On My Daughter’s Baptism
On October 4th, my daughter was baptized, which was something that I anguished over for about a month. Not because I didn't want her to. Far from it! It was because I wanted it to be genuinely her choice and decision. My brother was coerced into his confirmation and has retained about as little of his catechism as one would expect, given the circumstances. If it could be avoided, I wanted my daughter to not only want to do it, but also be excited about the sacrament.
I have heard a variety of arguments say that the development of my daughter’s faith isn't anything to write home about. As we grow up, we have little choice in what we ultimately sign up to believe in, married to our own cultural and geographical context. In a predominantly Muslim country, one would become a follower of Mohammed just as likely as a one would become an atheist in Finland (or any other post-Christian country). Or, our genetics play a part in our willingness to believe in God, the proclivity that still lingers in our make-up as a survival mechanism against things unseen. (Like a lion in the tall grass, for example.) Needless to say, I contest the true explanatory power of such points. I ultimately value the agency of choice. And I'm happy that she made it.
Myself? I was baptized, but never confirmed in the Catholic church. When I ultimately ended up a protestant, the choice to get baptized again was completely reasonable. I wanted to express the inward reality of my salvation publicly. The thought never occurred to me though that I might be double dipping, either. In a podcast, I heard N.T. Wright complain about just that: those seeking another baptism after coming into their own faith. Maybe the fact that I wasn't committing to the organization, a veritable magisterium, warranted an additional baptism? I would say so.
Seeing my daughter baptized though was somewhat surreal. It brought me back to my own painful introduction to Christianity, the wayward years of not really knowing what I had signed up for, or what I was even supposed to be doing. In a society obsessed with things like return on investment (ROI), evangelism often becomes less like making disciples and more like making conversions (pun intended) on an existing ad campaign. Following Christ is more than that. It involves manifesting the "already-but-not-yet" into a world full of pain and cynicism. We see this the most in the “mega churches” that pepper North America, where tithing is required to sustain merely the engine of the church itself, where the board of elders functions more like a board of executive directors, where sermon series are “brand conscious”, and so on. Even though the United States constitutes only about 5% of the world’s population, we assume that it represents 100% of Christian orthopraxy. The irony being that the confessing church of China, in all likelihood, is double that of the United States alone. So we, as a community of believers, shouldn’t think too highly of ourselves.
Simply put, if “giving your life to Jesus” is the equivalent to starting a long, cross-country race, then baptism really should be splashing water on your face after the first lap. There is still a long way to go, but the commitment has been made. My prayer and hope is that I can continue to keep up with her all the same, and be there for when she stumbles. But at the end of the day, thankfully, Jesus is her coach.
I am just a spectator.
