I was baptized before, as an infant. I was dressed all in white by my father and my mother and I was carried to the front of the church, where stood my family and my godparents and all the people that supported us. And the pastor spoke powerful words that echoed into eternity, just as they do any time a human being is baptized, and the water ran over me, and the Spirit of God was there, and the piano played, and the congregation clapped, and we all welcomed this fresh, new, broken child of God into the family of believers. This was real and true and every bit as rich with meaning as any other baptism.
But, I don’t remember it.
I don’t remember how I felt the Spirit move that day. I don’t remember the expressions on the faces of the community who had just committed to raising me in faith. I don’t remember how it felt to be told that I would be raised to new life in Jesus every day, or to hear it proclaimed that I was, in fact, inherently a beloved child of God.
I can’t remember, because I was none years old.
And that’s okay. Not remembering something doesn’t make it not real, any more than not knowing something makes it not real. But I do know now. I have come to know Jesus, and have come to believe, with certainty, that he has saved me. And so today has nothing to do with the theological conversation of infant baptism or adult baptism, because I’m actually not interested in developing formulas for salvation outside of Christ himself. And it has nothing to do with claiming that my own adult, grown-up choice is what saves me, because nothing could be further from the truth, and let’s be honest— I’m only slightly capable of making adult, grown-up choices about eating vegetables, let alone something as vast as eternity.
No, this day is about remembering. Because I believe that remembering is the function of sanctification.
In John 13, Jesus knows he is about to die and he takes a tender moment to wash his disciples feet, modeling for them how they are to serve and love others. When he comes to Peter, the disciple rejects his offer because, duh, Jesus is their rabbi (not to mention the Messiah) and he “shouldn’t” be on his knees washing the feet of the people who follow him. Jesus then says to his disciples, “Unless I wash you, you have no part with me.” And suddenly, Peter changes his mind and gets really excited about this washing thing, or he just has mad FOMO, but either way he says, “Then, Lord, not just my feet but my hands and my head as well!” Jesus answers him by saying, “Those who have had a bath need only to wash their feet; their whole body is clean.”
In case I lost you, I’ll be explicit— whole body washing = baptism, feet washing = sanctification. And sanctification is the reason we don’t need to be baptized every time we screw up. When we remember what Christ has already done for us, it draws us to repentance, to sanctification, to new life, and this happens again and again and again, every day, or every five seconds if you’re like me. It’s a continual process, and we are sanctified when we are drawn back to him to remember fully who he is and that he is the one doing the washing— the King of Kings bowed at our feet to cleanse us, continually.
Remembering is the function of sanctification, and I want to be able to remember my baptism, to remember how he washed my whole body so that, when I remember, when I look back, I can present my feet to him with humility… every five seconds.
My dad’s birthday was two days ago and the anniversary of his death is coming up in a couple of weeks, and it feels completely appropriate that I would be baptized between those two dates, between death and life. My 25 years have been filled with so many “life out of death” stories— something dying and something else being brought to life in Christ, again and again and again. And so although I have felt nervous and anxious and unprepared for this at least a dozen times in the last few weeks, I remember that even when it was hardest, I have already chosen Christ. I have already been submerged, physically and metaphorically, and this day is a public proclamation meant to glorify the God that has already done the work. It is done.
I fully recognize that being baptized as an adult after already being baptized as an infant may present a theological nightmare to some of you, and to that, my response is GREAT. Let’s wrestle with that. Let’s talk about it and wonder and ask and seek, and maybe even dare to doubt a little bit, and all the while, we will come closer and closer to the heart of God, who pursues us relentlessly and reveals himself to us in our questions far more than he does in our answers. Today isn’t about answers. Today is about proclaiming. It’s about proclaiming what I already know to be true, which is that I am already baptized in Christ, and it wasn’t just on that day 25 years ago in a crowded sanctuary, it was on a dusty hill almost 2,000 years ago when death died, when Christ died, when I died, and God’s power pulled me and you and all of us back up out of that grave; and it was in all of the small, sacred moments, all of the tender steps I took towards Jesus, as I grew and matured and continued to choose him from age zero to 25 and a half.
I will remember the Spirit’s movements today.
I will remember these faces, the faces of people I love so much all gathered in one place.
I will remember what it feels like in my chest to know that I am a claimed and beloved child of God, that I am raised to new life every day.
And I will remember forever the sound of my own voice proclaiming that Christ. is. it.
