Me???

When I went to college in Utah, I started attending a Baptist church with my sister, who was attending college there, too. I remember after the first service I went to, I met with the pastor. We had a long talk about baptism, the difference between Baptist and Lutheran beliefs (while I was raised Lutheran, I hadn't been in years. But they still shaped me, as hard as I tried to deny it. He didn't know much about Lutheranism, either...so we compared notes). After a good talk which involved talking about the fact that infant baptism didn't count, he suggested I not come to communion the next week (the only time I actually remember them having it) since I wasn't baptized (or at least, he believed I wasn't). I respectfully agreed, for different reasons. Despite my rebelliousness against my Lutheran upbringing, I could never quite seem to bring myself to commune where Christ's body and blood weren't recognized.

The issue of baptism was never really brought up again, and while I did struggle with the issue of my parents "having the audacity to choose my faith for me and making that proclamation in my stead" I still never could bring myself to truly question the validity of my infant baptism, and I never completely bought into the idea that immersion was the only valid method. So since the pastor didn't talk about it, it actually slipped my mind. I did kind of intend to get rebaptized, but never could seem to get around to doing it.

For the next year, I really enjoyed myself in that congregation. They were pretty laid back as far as Baptists go. They were friendly and nice, but not overbearing or legalistic (most of them even drank a little. I think that being in a place where you are truly persecuted makes you more aware of what is really important and what is not - there, in Utah, the ones who were adamantly against alcohol were the Mormons). They had great potlucks and picnics. I really enjoyed Bible study, and eagerly went to the Sunday college group (five of us (two were the PKs, one other girl, and my sister and me) led by a rancher guy named Lynn), and I almost never missed the midweek study with the pastor. We had some great discussions. I enjoyed the church service, which usually involved singing a hymn (verses 1,2, and 4....it always cracked me up that the man who led music never wanted to sing a whole hymn), the readings, the sermon , then another hymn, and an altar call. Then it finished up with some prayers and another hymn (they stood up and sat down more often than Lutherans!). The sermons really weren't the way that most Lutherans imagine Baptist sermons. Pastor Dave never could've been like that. They were calm, insightful, and stuck to the text. I really felt a part of that congregation.

The altar call often puzzled me.....it usually was the place where a person publicly "gave their life to Jesus" and then arrangements were made for their baptism to follow in the next few weeks. While altar calls at the nondenominational church that I had attended before that year often involved people re-dedicating their life to Jesus, this didn't seem to be what it was for this congregation.

Every week, the organist would play a hymn and we would sing, and the pastor would just stand there by the altar and wait. Sometimes it seemed to me like he waited a long time. I just figured that it was something that he did at that point in time because he was supposed to (actually, there were many rudimentary liturgical aspects to this worship format, they just didn't know it) , but it didn't seem to make sense, since every person in that small church was fairly active in the congregation. It seemed like that business was pretty much taken care of for a while. Yet the pastor waited, and seemingly waited with purpose.

Two days ago, these memories came upon me again for one reason or another....and all of a sudden I realized, "Oh my goodness!!! He was waiting for ME!!!"