Baptisms and dedications unite us all as children in need of our heavenly Father.
Garth Bolinder
The Mother’s Day dedication service was moving toward its conclusion. The last of the six beautiful babies was being presented to the Lord. Solemn questions had been asked the parents:
“Will you, by God’s help, provide a Christian home for this child and bring her up in the worship and teaching of the church, that she may come to know Jesus Christ as her Savior and follow him as Lord?”
“We will,” the glad parents responded.
“Will you, members of this congregation, be faithful to your calling as members of the body of Christ, so that this child and all other children in your midst may grow up in the knowledge and love of him?”
“We will,” said the united congregation.
It was a holy moment. Many eyes glistened among the adults. Children looked on in wide-eyed wonder at this reenactment of the ancient ritual. The infant Jesus was again in the Temple, Simeon looking for the consolation of Israel, Anna praising God.
As I pronounced the benediction on the last peaceful child, holding her in my arms and softly repeating the words of blessing, “The Lord bless you and keep you …” suddenly she looked up at me, startled, with wide-eyed terror. Her face reddened and twisted into a grimace, a coil of anguish waiting to unwind. In the next instant, the entire sanctuary was filled with her piercing wail. This little beauty, cradled so gently in my arms, was howling directly into the microphone clipped to my lapel. So much for the holy moment.
Should I muffle the noise by holding her tightly against my chest? Or quickly give her back to her parents? Should I cry with her? Or laugh?
I started to laugh. So did the congregation. It wasn’t the laughter of ridicule or embarrassment. It was a spontaneous, holy laughter in the midst of the fears and pains of life. Sarah and Abraham knew it at Isaac’s birth. In Bethlehem’s delivery room, so did Mary and Joseph.
Was this holy drama or human comedy? Maybe a little of both. As that baby was crying, the pastor fumbling, and the congregation chuckling, the story of salvation was being told once again with delightful clarity. A child had been born to a woman — another reminder of God’s redemption through Eve’s seed. The congregation — God’s new covenant people — surrounded this little life with warmth, love, and joy.
But what about this intruder, this pastor who takes children from the security of parents’ embrace, pronounces eternal words over them, and calls to one higher? A mere man or woman, whether draped with silken vestments or sporting a polyester leisure suit, becomes a formidable presence at this moment of divine initiation.
Common Ground
Are there not great lessons to be learned and common pastoral ground to be found in the midst of the theological turmoil that surrounds Christian baptism? I dare not presume to solve that age-old debate (though some might say, “What debate? It’s truth verses heresy!”). As authors Donald Bridge (Free Church) and David Phypers (Anglican) point out in their provocative book, The Water That Divides, “One of our Lord’s last recorded commands to his followers was ‘Go … and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit’ (Mt. 28:19). That his followers have, in general, obeyed his command is beyond question.…Yet despite this, perhaps no command of Christ has occasioned so much controversy, division, bitterness, and mistrust as this one.”1
Still, in the midst of this continuing controversy, pastors of all stripes are called to welcome little children, to tell the grand story of redemption. We realize, whether through baptism or dedication, that children can play a major part, and the way we utilize such occasions can have eternal consequences.
Jesus and the Children
Even to the casual observer, it’s obvious the gospel writers placed particular importance on Jesus’ attitude toward children. Not only did he delight in them, they seemed to delight in him. There was a joyful fullness in their relationship that confounded both the skeptic Pharisees (as expected) and the faithful disciples. When everyone wanted to keep the children from Jesus, he bid them come and had some rather harsh words for those who hindered them.
Does the Bible assume what modern neonatal medicine is just now discovering, that infants have great capacity for awareness and perception? The story of John the Baptizer leaping in the womb of his mother as the prenatal Messiah approaches certainly causes us to wonder. As Frederick Buechner has pointed out, “When it comes to the forgiving and transforming love of God, one wonders if the six-week-old screecher knows all that much less than the Archbishop of Canterbury.”2
In thinking of our pastoral role, whether in infant baptism or dedication, we must first focus on the tender relationship between Jesus and the children. What can be done to reflect his divine concern and love for them? Let’s start with some practical considerations.
