“During that time, Jesus of Nazareth of Galilee was baptized in the Jordan by John” (Mark 1.9).
I can’t remember if I’ve told this story here. Indulge me for a moment if I have. And, if I haven’t, well it’s a short one.
My childhood and teen years were spent in Southern Baptist congregations. Unlike some traditions within Christianity, this meant you weren’t held over a basin as a baby while someone poured water over your head. In the tradition the Baptists followed, you didn’t come to the river until you’d come to a moment of conversion and confession that Jesus was lord of your life.
So, on a Sunday or two after you’d stepped out into the aisle and made your way (alone) to the front of the congregation, you were standing in your bathing suit and a while robe beside a small pool of water. And at the pastor’s motion, you sloshed through that water where you were swept off your feet and drenched in less than a minute, making your way back up the steps and into a waiting towel.
It is an abrupt experience, and, to me, really captures the symbol of being buried and raised with Jesus. Especially if, like me, you got a little water in your throat and gasp when you’re back on your feet again. Coming back to life involves taking your first deep breath.
There’s no right or wrong way to baptize someone, least not in my thinking. I’m fond of immersion; because, it’s memory is strong even after all these decades. And because it brings home the physical reality of dying and rising with the Risen One. An act that doesn’t just happen once, but time and time again throughout our lives.
Immersive baptism has with it a trust in the person who is charged with taking you under the water. Sure, there’s usually not a lot of risk of drowning, but it’s still a risk. Any time you go beneath the surface, there’s always the possibility you might not come back up. All you have is faith that the person taking you under will bring you back up again.
As a rite, I think baptism is the stark reminder that our endeavor to walk the road before us, to attempt to follow this poor carpenter’s son out of Galilee is risky. He seems trustworthy, but all we have is faith that he’ll be able to pull us both back into the land of the living. And if we dare allow parts of ourselves to die, we have nothing but faith in his skill and strength to carry with us into the darkness. Nothing but his gentle touch on us to hold onto as we submerge—buried beneath the water.
And when we do, we may come up gasping, coughing the water out of our lungs as we try to catch our breath. We may stumble—wet and blurry-eyed—to climb back up into the world that’s waiting for us. But what else could we expect when we find ourselves alive once again?
Jesus, may I trust you to bring me back to the surface when I dare to go under.