T(r)oy's Marbles
living water
“And concerning baptism, baptize this way: Having first said all these things, baptize into the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, in living water. But if you have no living water, baptize into other water; and if you cannot do so in cold water, do so in warm.” (from The Didache, Chapter 7; written ca. 100 A.D.)
Rain took its half out of the middle yesterday, varied but insistent. Like a life well-lived, the day commenced and concluded with some form of sunshine. At first, anticipation. At last, rest. In both, celebration.
The drive took about an hour, the better part of which was straight-going. Then, turning off well-traveled, rushed highways, we headed into the curved mountain path, straining to see the valleys and peaks, but knowing one must keep one’s eyes on the narrow road. We found the turn-off and parked. It was still raining, but lightly. We donned our light jackets and began to make our way to a special place.
We came to the dark brown, wooden footbridge that would take us across the small stream. The passage on the bridge was wide enough to accommodate just one person. A half dozen hikers, lined up like soaked ducks, were headed our way on the bridge when we arrived, so we had to wait for them to pass. It was raining, so they were leaving. No doubt, they looked at us as if we were doing this backwards, for it was raining and we were just arriving. Still, they passed, so we stepped onto the bridge. It was wet and slightly muddy.
On the other side of the river, we came upon some large, wet stones. We instructed the children to be careful and made our way upstream, in search of the group.
Soon, we came upon a small gathering, but discovered before approaching them that they were a different party. Days before, we were told by our friends to look for a section of the stream that formed a small pool, perhaps waist-deep. So, we kept moving upstream, searching for a group gathered on the river-bank, ready for something extra-ordinary.
The children lagged behind at times and at other times charged ahead. Mom and Dad trod a steady pace, tethering the little ones to our side with a distinct call every so often. Still no group, but we were enjoying the walk. The rain drops were still light to moderate, tolerable for a family without umbrellas.
Meaghan, ten and wonder-full, asked: “Dad, do you think raindrops are heaven’s tears?”
I replied, “Well…that’s one way of looking at it, I suppose. What do you think?”
Meaghan responded simply with an exclamation mark muffled by her chest.
“I wonder…”
Wet pine needles provided occasion for scented worship, while the river tumbled lightly in eternal praise. The rain’s mist began covering my glasses, shrouding the world and my sight in mystery.
We reached another footbridge, tempting us to cross back to the other side, to give up our search. The rain strengthened, but we continued upstream, determined to find our friends.
Seconds later, we encountered more people, abandoning ship, returning with a quickened pace to their cars downstream.
“¿Has visto un grupo arriba?”
“No, no hay.”
“Vale, gracias.”
We figured the party was canceled, so we turned around and headed back to the car.
The rain was at its strongest now, as if the sky itself scorned hope. Our jackets were now thoroughly drenched and we were beginning to feel the chill of dampness seeping into our skin. My glasses were now totally useless so I took them off and put them in my pocket.
There was talk of simply driving back home now to enjoy a nice hot cup of tea and perhaps some warm toast.
……………………………….
On the way back downstream, we came upon two “old” friends and their children.
We chatted for a while and then together determined that, perhaps, the special occasion had been called off. So, we headed back to the parking lot--
And there they were: the group. The celebration was on, after all.
The rain relented. God won and the sky dried its face.
…………………………………
We crossed the bridge again and made our way upstream, this time together. My coat was now unbearably cold but the warmth of new and old friends offset the discomfort. We strolled together and chatted, keeping to the dirt path where the footing was surer and laughing intermittently.
We arrived at a pool in the stream and positioned ourselves on its bank in a semi-circle. Large rocks were at our backs, providing a type of shelter.
And we sang:
“The Lord’s my shepherd I’ll not want,
He makes me down to lie
In pastures green; He leadeth me,
The quiet waters by.
“My soul He doth restore again,
And me to walk doth make,
Within the paths of righteousness,
E’en for His own name’s sake.”
And…
“All who are thirsty
All who are weak
Come to the fountain
Dip your heart in the stream of life
“Let the pain and the sorrow
Be washed away
In the waves of His mercy
As deep cries out to deep.
