Good to Go. . .

Today I am gathering my information and exegesis for the Baptism of Our Lord this weekend.  As I am printing and stapling I again saw my framed baptismal certificate on the bookcase along with other certificates and diplomas (or is it “diplomi?”).  The certificate is the only memento I have of my baptism.  Back then, we didn’t have daguerreotypes archiving a child’s every moment like today’s parents’ ever-present iPhone. I don’t know if I had a special baptismal gown or if there was a towel or a candle or other souvenir that was given to my parents.  All I have is a certificate that I accidentally came across with a big ink blotch that the framer creatively covered with matting when I had it framed.

I keep that certificate dear to me and display it at each of my interim sites.  I have documents that announce that I have a Masters of Divinity and a certificate from The American Lutheran Church of yore that states I’m certified for ministry. My ordination certificate bears the signatures of a couple people who influenced my ministry. There is another paper that indicates that I officially became a geezer on the 25^th anniversary of ordination ten years ago.  But the motley baptismal certificate with information typed with a manual typewriter is at the center.

It is from my baptism that everything else has been built upon.  Because of that baptism I can remember my first Sunday school teacher, Winifred Jacobson.  I went to Vacation Bible School at the Lutheran Church.  I suspect they initiated a re-programming at that time (ha ha).  I sang in Jr. Choir directed by my Great Aunt Bess. I was confirmed.  I went to youth group and a whole bunch more things.  I am not sure that those who were involved at spent much time thinking that they were accompanying my baptismal journey.  Sadly, too many of them thought baptism was simply a heavenly insurance marker on the kid.

But every passage I enter is another step along my baptismal journey.  I make the sign of the cross in remembrance of my baptism.  I do not need much more.  That shabby sheet of paper in a black frame says that on September 29, 1952, I was set apart as a child of God forever and ever.  I’m good to go. . .