Know the child’s name. As basic as this might sound, it indicates our pastoral attitude and involvement. No doubt we all issue some form of certificate for either baptism or dedication. It shows care as we get the proper names of the children and have the certificates neatly filled out well in advance. As a personal touch, we use several people in the congregation who do calligraphy. As I sign the certificates, I make a conscious effort to become familiar with, even memorize, the names of the children I’ll be holding on Sunday. If our heavenly Father has every hair numbered on those little heads, then I figure I had better know the children’s names.
Consider the logistics of the service. Most pastors I know try to include the children early in the worship service. This way anxious parents can be spared the trial of trying to keep down the din as the noontime feeding and nap approaches.
Set a caring tone. The pastor’s attitude sets the tone for the families involved, the congregation, and, I believe, for the infants as well. With so many things going on, it’s easy to inadvertently telegraph our busyness or preoccupation, which does not reflect the welcome of Jesus. So I find I must consciously bring to the ceremony a smiling face, a gentle voice, a firm yet tender embrace. These tell the children of a Love that will not let them go.
Music, prayers, and Scriptures can be chosen that emphasize the grace and peace of Christ. I suppose we could think of the rites of baptism and dedication as eternal lullabies, soothing with the peace of God helpless children thrust into a sinful world. An old poem by George Wither captures this mood:
Whilst thus thy lullaby I sing,
For thee great blessing ripening be;
Thine eldest brother is a King,
And hath a kingdom bought for thee.
The wants that He did then sustain,
Have purchased wealth, my babe, for thee;
And by His torments and His pain,
Thy rest and ease secured may be.
Thou has yet more to perfect this,
A promise and an earnest got,
Of gaining everlasting bliss,
Though thou, my babe, perceiv’st not.3
Be creative. Every time I hear the hymn “Loving Shepherd of Thy Sheep,” I’m deeply moved, because that’s the song Pastor Art Nelson sang quietly to our firstborn after baptizing her. Years later, when Pastor Wes Swanson held up our second child after baptizing her and declared, “Behold what manner of love the Father has given us, that we should be called the children of God,” I realized a new dimension to 1 John 3:1.
I’ve talked to pastors who send personal letters to every baby they’ve baptized or dedicated — immediately after the Sunday ceremony, or later, on Christmas, Easter, or another significant date. Though initially read by the parents, these letters go into baby books and become spiritual signposts in later years.
I remember my daughter’s excitement when she came home and told us that next week a special party was going to be held for her — in honor of the anniversary of her baptism. With all the secular paraphernalia that engulfs our children as they grow, maybe we should be looking for more creative ways like these to undergird eternal and spiritual realities.
Jesus and the Children’s Parents
Let the little children come to Jesus, but insist their parents bring them. The Bible knows nothing of the individualism so popular in our time. Baptisms and dedications are opportunities for family ministry. I believe sensitive preparation of parents is both a theological and practical necessity.
I’ll always remember a visit with a newer couple in the church. Both held doctorates from prestigious Ivy League universities. They were the epitome of success and style. They were also spiritually hungry because the birth of their first child caused them to reconsider their lapsed religious upbringings.
What a privilege to visit them one evening to discuss the pending baptism of their newborn. I admit I was a little awed by their academic and professional accomplishments. But they had wanted spiritual counsel. So I went.
“No,” I replied to one of their questions, “we don’t believe the Scriptures teach that baptism guarantees salvation.”
“We don’t either.”
“Well, can you tell me about your personal faith in Jesus Christ?”
What followed was a thought-provoking time of discussion and testimony about new life in Christ. They had recently entered that life and wanted to witness to the grace of God through baptizing their baby. If I had bypassed the visit, either through casual assent to their request for baptism or by skepticism at their spiritual status, I’d have lost a rich occasion. The family would have missed reflecting on the meaning of their newfound commitment. And the congregation might have lost the privilege of enfolding this family into our midst.