We sing…
“Come, Lord Jesus, come.
Come, Lord Jesus, come.
“Ven, Señor Jesus.
Ven, Señor Jesus.”
After the singing, a time of instruction. The pastor explained briefly the significance of what was about to take place.
“Jesus commanded baptism and modeled baptism. And believers practiced it.”
“Baptism is an enacted parable. It signifies the washing away of sin. It specifies mutual commitment: the believer makes a commitment to the visible church and the church commits itself to the believer.”
“And baptism connects us with God’s people through history. It connects us with Noah, the Israelites, Naaman, and Jonah.”
“Since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us. Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfector of our faith.” (Hebrews 12:1-2)
Then, the affirmations of faith, simple yet powerful:
“Do you reject the devil and all rebellion against God?”
“I reject them.”
“Do you renounce the deceit and corruption of evil?”
“I renounce them.”
“Do you repent of the sins that separate us from God and neighbour?”
“I repent of them.”
“Do you turn to Christ as Saviour?”
“I turn to Christ.”
“Do you submit to Christ as Lord?”
“I submit to Christ.”
“Do you come to Christ, the way, the truth and the life?”
“I come to Christ.”
After that, another believer steps forward. She loves Jesus and she loves everyone there and she tells us so in childlike simplicity. When she finishes, tears of joy bubble like an underground river, hidden just under the surface, yet knowingly present.
A prayer is spoken over the two women. The pastor and his wife, their two dear friends, step into the pool, and the small group of observers step forward, positioning themselves closer to the river’s edge.
The water appears still, yet moves gently. It is both living and peaceful, flowing and secure. It is cold, injecting skin (and soul) with fresh vigor.
This is what our spiritual ancestors had in mind when they instructed us to baptize in cold, living water. There, in a mountain stream, we united ourselves with the ancients, if only for a few short seconds.
As the two women each went down into the water, death covered their hearts and minds with its cold hand. Death to death.
And as they came up out of the water, their sins were washed away, their former ways left behind in the flowing river. In time, the stream would carry their old life down, down, down to the deep sea, never to be seen again. In time, in time.
They are free now, alive. And they are covered with the river: still yet moving, living yet peaceful, flowing and secure, like the rain and the rocks.
………………………………………
We drove home and the earth was now resting after its bath. The sun was setting, marking the end of a day spent in unpredictable bursts. The dark clouds were beginning to disperse, but tarried for just a little longer. God wanted to assure us that on the other side of the black there is gold such as has never been seen. Fire and glory lined the edges of the scattered dark masses in the sky, as if God’s hand grabbed the clouds with bright fingers of sunshine and in his power and love moved the storm slowly so we could take note.
The mountains in the distance formed a charcoal silhouette. God was playing with scissors, cutting out the flat horizon to create their majestic beauty.
And somewhere on that slope is a river, cold and, yes, still moving.
In the car, a song. An acoustic guitar, a dulcimer and a voice singing simply. The sky and the music formed an antiphon.
“I have been hiding in fear.
You have been wanting to save me.
I have been needing to hear.
You have been constantly saying…
“I love you. I love you.
“I have been wandering alone.
You have been guiding my way.
I have been looking for home.
You have been calling me, saying…
“I love you. I love you.
I love you. I love you.
“Oh, the way that you love me.
Oh, the way that you save me.
Oh, the way that you call me.
I just have to say…
“I love you. I love you.
I love you. I love you.
I love you. I love you.
I love you. I love you.”
The kids were quiet now, till Meaghan, ten and wonder-full, asked: “What is this song called?”
Then, as if God himself had asked the question, I answered: “I love you.”
journal | Comments (3) | September 23, 2007
Comments
This is beautiful hon! You really captured it.
Posted by: Heather at September 23, 2007 05:01 PM
i'm glad you went - can't wait to hear more about it.
Posted by: apriltgc at September 24, 2007 11:43 AM
Thank you all for coming, waiting and watching - in every sense. Love, Sarah
Posted by: Sarah at September 24, 2007 12:02 PM