My Grandson's Baptism...and mine...and yours

This past Sunday, February 1, my wife, Caroline, and I travelled to Hudson Falls, north of Saratoga Springs, to visit with our son, daughter-in-law, and grandson.  We try to get over to visit them every now and then, because (1) they are so close, relatively speaking, and (2) we get to see our grandson.  (Okay, we love seeing them, too, but, come on... being a grandparent is amazing!)  This weekend was special because our grandson was being baptized.

Our son, Michael, is the pastor of the First Presbyterian Church in Hudson Falls, and, although he preached and led much of the worship service, a friend and close colleague of his led the baptism.  Frances is not only an amazing and gifted minister, but she also has been pastor to our family, as you'll read about in just a moment.

Baptisms always have been special to me.  They have been special for me to do.  They have been special for me to remember.  They have been special because they represent such a basic, fundamental part of the Christian Faith.  Years ago I wrote a brief paper on how we Presbyterian and Reformed folks view baptism, a paper which I used whenever I met with someone to talk about their baptism or, more often, the baptism of their child.  Among other things, this is what I wrote in that paper:

"Baptism is a sign that God has claimed us, that God has established the covenant with each of us, and that God will be our God, no matter what we later decide to do.  It also is a sign that we have become inseparably a part of the Church, the community of faith.  The Church becomes both responsible to us and responsible for us. The Sacrament of Baptism is about love.  It is about acceptance.  It is about inclusiveness.  It is about belonging."

As I said, this is a basic, fundamental part of the Faith for us.

We thought we might want to reserve a few pews in the sanctuary that morning, but then realized that we were going to want to sit in the front, and nobody ever sits in those pews!  So we knew we'd be just fine.  As I sat in church with my family and with my daughter-in-law's family, I couldn't help but get teary at the mix of feelings that were washing over me.  This was my grandson.  This was a significant act of religious tradition that was being reenacted and passed on.  This was about the wonders of human and familial love.  This was about the personalization of God's love as it was being symbolized in and for and with my grandson.  As if all those emotions weren't enough, what my son said during the sermon added even more.  Here's part of what he said from the pulpit Sunday morning:

"Baptism is something we do to mark ourselves as members of a community. It is something done to us so that others can see that we are members of that  community. In baptism we are claimed by God and claimed by the whole  community of all those who have ever followed Christ; and the grace in baptism is so complete that no response on our part is expected or necessary.  That's why we allow for the baptism of infants. It is how we mark and claim that infant as a part of our community, and how we make sure that everyone sees that we have claimed him or claimed her.

"When my colleague and friend Frances baptizes Harvey, he will forever be marked as a part of this church. He will be forever marked as one who belongs to God. He will be forever marked as one who the followers of Christ throughout the ages have accepted. He cannot possibly understand that. But neither can I.

"That grace claimed you when you could not respond. It claimed you when you were baptized as a squirming infant or as a youth or as an adult. It is how we have always affirmed people and said: you belong with us. And it is why, in hospitals, people will even baptize those whose life is over. Frances came to St. Luke's-Roosevelt Hospital in New York City a year and a half ago and baptized our stillborn daughter Aliza. And if Harvey has no way to respond to that claim, then Aliza, whose heart had stopped beating the day before, had even less. But it doesn't matter. Because in baptism, we as her family, Frances as a pastor, and by extension, you as the church, and God as her God, said 'you are mine.' Beyond anything you can respond to, beyond anything you can earn, beyond anything you can lose is the claim that God placed on you when God looked at you and said 'you are mine.'"

I'm not sure where and how my son got so smart and so eloquent!  But what he said Sunday morning applied so much to all of us who were gathered there.  And what he said Sunday morning applies just as much to all of us now... to you, wherever you are when you read this.  God looks at you... loves you... accepts you... calls you... gives you gifts for ministry... and says to the world, "This person right here?  This person is one whom I love.  This person is mine, and will be forever."

And so, as one of the liturgies of the Church invites us to do, I invite you to do as well:  "Remember your baptism, and be thankful."

Goof-ups and Grace

On Sunday, January 4, I was blessed to have been asked to worship with the good folks at our congregation in Otisco.  Three different ruling elders helped lead the worship service, and all I was asked to do was read the Scripture lessons and preach.  It was a wonderful experience to worship with them that Sunday!

However... It's confession time.  As you know, every congregation orders their worship liturgy in different ways, and even within the same congregation the order is changed from time to time:  placement of hymns, special music, responsive readings, celebrations of the Sacraments, etc.  Also, as I'm sure you understand, pastors get used to doing certain things at certain times in worship services.  So, now that I am no longer the pastor of a congregation, that which is an absolute delight for me – preaching occasionally at different churches in our Presbytery - also has its unique set of challenges.  The main challenge (besides making sure I have the time of worship correct!) is to make sure I carefully look over the worship service so that I know who is doing what when.

So, Sunday at Otisco... The worship service was progressing right along.  Folks were friendly, welcoming, responsive, and engaged in all parts of the service.  It came time for me to read the New Testament lesson, which I did.  Then I proceeded right into the sermon, which is what I'm used to doing.  Again, folks paid attention and responded throughout the sermon, and, by grace, God was worshiped and glorified.

