Why Baptism?

First of all, it has not gone without notice that I am writing an update blog about baptism within a site that is entitled "Dead Man Rising". It is no coincidence either. The blog title is in reference to the hope that is available to us as men to rise from the ashes of our feelings of hopelessness, despair, inadequacies, and shame. Baptism is a reference to death and resurrection; another rising indeed. We are baptized as believers as a symbol of our death and resurrection that is made possible in the death and resurrection of Christ himself. I have been in the process of "rising from the dead" for quite some time now. But baptism is a symbolic act that I have not taken, mostly because it never really occurred to me to take it. Although now, I'm not entirely sure that is the only reason.

I became a believer in Jesus Christ as Lord when I was sixteen years old. I was at a retreat that took place at Trinity Baptist Church in Kerrville, Texas. It was not my home church, but it was the church that seemed to be drawing the largest crowd of fellow high school students. And so it became a great place to be to make friends and to fit in. I was participating in a youth focused weekend called First Love Youth Weekend. I believe my primary motivation for being at the event was to be near a girl that lit my heart up in a way that rivaled the Holy Spirit himself! I was unsuccessful with the girl. But when they invited us to make a decision to surrender our lives to Jesus Christ, and to accept Him as our Lord and Savior, I prayed and made that decision as I sat quietly in the church pew. It was the greatest moment of my life. Actually, I'm not entirely sure the reward of the decision was immediately evident. I do, however, remember journaling that evening in my nightly notebook. And at the end of that night's entry I very simply wrote, "Jesus, thank you for saving me today." I still have the notebook to this day, and could readily pull it out of its closet storage to show it to you. But the real evidence of salvation began to shine the next day. I was at a camping trip with my family. I simply couldn't ignore the joy that was inside of me. I felt alive. Free. I felt like I weighed less. I genuinely wanted to be helpful to my family. All I could listen to was Christian music, and that was a very large change from the music I had been allowing into my ears and my head. At the time I had only a casette of a local Christian band called Gabriel, and an album from Michael W. Smith. I can only hope that my Loving God has forgiven me for the poor musical tastes that I possessed in my early salvation (God bless Michael W. Smith). The point is, I changed that day.

There have been some times in my life that I have struggled with the reality of that decision that was made in the church pew at Trinity Baptist Church. The first time was in college. I had a difficult emotional journey through my college experience. I felt like my Christian environment had been ripped away from me and I didn't have any foundation on which to stand. It is true, I had become very relient on my Christian popularity rather then a steadfast reliance on God. But I was doing the best I could. At some point I remember mourning in my heart because I realized I had completed my full freshman year of college and could not remember uttering a single prayer to God in the entire year. I also was learning a great deal of theology and literatary criticism in my classes at college that were breaking down my faith in God and the Scriptures. All of this lead to a gentle toeing at the line of agnosticism. When I was fortunate enough to visit with old high school youth group friends, I would often argue with them about misconceptions in the Bible and in common Christian theology, trying to lord over them my new found intellectualism. It was really a blanket to hide my naked and vulnerable belief system that had been left with little security. I doubted my faith. I doubted that God really loved me. I doubted myself. However, in all of that struggle and despair, there was a dim glimmer of hope that remained from "remembering the joy of my salvation", as David refers to in the Psalms. I remember sitting in the lush green lawn that lay the middle of my college campus, alone, thinking about the journey that had taken place and wondering who I really was as a believer or non-believer. And there was one pressing Truth that I could simply not deny. I could not allow myself to ignore it. It was my Salvation. I could not argue against my own doubts in order to successfully convince myself that nothing had taken place when I asked Jesus to be in my life. The feeling and the change were too real, too dramatic, and too self-evident. I was left frustrated. So much had changed, but the memory of my salvation experience haunted me and would not let me go.

The next many years of my life have been a journey of doubts and faith, growth and injury, joys and hurts. I don't believe that all of the details need to be shared here at this moment. Suffice to say that I have travelled the journey that would earn all of the approval of anyone concerned with the appropriate actions of a really great Christian guy. I served as a professional youth minister, I attended a thoelogical seminary, I received a religious masters degree, and I taught the gospel to other people. I left seminary with a great deal of knowledge, and unfortunately, a great deal of pride. The knowledge protected me a little bit. But my pride could not save me. I also inherited a lot of the doctrines and philosophies of the United Methodist denomination. One of those doctrines that exists in that denomination is that baptism is a one-time deal, and we are not to dishonor God's work by participating in a repeat baptism. I was baptised as an infant. As much as I would have liked the opportunity to make a choice about baptism as a rational adult, I was not interested in dishonoring God by denying the work that was done in my infant baptism. I simply wanted to trust God and believe.

So why the change? Well, I've taken you through this entire lengthy exposure of my life to honeslyt tell you, I'm not really sure. The Gift Of Desperation (GOD) perhaps. I need God in my life even more than I need oxygen and water. Without oxygen and water I would surely die. But without God I would lose my very soul, the very purpose for which I was created. There are worse things that can happen in our lives than death. Sometimes pain can be so unbearable that death itself begins to seem a welcome alternative. Just ask anybody who has attempted suicide in their life. Paul tells us in the book of Romans 10:9 that, "...if you confess with your mouth that Jesus is Lord and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved." That day in the church pew at age sixteen I accepted Christ as my savior. I covered the "believe in your heart" part, but I never did confess with my mouth. See, other students at the event stood up, walked to the front of the church, and made a public decleration of their decision. I hid. I kept it to myself. I have kept a lot to myself in my life. I've hidden a lot also. I've hidden as much as an adult as I did as a kid. There are probably two main motivations for my decision to be re-baptized. The first is simply that it has been highly suggested to me by men in my life who have taken on the roll of guiding me and leading me in freedom and faith. They have been right about a lot of other things, so they tend to win my obedience in spiritual matters. Plus, they have what I want in their own spiritual lives. My friends in seminary had knowledge, and I wanted that too. But these men have something deeper than knowledge (Proverbs 3:5). And I want it. It's possible that I even need it. Secondly, I believe that I am overdue in publically giving God the praise for His resurrection power in my life. He has done, and is continuing to do, something in my life that I simply do not have the power to do. Like Lazarus who was left to rot in a tomb, I know the feeling of seeming a victim of stinking circumstances. Lazarus did not have much say in the matter. Jesus just woke him up. Like Lazarus, my powerlesness has been made most evident to me. Lazarus could not wake up from death. Only Jesus could raise him. And He did. And only Jesus can do for me what I so desperately need Him to do. And I don't even have much say in the matter. I find myself walking away from a dark tomb, my lungs breathing in clean air, my legs regaining a youthful strength, and my heart beating a strange new rhythm. My grave clothes begin to fall. Fresh skin is revealed.

I doubt that our friend Lazarus would stand before Jesus and argue with him about religious doctrine not allowing his return to life. Likewise, doctrine is not my concern in this matter. What does matter to me is the opportunity to give thanks, praise, and a public witness of Christ's resurrection power. He deserves this praise. And I need his life-giving spirit. And so, without much question, I will do this thing. I will speak of the saving work and the free gift of grace that is made available to me in the blood of Jesus Christ. I will go into the water in recognition that my life alone has but one certain destiny, death. And most importantly, I will rise out of the water and declare that Christ is resurrected from the dead, and so has the power to resurrect me. And may He continue to do so. Jesus woke Lazarus. But when Jesus called to him, Lazarus had to walk out of his tomb. I have a lot of walking to do. And I have many bandages that must be removed. But only Jesus could awaken me. In recognition of Him, I will be baptized.