Dearest Rachel –
For the third time in my life, I’m here at Yardenit – the banks of the Jordan.
Junior asks me if I’m going in, and I respond in the negative. I’ve already been, after all – there’s no need to be baptized twice. Indeed, you’ll recall that neither of us had been baptized in the Jordan the first time we went, having already done so; there was no virtue in being baptized a second time.
“You’re going swimming in the Dead Sea, though, aren’t you?” he asks. I respond in the affirmative, but realize where he might be going with this line of questioning – although, for all I know, it might be an innocent question on his part. Some experiences can be enjoyed multiple times; others are once-in-a-lifetime occurrences. This, in fact, is why we didn’t bother when we were first here eight years ago.
I confess that I don’t know quite how to answer him. Although, once I discover that his father isn’t getting baptized (or baptizing, for that matter), I feel a little better about my decision. Besides, Daniel could use a porter – he wears so many clothes that, when he dresses out in trunks and robe, there’s a lot that needs to be carried, and I’m the man for the job.
Anyway, I could go into great detail, most of which you already know, about what I thought of the idea of even getting baptized in the first place, once upon a time. My battles with the priests at the Lutheran school I attended in middle school really messed me up. They insisted that it was a requirement for Christians, but had no answer for me when I asked about whether it was necessary for salvation (which I insisted that no work of any sort was, based on their own Martin Luther’s assertions); and no, they admitted, it wasn’t, but it was still required. I wasn’t buying it; to me, it sounded like the arguments for circumcision back in the day. Is it the early church, so I spent the next thirty years reacting like Titus; it’s not necessary for salvation, and I’m not doing it.
It wasn’t until I read through The Purpose-Driven Life, that I understood it to be a command of Jesus, included as part of the Great Commission itself. And with that, I submitted to the “requirement.” If only those Lutheran pastors had explained it to me this way, I could’ve saved myself (and them) so many years of hassle.
But as far as being baptized a second time, or a third, it hardly seemed necessary. Still, you don’t expect to get here more than once, and with our second time, we decided to (literally) take the plunge.
I don’t really know what I expected from the experience, to be honest. You expect so many spiritual experiences when you’re here, but reality does tend to intervene. You might recall being somewhat upset that I went and got myself baptized before you did, rather than waiting, and having us go in at the same time. On the other hand, if I hadn’t done that, we wouldn’t have this video of you.
Meanwhile, this time around, we were situated under an overhang, which posed a problem for me to try and take pictures from the walkway above. When Daniel disappeared beneath the overhang, I had to scramble to gather his stuff, and join him and the rest of the group being baptized. I had originally intended to stay out of the way, but there was no other way to document what was going on but to get mixed in with everyone else.
I honestly couldn’t tell you what, if anything, Daniel experienced in that moment; I have enough trouble, trying to remember how I felt coming up out of the water, way back when. It’s not as if he could have expected a dove to descend upon him (even if I am well-pleased with my only begotten son), and a pigeon isn’t quite the same thing. Indeed, we’d rather the pigeons stayed away, but they seem to think they were here first, so…
***
“It looks like a more wooden version of the Sonny-S,” Daniel observes as we get settled in on the boat. We had to rush a bit to get here, but at least it’s not our fault that we’re running late; more a question of traffic, I’d say.
Considering how much you loved to stay on the shores of Lake Erie, you probably know just how much (better than I do, or can) Jesus must have loved hanging out here. Even more so when they cut the engines, and we’re just floating quietly in the water, just like the thirteen of them might have (apart from the occasional dip of oars in the water). This would be where He could talk with his friends, without having to deal with the press of crowds or using his ‘outdoor’ voice.
Of course, He didn’t have to deal with a jet skier who circles us, thinking he looks so cool. Get off that thing, and walk over to us, buddy, and then we’ll talk
Junior, describing the scene as he often does, had us try to imagine the disciples, fighting for their lives in pitch darkness. Now, I can’t imagine what a storm would look like out here; every time I’ve been here it’s been if not as still as glass, still plenty calm. But if it was enough to scare veteran fishermen like Peter and James, it must have really been something else.
Junior wondered if, as He looked up from His prayer, whether He may have grinned to see them struggling against the weather, trying to determine His cue to walk out to them and show them that they couldn’t deal with it without Him. They were, after all, going to face storms that would be much larger than anything they might see on the Sea of Galilee. And they would need to rely on His strength to get themselves through those, just like at this moment.
***
We all have storms of our own – maybe they’re small, annoying showers that interfere with our plans. Maybe they’re big, maybe they just seem that way because we don’t know any better. But we need to remind ourselves who is in charge of it all, and trust in Him.
You saw me through a lot of storms, honey; issues with finances, job conflicts, even raising Daniel. Now, of course, your absence feels like a storm of its own. But I know it’s all it Jesus’ hands, and I have to leave it up to him.
Keep an eye on me, honey, and wish me luck… I’m going to need it.
Letters to Rachel 