I finished, sat down, and got ready to sing the next hymn.  The pianist didn't begin playing immediately.  I thought to myself, "Ah, they have some moments for silent reflection after the sermon.  That's good."  I looked at the bulletin, saw which hymn was next... looked at what followed next in the service, and saw that it said "Meditation" (or the sermon).  I panicked, since I quite obviously had just finished delivering the sermon!  I looked further in the bulletin.  I then noticed that what should have happened was this:  New Testament reading, hymn, sermon, hymn; I'd just skipped right over that one hymn.  "Rats," I said to myself.  I then realized that the pianist wasn't playing, not because she was allowing for some meditative silence, but because she was waiting to see what I might choose to do next in the service, since I obviously had thrown the order of worship out the window!  The next liturgist looked at me, and then started to get up, but I got up first.  I looked at the saints gathered in that wonderful church, chuckled, and said, "You know, if I hadn't just preached a sermon entitled, 'Look Around,' and talked about the importance of being aware and attentive to what God is doing all around us, my skipping over a part of the service might not be quite so awkwardly funny!"  We all laughed together, and proceeded to sing two hymns in a row!  Oh, well!

We don't always get things right in our lives, in our work, in our relationships, or even in our communal worship of God.  But we still are called to "Look Around" and see what the Lord is doing in us, in others around us, in our church, in our Presbytery, in our community, in our world.  Thankfully, God gives us grace as we fumble along, trying to share Christ's light in the world, trying to see the light of Christ in others as well.

I experienced wonderful grace from the folks gathered that Sunday with me in Otisco to worship our God together.  I long for you to "Look Around" and experience instances of grace in your own life as well.  It's all around us.

Learnings - still! - from the parable of the Prodigal Son

It doesn't appear in the Sunday lectionary readings but once every three years:  4th Sunday in Lent, Year C.  However, the parable of the Lost or Prodigal Son in Luke 15 always has been powerful for me.

Years ago, when I was serving a church in northern Illinois, the church treasurer – a 4^th generation member – stole a little over $120,000 from the church.  (Reading the situation last fall at the United Methodist Church in Marcellus brought back lots of memories for me!)  In the process of working through all of the implications of what happened, one of our church's Mariners groups asked my wife, Caroline, and me to come and talk with them.  They all were of the same generation as the Treasurer. They all had stood up in each others' weddings.  And they were in deep pain.  We talked with them about this parable in Luke 15.  I reminded them that if the Treasurer, like the Prodigal Son, came back to us in repentance, we had to receive him with open arms of welcome and forgiveness.  However, I also talked with them about the fact that we, while not like the Prodigal Son in the parable, were like the elder brother.  Would we be resentful if the "prodigal" returned home, or would we be able to share the joy of God that he had "come to himself" and returned?  It was a tough time for that congregation.

This parable has a depth to it that is profound.  I was reminded of that again this afternoon as I was reading a quote from Henri Nouwen's book, The Return of the Prodigal Son.  Here is what Fr. Nouwen wrote:

"For most of my life, I have struggled to find God, to know God, to love God.  I have tried hard to follow the guidelines of the spiritual life - pray always, work for others, read the Scriptures - and to avoid the many temptations to dissipate myself.  I have failed many times but always have tried again, even when I was close to despair.... It might sound strange, but God wants to find me as much as, if not more than, I want to find God."

I don't know about you, but it always surprises me to think that God longs for me, seeks me out, waits for me to return when I have wandered, and runs to welcome me home, throwing a lavish party that I neither need nor deserve.  I constantly strive to remember that.  This parable helps.

I guess that's why this thing is called "grace."

My baptism anniversary

I don't remember the Rev. Dr. Arthur W. Hoffman, but I grew up hearing about him.  He was "the pastor" of my home church - First Pres. in Joliet, Illinois.  He'd been gone for a few years before I remember anything about that church, but his impact was lasting.  The Fellowship Hall, in fact, was renamed "Hoffman Hall" in his honor after he left.

Dr. Hoffman had an impact on my life, however.  Well, to be more precise, he was a vehicle through which I was a recipient of God's grace.  You see, on this date, December 16, he stood in front of the congregation during the worship service, put water on my head, and uttered those ancient, powerful, sacramental words:  "I baptize you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit."  My parents were asked some questions that morning.  The congregation was asked some questions as well.  He didn't ask me one thing.  At least, I don't suppose he did, but as I was only a little over 8 months old, I don't remember a thing about it.  But I remember that it happened.  And I remember each year on this date that it happened way back then.

No, he didn't ask me one thing.  Didn't ask if I wanted to be baptized.  Didn't  ask if I understood the magnitude of what was being undertaken.  Didn't ask if I believed in Jesus, or if I believed in anything.  But isn't that how it really becomes the powerful sign that baptism is?  We Presbyterian and Reformed folk have a different understanding than many other Christian traditions about baptism.  We always have believed that baptism is more about what God says to us than about anything we might say to God.  And God says, "Even before you know how to respond, I have come to you... to claim you as My own... to bless you with My love... to fill you with My grace."

On that December 16 morning long ago a sign was given.  What had been true from my earliest moments of existence was given voice that morning.  I was nothing less than a child of God, a member of the Covenant community, a creature so dearly loved by his Creator.

Again, I knew nothing of that then.  I probably cried... which, when I think of it, is not a bad response to such overwhelming evidence of love and grace.  Okay,I probably cried because I was hungry, or tired, or needed changing.  But I like to imagine that somewhere deep inside, something resonated within my tiny being. But even if nothing registered with me then, it does now.  The Child in the manger who was God's sign to the whole world, continues to extend love and grace, acceptance and blessing, to all of us as God's beloved children.

And today I remember that.  And I give thanks.

Blessings and peace,

Steve