I feel fortunate that I remember my baptism.  I was baptized as an eight-year-old in a very cold mountain pond off the side of Brown’s Chapel Road a few miles outside Boone, North Carolina.  I remember the day well—the dusty dirt path lined with cars, the crunch of gravel under our feet as my mother and I walked from the car to the pond’s edge.  I knew I wanted to follow Jesus.  I knew the preacher said if you want Jesus to come into your heart, all you had to do was ask, and that when Jesus came into your heart, it was time to be baptized, cold water and all.

I understand now that baptism is also a sacrament of grace that embraces even the youngest of God’s children.  I have stood at baptismal fonts, in neonatal intensive care units, and even in backyards during the pandemic and welcomed children of all ages to the church with just a little dab of water.  And every time I do it, I welcome another child of God into the family of faith, where God offers love and support no matter what life brings.  And every time I say the words that make all the difference. 

You are sealed by the Holy Spirit in baptism and marked as Christ’s own forever.

On Sunday, as we read about Jesus’ baptism, I will reflect on what those words mean.