Good Baptisms Gone Bad

I grew up in church and witnessed many water baptisms; you know, the good dunking kinds of baptism. We were Baptists, so, of course we believed it took a good head-to-toe-put-you-all-the-way-under-soaking-kind of immersion. You would think that just from witnessing so many baptisms, including my own about age 12, it would be a pretty simple thing to conduct a baptism. I suppose it seemed so simple that no one ever really thought to teach us in Bible College just how to go about such a service.

Then came my first opportunity to perform a baptism. Many questions suddenly presented. Does the candidate just duck under the water or should he be lowered backward and then lifted again? How do you grab the candidate as he is lowered into the water in an adequate manner to prevent losing him or drowning him or seeing his feet float to the top as he begins to do the backstroke? If the candidate is a female, how do you hold on without being inappropriately friendly? What happens if she needs to hold her nose to prevent gurgling and choking? Should we provide those little swimmie nose clips, or does such a humorous sight diminish the sacred propriety of the moment, and what about those robes we gave to all the celebrants - How do you keep it from floating up over the head as he comes into the baptismal pool? What do you do if the very top part of the head did not go all the way under? What exactly were the words I was required to say? Should I pronounce, "...in the name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit," before the dunking, as it takes place or as the candidate is being raised out of the water? How do you keep from squealing aloud at the coldness of the water because someone forgot to turn on the water heater, if it even had one, or if you were in the local river? How do you deal with the flailing of the candidate who has a fear of water, and what about the handicapped candidate in the wheelchair or on crutches? There were so many questions for which I needed answers.

Some of my favorite baptism stories follow. I heard the story from an older minister who was officiating a baptism in a river. They took a couple of steps too far into the river and found themselves in over their heads. The current began to wash them away and they both got baptized again.

Then there were friends of ours who grew up in a non-immersion church and were not sure how to "perform" when they entered the baptistry. As soon as the husband and wife stepped in and before the minister could really say anything, they just bent their knees and ducked under the water. The minister frantically splashed around in the water trying to "lay hands on" the couple as he sputtered the correct pronouncement, "...in the name of...".

My father-in-law decided it would be a good idea to wear fishing waders so he would not get his clothes wet. He failed to account for the level of water displacement that would occur when the candidate came into the pool with him. Water rushed into the waders and not only did he get his clothes wet, but he was now unable to move because of the weight of water in his waders. He also learned the hard way it is not a good idea to tap on the microphone set up just outside the pool while standing in the baptismal water.

My own personal worst nightmare regarding baptism occurred about 12 hours before the service. On this particular Saturday night, I had turned on the water to fill the tank. It usually took about 35 minutes to fill and was always a boring responsibility to have to wait on it to get full. I watched a few minutes till the water was above the mark at which it was safe to turn on the heaters. I decided to do a little more study in the office while I waited. I became deeply absorbed in my study, but finally finished and headed to my house for much needed sleep. I went to bed, then sat bolt upright about midnight with a nightmarish thought. Did I turn off that water? I could not remember doing so and felt it prudent that I rush back to check on it. You see, the baptistry we had did not have an automatic shutoff to cut the water flow when it reached the full mark. It had now been at least 3 hours, probably longer, since I had begun the 35 minute process. As I ran into the sanctuary, water was freely flowing over the sides onto the stage floor, running just as freely off the stage and all the way to the back of the 500 seat auditorium. I cut the water, but the damage had been done. I called one of the men in our church who had a carpet cleaning business to tell him what had happened, hoping he would volunteer to load his wet vacs and come assist me in the cleanup. However, he graciously offered me the use of his equipment if I would just drive to his house and pick it up, a 30 minute drive each way. I know it was my responsibility, but I was sure counting on a "servant-hearted member" to come help me in this pinch. He didn't. As I spent the next several hours wet-vaccing the sanctuary, putting down all the towels we owned and setting up drying fans, I can't say I was appreciating the ministry.

I almost decided that night to become a Methodist. They believed in "Sprinkling Baptisms".

They never told me I would have to act in the Christmas Play...

Though some may think differently, I am not much of an actor. It is hard for me to pretend to be someone I'm not. If I were trying to be serious right now, I could say that I don't act because the Greek word for an actor was 'hypocrite'. That word today has a bad connotation, so none of us want to be hypocrites. When I try to do any serious acting, I just get tickled at myself and start laughing. That does not mean I can't put on a show. I can perform, and I definitely love being the center of attention, especially if I have a chance to tell my "fork joke" (Don't ask now. I'll save that for another time.)

When I was a kid, the only Christian TV we had was Oral Roberts and Gospel Quartets. I was really touched and moved by those Gospel Quartets, so much so, that I decided I would become a Gospel Singer. Alas, my downfall was the lack of any semblance of timing and an even worse ear for the right notes. Dallise says I'm the only person she knows who can change keys three times in one verse and never know I did so. Now they didn't tell me in Bible College that I would ever have to sing. Imagine my horror when I was told extra Christmas Choir members were needed. Imagine the horror of the choir director when he discovered the colossal mistake of inviting me to be part of the Christmas Choir. I must say that in time I did develop some ability to sing whatever "part" the choir member beside whom I was standing sang. I can now boast that I sing Soprano, Alto, Bass and Tenor.

