Of Baptism and French Toast (Not the rant I thought I'd write)

It's a good thing for the Spirit to throw cold water now and then on a righteous rant. Here I was, all prepped to spew out a long-withheld response to the "hell-first" style of evangelism--and then I went to church.

To explain--I'm a member of a Methodist church attached to my university. This morning, however, I visited my city's First United Methodist Church downtown. Susie, a friend of mine from the University UMC, had just finished seminary, gotten her probationary orders, and been appointed to the FUMC. Today was her first sermon in that church, so I went to support her.

The church is huge (which is not all that unusual) and packed with people (which is pretty unusual for a Methodist church). Every church has ushers, but this was the first time I've seen ushers actually, well, ushing; I walked into the service during the first hymn and saw no where to sit. An usher grimly pointed the lone remaining space on a nearby pew, and I sat down. A woman beside me shared her hymnal as we sang.

Four pastors sat at the front of the auditorium, including my friend. I believe four is a record for me; I thought my church was extravagant with three.

After the hymn, the head pastor came forward and gave a short talk about Baptism.

Now--for those who don't know, United Methodists typically baptize infants, a practice considered anathema by Baptists (Southern and otherwise). For Methodists (and here I simplify theology for the sake of saving time) such baptism signifies God's welcome into his communal body.

These baptismal moments are among my very favorite church experiences. The parent or parents, accompanied by friends and family, approach the front of the sanctuary, where the pastor(s) gather. The lead pastor takes the infant, cradles it, asks the infant's name, and then poses a question to the parents: will you raise this child in the full knowledge of Christ's love? The parents signify their assent. Then the pastor asks the same of the church as a whole. We give our assent. Then the pastor dips her hand into a basin of water (the baptismal fount) and lightly wets the head, declaring that this infant is baptized in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.

And then--the best part--the pastor, still cradling the infant, walks into the congregation, up and down the aisles, as the congregation sings a welcoming song. "This is your family," he tells the infant. "This is your sister," he tells the congregation.

Love it. At my church, which is full of younger couples, I am blessed to see many such infant baptisms.

It is quite rare, however, to see an adult baptism. And to my surprise this morning, there at the front of the sanctuary was a tall man standing before the pastors as they gathered around the baptismal fount.

The lead pastor raised his hands... and gave a short lesson on Methodist theology.

"You may not know this," he said (and I paraphrase), "but Methodists do not re-baptize people. Other faiths do, but we do not. Why? Because we see baptism as God's work, God's grace in action. And to re-baptize someone would, we feel, suggest that God's work was insufficient to begin with and must be re-done. This we do not believe. God's baptism is God's baptism.

"But we do occasionally celebrate a renewal of baptism. Jim here [I'm making up his name] has been a part of our church for a while. He came from the Southern Baptist tradition, and he's felt the need now to renew his baptism here. When Jim came to me this week wanting to be re-baptized, I had to tell him, 'Sorry, we don't do that.' He said, 'OK, so what shall we do?' Well, since this morning we welcomed into the church several people by baptism [a Taiwanese woman and her two children--I wish I had seen that!], I thought this would be a good day for Jim to have a renewal.

"So, Jim," and at this point the pastor stepped forward with a bowl of water (not from the fount), "here is water to remind you of your baptism. Feel it for yourself." Jim dipped his fingers into the bowl. "Now, if you would, make the sign of the cross on your head." Jim did so. All four pastors laid a hand on him.

"Be reminded, Jim," said the pastor, "that you are claimed by a Love that will not let you go, that nothing can separate you from the love of Christ."

And there it is: the heart of my faith, the love that claims us before we know it and beyond our ability to return it.

I knew then I couldn't spend time today on a rant. This simple service--so like Southern Baptist or other evangelical rituals in some ways, so different in others--reminded me why I'm a Methodist. There was no mention of hell, of punishment, of a need for certainty or anxiety. The fear and urgency of fight-or-flight evangelism was entirely absent. But there was conviction--deep conviction--of God's powerful, eternal love for us. Baptism--the welcome of God--is God's Act, a forever act, never in need of repetition. We may be reminded of it, but the original watermark--no matter where or how it was originally given--is indelibly God's.

Susie's sermon, too, was a blessing. She preached on Christ's feeding the 5,000 (John 6). Specifically, she preached on the leftovers. Thoughtful and humorous, personal and scriptural, Susie reflected on God's care for filling us up and God's care in collecting the the uneaten pieces. French toast, she reminded us, was originally made from leftover bread. Its name in French, pain perdu, literally means "Lost Bread." "Not to get too theological," she joked, "but it is the bread that once was lost and now is saved."

As with bread, so with people. She told of this church's ministry to female ex-convicts, people so often considered left over and left out. She told of her own journey, realizing at age 40 that she needed to be doing something else, something in the ministry. God, she said, pulled together the leftover pieces of her life and helped her to be where she is today--preaching in front of a congregation, renewing and reminding us of the all-powerful love that serves as the heartbeat of our church.

Apologies if you were expecting the rant. Perhaps tomorrow. But a blessing like this morning crowds out negativity.

JF