While it may not be possible to cultivate a deep relationship with every set of parents, I do work hard to integrate parents into the baptism or dedication process. Personal contact with parents helps them understand the significance of what they are desiring for their child. It affirms the necessity of their own profession of faith, dispels any misunderstandings that this is the completion of their spiritual responsibility for their child, and prepares them to answer with integrity in the service the questions of their faith and intent. Such personal involvement also helps cement my future relationship with them.
As a church becomes larger, finding time for all this is a genuine problem. But to me, the bigger problem comes when we neglect such a wide-open door to ministry.
The grievous sociological climate of our day quickly presents us with unusual circumstances here. There are no easy solutions to the complications that divorce, sexual permissiveness, blended families, and single parenting bring. Yet when a parent comes to the pastor, concerned about the spiritual welfare of his or her infant, what an opportunity to counsel the parent about the true meaning of the gospel, of repentance, of forgiveness, of a life of obedience!
Teaching and Witness
Kimberly’s tiny body was bound in a cast from the abdomen down. As I held her in my arms and gazed into her eyes, I marveled at her oblivion to her serious condition. The drama was not lost on the congregation, however, nor on Kimberly’s parents. They realized that after casts came a series of surgeries that might correct the birth defect. If the surgeries were not effective, this child faced the life of a paraplegic. Her baptism that Sunday morning had a marked impact on the entire congregation. I didn’t realize how much until later in the week.
A couple called me for an appointment to talk about the baptism last Sunday. Since they were new to the church, I guessed they wanted to discuss (or argue) the theology of baptism. Oh well, I sighed, one more time around.
As the conversation began, I realized I had prepared for the wrong subject. They didn’t want to talk baptismal theology. They wanted to talk about personal faith — their lack of it, to be exact. During the baptism of this little girl in her half-body cast, this couple was deeply moved. They began to cry again as they told me about it.
“It was as if that little girl were a symbol of our lives,” they said.
“There she was, crippled and bound, yet glowing with happiness and peace in her father’s arms. When you took her and spoke of Christ’s love for her — that he died for her sins — that was more than we could take.
“Later it hit us. This little girl could grow into a joyful, fulfilled woman even if she never walked. She could learn to survive and thrive in the world. There are thousands of people who illustrate this, but that baptism showed us the one thing that she could not do for herself.”
“What’s that?” I asked.
“She can’t save herself. Only God can.”
Somehow, during the liturgy of presenting a child to God, of proclaiming the grace of God, of praying for that child in Jesus’ name, the Holy Spirit had convinced this couple of their need for Jesus Christ. Though I was deeply moved as I held that frail child in my arms, I was too intent on balancing the baby to think of any further spiritual impact. But the impact was there.
Why is my faith so small? Jesus pointed to children and said they illustrated the values of the kingdom of God. Children are windows to heaven. So when we bring children to the Lord, we should be ready for him to teach us through them. Before the Lord we are all children. C. S. Lewis put it well: “When I became a man I put away childish things, including the fear of childishness and the desire to be very grown up.”4 This couple’s experience reminded me that baptisms and dedications unite us all as children in need of our heavenly Father.
They also offer marvelous opportunities for teaching and witness. Though we have our respective orders of worship, here are some creative ideas used by pastors I know:
— Have the parents select appropriate Scripture passages to be read.
— Have a person other than the pastor pray for the child and family. Many times this will be a friend of the family or a relative. It can give godparents more than a superficial role in the spiritual nurture of the child. We recently had a service of dedication in which our guest preacher for the day happened to be a former seminary professor of one of the parents presenting a child. How stirring it was to hear this respected professor pray for the child of his former student.
— Use special music. Choirs can sing in preparation. So can soloists or ensembles. I’ve heard of gifted musicians composing songs to be sung during the ceremony. I’ll never forget the day we had our children’s choirs sing as the babies and their parents came forward.
— Other pastors have used selected poetry or prose, sometimes written for the occasion by a parent, relative, or family friend.
In either baptism or dedication, the same people who might be struggling to stay awake twenty minutes later during the sermon are now keenly alert. I try to seize the moment.
Faith in a Faithless World
Ours is a curious, tragic age. Children are both persecuted and pampered.