Oh, back to being a hypocrite...I mean, actor. One Christmas, a man in our church wrote a brilliant Christmas play titled, "Inside The Inn". He even wrote the lyrics and music for the songs. We had wonderful carpenters, artists and wardrobe specialists who built and painted the sets and designed the clothing. The story centered around the Innkeeper who was trying to find someone willing to give up his room at the Inn for Joseph and Mary. Everyone he asked refused. The message of the play questioned us all as to whether we would make room in our hearts for Jesus.

One of the characters in the play who refused to give up his room was a wealthy merchant. On the night we were performing at the local prison, the merchant was sick and I was quickly conscripted as his understudy. When I made my appearance on the set dressed in the elaborate flowing silk robes of a wealthy merchant and extravagantly, recklessly decked out in jewelry and makeup, I heard one of the inmates, seated no more than ten feet from me, say to his buddy beside him, "Now there's a 'fag' if I've ever seen one!" I don't mean to be politically incorrect in using this terminology. It's just the way it happened at the time.

I was actually scarred and scared all at the same time. My pride was injured and my emotions were wounded that I might appear to be someone I am not. I feared my body might also be injured as there was no barrier inside the ten feet that separated me from them. Somehow, I stumbled through the few minutes I had to be onstage and swore I would never act again.

If I had wanted to be an actor, I would have gone to acting school. Instead, I wanted to be a Pastor, and we all know there are no hypocrites...I mean actors, standing in our pulpits today.

My First Funeral, A Last Minute Funeral and a Midnight Funeral

They never told me in Bible College just how to conduct a funeral. In hindsight, it seems conducting funerals should have been a major subject. The statistics are that about 100 people around the world die every minute. That's 6000 deaths per hour, 144000 per day, more than 52 million per year. Every Pastor is guaranteed that he will have to conduct the funerals of at least a couple of those 52M people each year.

The very first funeral I ever officiated was that of a dear old lady to whom I often gave a ride to church. Even after spending time in the car with her on so many Sunday mornings, about the only thing I knew about her was that she raised rabbits. When she passed away, the Senior Pastor had to be away and assigned me the task of conducting the funeral. Her family lived elsewhere and I had never met them. I spent a few minutes with them at their hotel room planning the service. They did not want it to be too long, but also they did not want it to be too short. They wanted it to be personal, but not too personal. They wanted some Scripture, but not too much Scripture. They wanted this, but not that. It was clear they did not really trust me, but they had no other option. I wasn't even sure what was considered too short or too long. As I began to speak on the day of the funeral, I realized I had covered everything I had to say in the first three minutes, and was acutely aware this was definitely too short. I filled a couple more minutes talking about the fact that she raised rabbits, but I knew nothing about rabbits, so that ended rather quickly and awkwardly. It was at that moment I realized I really knew nothing about this family or the deceased. It was a disaster and the Honorarium I was secretly excited about receiving never materialized.

One Sunday morning, a member stood to ask the church to pray for the family of a lady who had been ill. I asked publicly about her current status, and to my surprise, was told the paper said I was officiating the funeral the next morning at 10:00am. I was speechless and quite rattled by this news. I didn't even know she had died, and again was not that well acquainted with her or the family. As you can imagine, I rushed straight to the funeral home after church to find out what was going on. The long story short is that the family thought the Funeral Home Director had spoken to me and the Director thought the family had contacted me. I spent a few minutes with the family and with God's Grace, we pulled it off the next morning. Thank God for "Prayer Request" time!

My most unusual funeral was a midnight funeral. This story is about Nancy, a Single Mom at that time, with whom we are still friends. This is my memory of that night. About midnight I received a frantic phone call from Nancy saying that her dog had just been hit by a car and killed. "Could you please come over and help me bury the dog right now so my boys will not have to see him dead tomorrow morning." I rousted one of my sons from bed and we went to Nancy's house. She was grieving over the loss of the dog and, I'm sure, grieving over the loss her boys would experience. We took him into the woods behind her house, I with the dog, my son with the shovel and Nancy with the flashlight. Amidst Nancy's tears, I dug the hole, placed the dog in the hole and threw in the first shovelful of dirt. When the dirt landed on his chest, the dog moaned, and Nancy lost it. "Oh no, He's alive! We can't bury him!" She wasn't sure whether to be glad he was alive or terrified that we were about to bury him alive. It took me a few tense moments to convince Nancy that the shoveful of dirt had simply compressed his lifeless lungs forcing the moan from his dead body. Finally she consented for us to continue the "burial service". After a few moments spent consoling Nancy and letting her know I would be available to talk to her sons the next day, the midnight funeral service concluded and my son and I headed back to our warm beds.

So that no one thinks I am being unkind to my wonderful Professors in college, I have to admit that even had there been a course on conducting funerals, no one could have thought to include Midnight Dog Funerals as part of the curriculum.

I now spend time with the families of the loved one who has passed away. I jot down notes from the stories they tell me and that they recount to one another as they remember. I then weave those stories into the comments I have planned for the service. Families love that personal touch and always feel that I have captured the essence of who they are as a family. As one friend said, "People will not remember many of your sermons, but they will remember that you were there during the death of loved ones."