I am, what some like to call, a cradle Lutheran. I was born into the Lutheran church and baptized in the ELCA when I was a mere 4 months old. I don't remember missing many Sundays. We would go early for Sunday school and stay for worship, where we would sit with my mom and Grandma and best friend's family. My dad never went with us, but he never did much with us, so we didn't think much of it.
As we got older, our moms sang in the choir while we sat in the congregation on our own. I don't remember much about the messages in church back then - probably because we were too busy passing notes - but I do remember the service. The routine. The ritual. The sacredness.
I hated it.
I wanted something more fun - more upbeat - more emotional. I wanted something "powerful" - something that would hit my heart ... the way camp always did. A place where I would have lots of friends that accepted me as I was - a nerdy, book-loving, quiet, musical girl. A place where I would gain confidence to really be the person God had created me to be. Maybe if our church was a little bigger ... but there were only a handful of kids my age there.
So in high school, taking my confirmation promises seriously, I "left" the Lutheran church for the first (of what would end up to be several) time of my life. I went to youth group at one of the huge Baptist churches in the small town I grew up in. It was in that Baptist youth group that I was introduced to a personal commitment to Jesus. Later in my life, I realized that personal commitment is also called "discipleship," but back then all I knew was "commitment." I learned about the importance of a daily quiet time. I encountered my first "altar call" - where everyone was invited to kneel at the altar and repent, asking Jesus to come into their hearts and save them. I made so many friends - I found myself getting to know the "in crowd" - and I finally felt accepted ... and maybe even a little cool.
But I will never forget the day the youth pastor took me aside and asked me if I was ready to be baptized into the church. I would love to have a picture of my face in that moment - I can imagine that I looked at him as if he had three heads. But I'm already baptized, I told him. I was baptized when I was a baby. And, I even affirmed that baptism in my confirmation. I'm not sure what his actual reply was, but here's what I heard - That baptism wasn't real. You have to make a personal commitment to Jesus, and THEN get baptized.
I left that night, never to return.
Now, some 20 years later, I can see how that Baptist youth group made a huge impact in my faith life. I see the beautiful things it taught me - how to pray, how to sit and listen, how to read my Bible and talk to God. Not only did it teach me how to do those things - but it taught me just how much I needed those things ... not for salvation's sake, but for my own sanity.
Now, I can see how that youth pastor probably wasn't trying to challenge my salvation or push me away, but was honestly trying to live out his calling as a youth pastor. He believed something different than me - and although it was a negative experience at the time, that experience helped me understand my baptism and confirmation in a way I hadn't prior to that conversation. His somewhat innocent challenge made me, in that moment, incredibly confident in the theology of the Lutheran church that I had grown up in. That challenge to my infant baptism made me realize that I did, in fact, know Jesus ... and that Jesus knew me too.
This post was originally written in response to Chapter Two of Sarah Bessey's book, Out of Sorts.