Originally published 4/27/19
I have always loved being underwater. I know people who don't mind getting in the pool, but who don't want to get their hair or face wet. I can't not get in a pool or the ocean and not put my head under. And, preferably, stay there awhile. When we moved to Florida, I told Michael there has to be a pool wherever we live. I knew I couldn't survive in perpetual summer without access to water. So we've taken great advantage of the pool that is open year round at our condo. Michael and I were there recently, and he was standing in the pool, head not underwater, talking to a parishioner who lives in our building, and I was swimming back and forth, underwater, gliding from one end of the short pool to the other. A metronome of human fishiness marking our time that day, reveling in the weightlessness and magic of being underwater. She eventually remarked in awe at my underwater lapping, her mouth agape that I could be underwater so much. "Are your eyes open underwater?" she asked on a turn. "Yes." I said. They always are. "How do you do that? Doesn't it hurt?" "No." Not that it would matter. I went back under water and let Michael continue the conversation. Under water, all the noise and confusion and hysteria of the world goes away. I am under it, protected from it, unaware of it. And when I open my eyes, I can see part of everyone else near me, but not all of them. Everything but their head - the part that's screaming or laughing or crying or staring or judging. And if I do see their head underwater, they can't communicate anything to me, and, we can't stay down there long, so there's not much they can do to me. Swimming underwater is very solitary; it's the introvert in me that loves and craves it. You'd think I would have loved scuba diving, but ironically, all that equipment was too heavy and confining. Plus, there was math involved. Figuring out how much oxygen and pressure and regulating all that. I was a journalism major. Not my strong suit. I just want to get in the water and stay underneath as long as I can. In the south, pools are a necessity in the summer. You just can't bear all that heat without a pool to jump in. When I was a kid, we belonged to Lan-Yair pool, just down the street from our house. We spent all our summer days there. Playing Shark in the deep end, Marco Polo in the 3-foot end, Spider in the corners and lining up over and over at the diving board. I'd spend all day in the water, and come home with freckles sprinkled across my nose intermittently dotted by water blisters if the sun was particularly harsh that day. And, since I'd spent the whole day in the water, I didn't see any sense in taking a shower. That really was counterintuitive to me. I loved the drying chlorine on my skin and the starchiness in my hair, whitened by the sun. I only resorted to showers when so many days without showering allowed the chlorine to tint my hair green. These days, that would be cool, but then, it was still weird, and kids poked fun.
That's me. This was taken at Lan-Yair, off the diving board. Man, I miss chlorine pools.
When I come out of the pool, I feel clean and new. Every part of me has been touched by water, cleansed and soaked and refreshed. It's much like a Baptism. In the Episcopal church, a Baptism is when we renounce Satan, evil powers and sinful desires. And when we turn to Jesus, and put our trust in him and accept his grace and love. The congregation, parents and godparents do that on behalf of infants, but the congregation also does it on Easter, an annual renewal of our Baptismal vows. So if you feel like you didn't get to say it yourself during your Baptism, you can renew it then, or anytime there's a Baptism at church. I was Baptized in the Lutheran church, at 9 days old, so I don't really remember my vows. But I do know they stuck, because my parents were there and it was official and all. So on our trip to Israel, where we knew there would be an opportunity to be Baptized in the same river that Jesus was, Michael assured me there was no need for a second Baptism. Though I have a generally rebellious nature, I do listen carefully to Michael on spiritual matters, and we discuss theological matters thoroughly. My theology is still my own, though, and I assured him that oh hell yes if I was going to the River Jordan I sure was going to get a full body dunk along with the rest of the Baptists on the trip. He could only shake his head. Going underwater, I imagined, in the same River Jesus did. Where doves flocked and ducks floated and pilgrims prayed. Yes, that was going to be some water I need to experience. We went to two places on the River Jordan, once for baptisms and reaffirmations at Yardenit, just south of the Sea of Galilee, and a second time for reflection at Bethabara, closer to the Dead Sea, where Jesus was baptized by John the Baptist. As teenagers say: Wait. What? Jesus was baptized? Why did Jesus need to be baptized? I actually never thought about that before. Baptism is a sacrament, which is defined as an outward sign of an inward (invisible) grace instituted by Christ. There are varying schools of thought about when a Christian should be baptized. Baptists and the more Evangelical denominations believe a person must professes belief and faith in Christ to be baptized. Some more catholic denominations (Lutherans, Catholics, Episcopalians) believe in infant baptism, where the parents make the decision about the child's spiritual commitment often in the first few days or weeks after birth; then usually the child is educated later, as a teenager, through a process called confirmation or catechesis, at which time a mature profession of faith is made. So if baptism is a profession of faith in Jesus, how was John the Baptist baptizing people (all of whom happened to be Jews, because Christianity did not exist yet), before Jesus even died and rose from the dead, after which He told the disciples to "Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything that I have commanded you."? Matthew 28:19-20 As with most things Biblical, there is a complex and confusing answer that isn't quite clear. That's why we take things on faith. John was sent ahead of Jesus to pave the way, to get the people ready, for Jesus. His baptism was for the confession and repentance of sins, and as a way to express belief in Jesus, who was to come. That's why there's a bit of confusion among Jews in the Bible occasionally about who John the Baptist was. And, to be clear, he was not a Baptist, in the Southern Baptist Convention kinda way. He was simply a baptizer. So there I was, in Israel, getting ready for an old-fashioned full immersion Baptist Baptism. As with all things on our trip, it happened quickly and rather logistically. Lining up 90 people in rented white robes on a cold December day in the late afternoon was a logistical feat with the smallest bit of spiritually sprinkled in.
