grateful for the blessings in my life, and I'm excited for the growth that lies ahead.