Articles on abortion, TV specials on abused children, and missing children staring at us from billboards and milk cartons remind us of our national epidemic of unwanted or mistreated children. As Christians we grieve over this plague and protest vigorously.
Yet we also live in a land that spends billions on designer clothes and high-tech accessories for our children. A recent article in Time noted: “Though parents pay the bills, precocious youngsters often insist on making decisions in matters of taste and style.…Notes a manager of Little Me in suburban Atlanta: ‘The child comes in and says, “This is what I want. I won’t wear anything else.” These are very opinionated children.’ … In fact, a well-dressed child may be the ultimate status symbol.…Observes a vice president at the advertising firm of Quinn and Johnson/BBDO, ‘Kids are the BMWs of the ’80s.'”5
This is the schizophrenic world into which we send our baptized and dedicated children. But as the old song says, “This world is not my home. I’m just a passin’ through.” These ancient Christian symbols provide roots in a rootless age. Both baptism and dedication boldly declare two foundational truths about the human condition.
First, these rites tell us we are sinners who need to be washed. Let’s not be too sentimental. Regardless of the innocent beauty of children, they need redemption. I recall the comment of a seminary classmate when I asked how his eighteen-month-old baby was: “Well,” he said, “original sin is alive and well.”
Jesus invited the little children to come because he knew, better than anyone else, that they needed him, too.
And, second, when they came, he welcomed them with open arms. He is the waiting Father for all his prodigal sons and daughters. Baptism and dedication, therefore, not only declare our utter helplessness and need, but, because they point to Jesus Christ, also boldly proclaim “there is salvation in no one else, for there is no other name under heaven given among men by which we must be saved.”6
Though we put proper focus on child, family, and church, Christ is the object. It is his story we tell. Every baptism and dedication demonstrates both hope and promise in that one true story. In a recent Christianity Today Institute, Dr. Donald Joy made the telling observation, “The faith is something that must be responded to individually. We can train. We can nurture. But they [the children] ultimately respond.”7
Children of faith in a faithless world: our services of baptism and dedication proclaim a powerful alternative to a world that abuses children because “they get in my way” and indulges them because “they deserve the best.” To the abandoned and abused children of our age, our services that enfold children shout with the voice of our Lord, “Stop! Do not hinder them. Let the little children come to me.”
And for the pampered, preened, precocious children who are being taught the world revolves around them and their needs, baptism and dedication point to the Cross, and we hear these words: “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.”
In the Chronicles of Narnia, C. S. Lewis gives a marvelous description of this two-fold proclamation: “‘You come of the Lord Adam and the Lady Eve,’ said Aslan. ‘And that is both honor enough to erect the head of the poorest beggar, and shame enough to bow the shoulders of the greatest emperor on earth.'”8
Pastoral words spoken and ministry given during the moments of baptism or dedication carry unusual weight. The infants are recipients. So are their parents. And the congregation not only hears the Story, but becomes part of it as they bring children to Christ.
When we ask the congregation to join in the nurture of the children before them, we are giving them a glorious privilege. It is no longer child or family alone against the world. God’s people are now united, pilgrims together, passing on the faith to the next generation.
And I, as pastor, have been the sometimes-startled but always-awestruck master of ceremonies — ceremonies precious to our Lord.
Donald Bridge and David Phypers, The Water That Divides (Downers Grove, Ill.: Inter Varsity Press, 1977), p. 7.
Frederick Buechner, Wishful Thinking (New York: Harper & Row, 1973), p. 6.
George Wither, poem published in Hallelujah, or Britain’s Second Remembrance, 1660.
C. S. Lewis, Of Other Worlds, cited in Clyde S. Kilby, ed., A Mind Awake (New York: Harcourt, Brace & World, 1968), p. 32.
Gordon M. Henry, “High Fashion for Little Ones,” Time (2 June 1986): 60.
Donald Joy, quoted in “Building Faith: How a Child Learns to Love God,” Christianity Today (13 June 1986): 15-I.
C. S. Lewis, Prince Caspian (New York: Collier, 1970), p. 212.
Copyright ©1987 Christianity Today
