Fifty years ago this month a boy walked down the aisle at a church in his hometown. It was a long walk which continues to the present. It was the walk which winds through the Kingdom of God.
The boy was 12, the age when an emphasis was made upon “the story of salvation” within the Junior Department. When the boy got about half way down the aisle, he noticed over his shoulder that his grandfather was walking right behind him. For a split second, the boy almost turned and told the old man that he was big enough to go by himself.
The boy was forever grateful that he said nothing. The grandfather-a well known and highly respected resident of the community-was making his first public profession of faith. The old man had been raised in a Baptist family. His grandfather and great-grandfather were Baptist preachers. The home which he and his wife created was centered on Christ and his church. The children in that home and the grandchildren were in church on Sundays; but somehow in the circumstances of life, the old man had never made a profession of faith and been baptized.
Together, on that June morning, the boy and his grandfather were immersed. Surely there already had been a baptism scheduled. The pool just behind and above the choir loft was ready. The little doors which usually were closed were open and the stained glass window lighted. It was ready to receive. After all these years, I have not forgotten the experience, the man whose handkerchief was placed over my face, the plunging, the rising, the dripping! And I have not forgotten that my grandfather was with me on the first steps of a life-long journey.
I have not forgotten the meeting with my family afterward. My grandmother had tears streaming down her cheeks as she said: “I have prayed for 50 married years for this day.” Her testimony to answered prayer was one of the first such declarations I had ever heard and I have not forgotten it.
I am forever glad that I was touched in some way to come forward on that particular Sunday morning. I do not know that the boy knew much about sin, redemption and salvation.
I do know that he loved the sweet Jesus whose form was imagined by an artist in the beautiful stained glass windows which decorated the auditorium. I do know that he had learned something about that Savior from several dedicated Sunday school teachers and Vacation Bible School teachers. I do know that he wanted to be in the good company of all those saints in the First Baptist Church of his hometown.He desired the Kingdom of God. And on that day, as a new Christian and a new Baptist, the boy entered two realms: the Kingdom and the church. In time, he discovered that the two are not necessarily one and the same nor always in harmony.
He also learned along the way that life in both realms is a learning experience and a growing experience. As the boy became a man, he continued to learn so that the 50 years were building upon each other. And that is why he is still counting.
For Baptists, the time of deliberate and conscious decision-making can come at any age. It is usually accompanied by what has been popularly called “a born-again experience.” The old-time Baptists talked about “a regenerated person,” a changed person so that the church would be composed of a gathered group of regenerated persons. It is more than a rite of passage or a social contrivance. It is a life-altering, life-focusing, life-giving spiritual experience. And that is why the Baptists insisted upon believer's baptism.
Last summer on my sabbatical I attended an Anglican worship service. The church was hard-by the residential library where I was studying in Wales. When the bells tolled, you needed to rise and shine! We were seated in what the church members called “the quiet corner” which was reserved for young parents with children although we did not fulfill either distinction. “The quiet corner” was anything but quiet! It was near the baptismal font and we had a clear and close view of the proceedings. The family gathered. The older sister of the individual to be baptized acted appropriately for her age of about five and danced around the font. The priest said some words which were instructive for the parents. The candidate for the baptism was fast asleep in the mother's arms. It was then that I remembered all those dusty volumes back home in the Virginia Baptist Historical Society, those many treatises on the arguments against infant baptism.
It was a beautiful scene in that ancient Anglican church-a glorious summer day in Wales with a choir in white robes and red-pointed caps, with cute girl-children in lacy white dresses, with red-cheeked parents proud for the moment. It was very unlike that other summer day 50 years ago in a small town in the American South.
I am glad that the boy was 12 and believed with all his heart that he knew what was transpiring within his own heart, mind and soul. I am glad that the boy began the journey that summer day so long ago for it has made all the difference in the world.
Fred Anderson may be contacted at P.O. Box 34, University of Richmond, VA 23173.