Left: Yardenit is owned by a nearby Kibbutz, making it easy for groups to change into bathing suits, put on a white robe, get Baptized, change back into clothes, dry their hair and get back on the bus efficiently and effectively. A necessity, I suppose.
We sat on stone steps, listening to instructions and directions, all of us giddy with excitement. There was something exciting about it, even though just about everyone was participating in a renewal baptism - they'd all been baptized before. But still, to me it was different, it was more important, it was more spiritual, even through the logistics discussions and the rental robe and the changing room and the hurrying back to the tour bus. The shock of the cold water, the momentary posing for the picture, the clinging of my mom's hand, who had held me 49 years ago when I was baptized for the first time. Here we were again, together, in the land of Jesus, waist deep in water, being cleansed of our sins and covered in water that would wash the grace and love of the Holy Spirit across us once more.
Right: A nice reminder of the moment, Dr. Wilton, me, mom and Steven Cannon, mom's pastor. We are clinging to each other for dear life because it was cold. It was Dec. 31.
Ironically, just like my infant baptism, I barely remember it. I do remember that the water was cold, a shock, even though we'd been standing in it for a minute as we had our picture taken. Putting your head under water, along with your whole body, which I love to do, is shocking. Water rushes in everywhere, despite the pastor's protective hand on your nose and mouth. Water gets in every strand of hair, in each ear, seeping into each eye and nostril. Under your arms and across tender breasts. In and out so quickly, but so completely saturated immediately by water.
I like to think that's how it works, forgiveness, love, grace. Immediately. Instantaneously. There might be some logistical things to consider, but once you're ready, once you say yes, Jesus is there, and has forgiven you, loved you and accepted you, every part of you.
A couple of days later we went to Bethabara, where it is believed that John baptized Jesus. Bethabara is at the top of the Dead Sea, in southern Israel. It is located through a militarized zone, where structures are riddled with bullet holes from centuries of fighting over these few square miles. The water was murkier, and across the river was the country Jordan; there were soldiers on either side with semi-automatic rifles to prevent, well, I don't know what. That's a long story, too.
Left: River Jordan at Bethabara, where John Baptized Jesus.
We sat in spectator stands here, too. This part of the River Jordan was organized for pilgrims as well, protected and promoted for the mostly Westerners seeking to be closer to their brown Savior. Dr. Wilton preached about something, I can't remember. I was trying to envision Jesus here, meeting up with John, a really skinny guy who ate crickets and honey, and who was years ahead of his time, prophetically speaking. There were actually white doves everywhere, so it wasn't hard to imagine that the Spirit of God descended upon the place then, and that perhaps it was descending on it now.
That sounds ridiculous, that we would need a bird to show us the way. Or even water for that matter. But these are the sacraments - outward signs of inward grace - that we humans need to know that everything is going to be ok, eschatologically speaking, of course. As pilgrims, all of whom on our trip are Bible-believing Christians (as they say), but whom I know have also suffered loss, shame, humility, embarrassment and pain, we were still seeking some sign that God is here, that he is among us and that he does indeed love us. Sometimes in our human days we forget that. We get disconnected from our own spirituality, from our personal relationship with God, and we need a dove or a dunk to bring us back to it.
It's a good thing there's a pool nearby me.
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