Baptism
/I was in a church committee meeting recently when Doug told everyone it was the anniversary of his conversion and baptism, his spiritual birthday. Several others in the room quickly rattled off the date of their own, and it was a fun exchange among people who’ve been following Jesus for many years.
Except, I had nothing to share. I know that I was seven years old when I made a decision and was baptized, but I never knew the date. I don’t remember anyone in my family talking about a specific date. We had stacks of Bibles around our house but not one of those giant family Bibles full of recorded births, conversions, and deaths. As I heard my fellow committee members call out their dates, I wondered why I didn’t know my own.
I’m actually a great chronicler of events and important dates. This may come as a surprise to you, but I have a spreadsheet titled Family Timeline where I list events by date. I use it to track backpacking trips, music events, Guadalupe Peak ascents, Iron Men retreats, births of granddaughters, and all that.
So why don’t I know the actual date for my baptism?
Not because I wasn’t sure about it, or unconvinced that it really happened, or that the experience might not have been genuine. I come from a tribe of highly observant Baptists. We attended church twice on Sunday (even on vacation) and once on Wednesday, along with a wide assortment of regional and associational meetings – even weeklong revivals. My mom was the church secretary, so I spent days with her at the church entertaining myself. Our family was littered with preachers, deacons, worship leaders, WMU leaders, RA and GA camp directors, so things like baptism of the oldest grandchild, which I was, were not taken lightly. I’ll admit being seven years old means I didn’t go through much of a life change but being baptized still mattered a great deal to me.
I’ve been a member of a Baptist Sunday School since I was born. Well, almost. There may’ve been a day between birth and membership. My dad enrolled me in the Cradle Roll Class of East Fourth Baptist Church (I think – my memory wasn’t that solid as a newborn) while I was still in the newborn wing of Malone Hogan Hospital in Big Spring, Texas. With that early start there has never been a time in my life when I was not a believer, not an observer, not a follower. It took me several years, decades, to convert that family faith to my own personal faith, but it’s one of the deepest roots of my story. I suppose the fact I didn’t have a life-changing experience might account for not knowing the date.
I do remember this: my father, who was the worship leader at Grace Temple Baptist Church in Kermit, Texas, our home church during most of the 1960s, asked me how I wanted the service to go. I chose to be baptized by Rev. Harold Scarbrough, pastor at Grace Temple, following a sermon from my grandfather, Rev. Roy Haynes, pastor of First Baptist Church in Ira, Texas.
Grace Temple as it appeared in the 1960s
After the church committee meeting, I was curious about my own history, so I looked up Grace Temple Baptist Church and sent an inquiry. I knew there would be records buried in a dusty archive somewhere, and while I didn’t expect a quick answer, I knew the right person would find the records. And then, sure enough, Wednesday night, two nights after my inquiry, at my poolside birthday party dinner, a friend and current member of GTBC, Deonna Hardaway, told me her friend at church got the message and she was working on it.
The next morning Deonna wrote to me with the date, January 19, 1964. She said a copy from the handwritten ledger book would follow.
How cool is that? Digging out fifty-seven-year-old data in three days. My thanks to Anita at Grace Temple.
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Because of an exercise I do with other men, called Journey Group, I tell my life story often. It usually takes about an hour-and-a-half, so it includes a lot of details. It’s become more important to me as I get older to remember those long threads that run through my life, especially the ones that go all the way back to the beginning. It feels deep, permanent, and significant.
“I run in the path of Your commands, for You have set my heart free.” Psalm 119:32
