Most newly-ordained ministers are familiar with the
horror stories of other newly-ordained ministers whose first wedding, baptism
or funeral had been something of a disaster.
I was newly ordained and new to the congregation. I was determined that my first baptism would
not be remembered for my fumbles and botches.
I prepared thoroughly. I
memorized the baptismal service and considered every move that I would make.
The little village of Waterford sits amid the hills
of southern New Brunswick in a beautiful valley where two streams join. The Waterford United Church sits on a knoll
of solid rock in the midst of the village.
It is a well-proportioned church with a high steeple, “beautiful on
Mount Zion.” The entrance was at the
front of the sanctuary, resulting in some embarrassment for visitors arriving
late and on entering, finding the whole congregation looking at them.
On this particular Sunday morning, two baby boys
were to be baptized. All was going well
and we were singing the baptismal hymn, when I looked down from the pulpit and
realized that there was no baptismal font, no bowl, and no water. This was 1954, and the Waterford church,
typical of country churches of the time, had no electricity, no running water,
no kitchen – just sanctuary and vestry.
What to do?
First, I remembered that there was a brook about
fifty yards down the road. There was
water. But the hymn would be finished
before I could get there and back. Well,
the congregation would just have to stand there and wait.
But what to carry the water in? An elder of the congregation lived next to
the church, perhaps I could get a dish there.
What if the house was locked?
(They were all in church.) I
would just have to take the chance. People in those days usually didn’t bother
to lock doors.
I started for the door. As I came down from the pulpit platform, I
noticed the wood stove used to heat the church in colder weather. I remembered that there was an old rusty tin
can used in the winter to throw kerosene on the wood to get the fire started
quickly. If the house was locked, I
could get water in the kerosene can.
I went to the stove, got the kerosene can and
started back for the door. All this
seemed like an eternity in my own mind, but the congregation was still singing
the baptismal hymn. As I got to the
entry at the front of the church I noticed the flowers of the communion table. There was my water!
Going to the table, I poured water from the flowers
into the rusty kerosene
can and turned to the congregation just as they were
finishing the hymn.
The baptism proceeded without interruption.
Some twenty-five years later, I was invited back to
this congregation for an anniversary service.
I was extremely pleased (and maybe a bit relieved) to find that these
baby boys, now young men, were both elders of the congregation. Water from the
flowers in a rusty can, but I guess the baptism “took.”
Alan
is the author of Reading the Bible for the Love of God, and A Troubled
Faith: Affirming Christian Faith in the Twenty-first Century. Both books won
awards from the Word Guild.
He lives in Richmond, B. C., and
is still married (since 1962) to beautiful, blue-eyed Brenda. They enjoy great
family times with four children and their spouses (all above average), and eight
wonderful grandchildren.
3 comments:
This is a precious story, Alan. I've come to think that the 'how, when or why' doesn't limit God from giving a blessing. And I'm happy the two boys were in church as elders to welcome you.
Terrific story Alan.
Perhaps those fellows greeting you on your return after all those years would be like the increase from "bread cast upon the waters" of ministry that returned to bless your heart "after many days" (Ecc. 11:1). :)
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I want to know if anyone noticed and commented, particularly the babies' Mama! LOL
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