February in June: Part 1

"It's freezing this morning. Well, I guess it is February."

I thought those words this morning, as I gazed out the window at the blanket of new snow. And then a wry smile sprang to my lips as I remembered where I had heard that seemingly trivial comment. It was several years ago, and it was not February at all. I had heard it while sitting outside in June sunshine. But that had been my own fault, as you will hear.

I promised some weeks ago to tell a few of the stories of my own adjustment to my church. Although this is not an entirely comfortable subject for me, I think it is important to tell these stories. People are too often under the mistaken impression that conversions and transformations always take place in the manner of Saul on the road to Damascus--a brilliant light, an overwhelming realization, and then a totally changed life. However, most people never have such an abrupt life-altering experience. For most of us, changes occur gradually over time. Fears beset us. Doubt creeps up on us. Progress can be agonizingly slow. Sometimes we take one step back for every two steps forward. This is ministry and life in the real world where even the best intentions are poisoned by our fallen natures.

This story begins with a bunch of unbaptized children--mine. During my twenties, as I stumbled randomly from church to church, I did not worry much about my children. I told myself that as soon as I found the right place, I would see them baptized. However, as years passed, and I did not spend more than a few sporadic months at any church, it began to worry me more.

Finally, when we began attending Calvary OPC, I knew that we had found the church where we should stay.

"I want my children baptized," I anxiously informed the pastor almost immediately.

"Sure!" he said. "But you need to become members first. That's typically the process."

Oh no. No, no, no! I wasn't going to become a member anywhere. It was a trap. I was somehow very sure of that. No one was going to get me that easily again. I wasn't sure exactly what kind of trap or why anyone would have it in for me here, but I figured you can't be too careful about these things. No way.

"Okay, then, take your time considering it. There's no hurry. We love you anyway," the pastor said. He was nice about it, but he didn't budge. No membership, no baptism.

Over the next few weeks, my rebellion went through several phases:

(1) "I don't really care anyway." As much as I tried to tell myself that, I did care. Deeply. And so I quickly transitioned to the next phase ...

(2) "I'll find someone else to baptize my kids." I knew several local pastors from various denominations who did not hold the same scruples as my own pastor. I knew that all I really had to do was call one of them. It all seemed to make sense. I could have my kids baptized, and I could still go to Calvary OPC. I was not a member, so they could not kick me out over this or anything else. It seemed obvious that this idea would pleasantly put the matter to rest. My husband, weary of the whole business, offered to baptize the kids himself if that didn't work out with any of those pastors. And yet something held me back from making that call. I had seen much of Pentecostal silliness surrounding baptism--baptisms performed by children or carried out in bathtubs or other such nonsense--and I wanted none of it. "I want to do it right," I finally confessed to my husband. "Not this way. I want them to be baptized in their own church by their own pastor. This is a sacrament, after all. I just can't go through with it this way."

(3) "Okay, fine then." I finally gave in. My heart was not remotely in it, and I made no secret of that. "Whatever!" I snapped ungraciously. "What do we have to do?"

Our long-suffering pastor (God bless him) gave the best smile he could manage under the circumstances. "Excellent! We're so glad that you want to join us. We will start new members classes in a few weeks."

And so it happened that my husband and I, the two most annoyed and sulky people who have ever tried to join the Orthodox Presbyterian denomination, showed up for the beginning of what turned out to be a 22-week course. I still am very unclear on whether it was planned from the beginning to take that long, or whether it only lingered on for 22 weeks because we were so bitter and argumentative about everything. I suspect it was the latter. As I recall, our pastor rarely got more than a few words out before we pelted him with questions, hypothetical scenarios, and even unfounded accusations. As the weeks passed, we found ourselves enjoying the discussions more and taking a positive attitude. We could also see that our pastor was relaxing and perhaps beginning to trust that we wouldn't burn the church down before the end of the class.

And so it must have been shock for the pastor and elders when we suddenly left. We didn't even really explain. "Thanks for everything, but we won't be returning to your church," read my parting email. Now I know that must have felt to them like a kick to the stomach, but at the time, I had no concept of that at all.

To be continued ...