There are certain immutable laws of the universe which govern the course of the day. The sun rises in the east and sits in the west. Politicians will talk a good game, and when push comes to shove, fail to follow through (or use their fists instead). And whenever I absolutely have to be somewhere in a hurry, I will inevitably end up behind an octogenarian in an Olds. Or in this case, a memaw in a Marquis.<\/p>\n
There were no cars behind me or coming toward me, and it would have been a simple matter to have downshifted, crossed the double yellow, and blown granny’s doors off on my way to church. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but there was something not quite right about that idea. So instead of grinding my gears, I ground my teeth instead, hoping and praying that my slow-going foil was about to reach her destination.<\/p>\n
Mercifully, she signaled right. And after she very sloooowly<\/em> executed her turn, the road ahead was clear. Truly, God will not allow us to be tempted beyond that which we can bear.<\/p>\n After that, it was all a blur (I’ve always wanted to say that). I entered the building, trying to appear calm and collected as everyone I passed on my way to the “ready room” smiled, nodded, or touched my arm and offered up a heartfelt “Congratulations.” I saw my friend C. who had just baptized his son. C. and his family are moving to Egypt this summer.<\/p>\n “You too?” I asked.<\/p>\n “Yep,” he replied, “just tying up a few loose ends before we leave. And by the way, roll up your sleeves as high as you possibly can.”<\/p>\n Baptism Central was already full of dripping wet baptizees and baptizers. I realized quickly, though, that everyone else was done, that the congregants were biding their time working their way through several verses of various praise songs and that all eyes were on me and Number Three, who was standing there, grinning ear-to-ear, clad in nothing but his plum-colored surgical scrubs. There was no time to waste.<\/p>\n But first, the waders. Rubber waders are wonderful for fly-fishing in Montana; not so much, though, for an optometrist who’s just running around at lunch trying to do some errands. Fortunately for me, Numbers One and Two were there, and serving as my seconds, they helped me unload my keys, wallet and electronics, slide into the waders and slowly stand. I was suddenly transformed; one moment, a confident, professional man in shirt and tie, and in the next, a middle-aged Stay Puft Marshmallow Man.<\/a><\/p>\n “Are you ready for this?” I asked Number Three.<\/p>\n “Yes I am!” he replied.<\/p>\n “Then let’s do it.”<\/p>\n Waddle, waddle, down into the water we went, flash bulbs popping, people singing. I had done this twice before and figured that it would be old hat. But I’m about 40 lbs lighter than the last time I did the deed, and once again, the laws of physics took over. As I set foot in the baptistery, the waders ballooned out like a Coast Guard life raft, and I started to float; not so much walking on water as treading it.<\/p>\n As I lost my footing and started to fall backwards, I began to recall, in rich detail, the old Garrison Keillor monologue about the gaggle of Lutheran pastors who overloaded a pontoon boat on Lake Wobegon on their way to a weenie roast and ended up going down with the ship and receiving–at long last–a full immersion.<\/p>\n It was an odd image, granted, but it must have been enough to snap me to my senses. I quickly grabbed the side of the baptistery and managed to steady myself. No, no, not today<\/em>, I thought. Not now, not ever.<\/em><\/p>\n I stood there for a moment, one hand on the baptistery, one hand on Number Three’s shoulder. What was it I was going to say again?<\/p>\n Oh yeah, now I remember:<\/p>\n Number Three (I didn’t actually say “Number Three” but used his real name instead), since you were born, you’ve been a part of our family, and therefore a part of the family of God. But there comes a time for those raised in a household of faith to step out on their own, make their own decision and commit, in a full and lasting way, to become a disciple of Christ–forever.<\/p>\n Now is such a time for you. Do you believe that Jesus Christ is the son of the most high God? (Yes I do!) It’s upon that confession–which is yours and yours alone–that I baptize you in the name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Praise be to God who has made this possible.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n Down into the cleansing flood he went…<\/p>\n Let’s see, every square millimeter covered? Check. One thousand one, one thousand two, one thousand three. There, that oughta take.<\/em><\/p>\n …and up from his watery grave he arose.<\/p>\n Amazingly, I managed to stay dry up until that moment. But no more. After Number Three’s big bear hug, I was soaked to the core.<\/p>\n Number Three’s friends who had gathered at the steps of the baptistery cheered and applauded and then began to serenade him with a chorus of his favorite praise song “Mourning Into Dancing,” complete with the little hip-hop riff that he had composed, added to the song and taught them.<\/p>\n There were more pictures and hugs and hearty congratulations all around, but for me, there was only a mad dash home to change clothes (how do preachers manage to stay so dry year in and year out?), grab a quick bite to eat and head back to the office for my one o’clock patient. Patients in the morning, a baptism at lunch and an afternoon of routine exams–all in a day’s work.<\/p>\n\n