ROLL ON RIVER

The soft green of the Jordan River swished around my ankles, and little pebbles of the exposed aggregate steps dug into the soles of my feet. I pinched the soft skin of my inner arm to convince myself that I was really so near the place where the heavens had opened, and God had declared His pleasure in His son, the Beloved. (Matt 3:16)

Large trees dipped their branches into the water not far from where a canoe bumped against barricades designed to keep boats out. After tipping their fishing rods at me, the occupants paddled toward the center of the river. Everything seemed so ordinary. So normal. But it wasn’t.

Standing in this lush river, my rite of baptism—that scant sprinkling in a Lutheran church nearly thirty-five years earlier—no longer seem quite enough. I felt let down by my baptism experience. Somehow it should have been MORE.

One afternoon after school I'd stood in the vacated sanctuary of the church I’d occasionally attended and promised to be a Christian with the ardor only a teenager can muster. There was no celebration afterwards. No sense of how special the moment was. We just went home.

Now, here in Canaan, I took my place at the end of a line of friends from our church about to commemorate their baptisms, and as I moved forward I felt the wonderment and joy that had been missing on that day. The moment I touched water from the Jordan to my own head, I knew I had been wrong. I hadn't any need to “redo” my baptism. I hadn’t even needed to rework a bad memory.

For Methodists, baptism is about belonging to the Body of Christ. And that beautiful river reminded me that I did, indeed, belong—and had belonged from that day so many decades before when, standing in the fading light of a stained glass window, I had made God a promise and myself a member.

And the Jordan River . . . rushing over my ankles . . . was a reminder of how many of us have been blessed by this mighty fellowship.

You are blessed. Be a blessing.

ICKTHUS . . . SOMETHING FISHY FOR THE FAITHFUL?

SINCE I BECAME what I sometimes refer to as an Old Testament Christian, I’ve wanted to see Jerusalem and Canaan. I’ve wanted to walk where Jesus walked. I’ve wanted the breezes that grace those ancient hills to grace my own face. I’ve wanted the waters of the Jordan River to swirl around my ankles. I’ve wanted to put my hands in the very Sea of Galilee that Christ walked on.

I’VE DONE ALL THOSE THINGS NOW. I’ve also seen where David slew Goliath, and I’ve knelt down to touch Golgotha. I’ve peeked into the Nazareth home of Joseph, Mary, and family. I’ve seen the tomb of Joseph of Aramethea and prayed in the Garden of Gethsemane.

I KNOW HOW NARROW THE KIDRON VALLEY is and that the arid backside of the Mount of Olives meant freedom was only a hop, skip, and jump away for Christ. And yet He chose to wait for the burning torches He would have seen were meant to take Him away.

OH, YES. I can chalk the number one item off my travel To Do list.

WHEN THOSE WONDERFUL, MYSTERIOUS DAYS were completed, I felt the rest of the trip would be nice, but nothing to write about. I was wrong.

BEING IN THE MINORITY is something I’ve really never experienced. In most of the countries we visited—Egypt, Turkey, and even much of Israel—we pale Christians from a nice north Texas United Methodist Church were often outnumbered by as much as 98 percent of the Muslim population. Now that’s a minority.

IMAGINE AN ARMED GUARD ON A TOUR BUS. Imagine days without Christian symbols or churches. Imagine days without seeing a single woman show her hair.

THAT’S WHY, when I saw the Ickthus carved into the paving stones of Ephesus, Turkey, I was reminded that I was in the ruins of the world Paul had lived and worked in.

TALK ABOUT LIVING IN THE MINORITY! He might have been a super missionary, a force-to-be-contended-with, but much of the time he was alone. No wonder he landed in trouble so many times. (For Ephesus specifically, read Acts 19: 21-41.) Paul was not well-liked by the authorities or most of the citizens. Yet here, deeply etched outside a theater large enough to accommodate the same number of spectators as an NFL stadium, was the secret symbol of Christianity.

THE “Ι” RUNS NORTH AND SOUTH. The “Χ” (which is the “k” sound) is obvious. It takes a moment longer to find the ϑ (which is the “th” sound). The ϒ (the “oo” sound) is easier. And the Σ (the “s”) can easily be traced. Ickthus. The fish. As clear as it was in the early days when it first defaced the road. Christian graffiti. Paul’s legacy.

I PAUSED IN HUNDRED DEGREE PLUS HEAT and thanked God I was lucky enough to be in a time and in a place where I heard the Word. Where what I believe is what most of the people I know also believe. Where we don't have to resort to secrecy to share the truth with others. Feeling how very fortunate I was, I reluctantly followed the elbow in the road toward the bus where the others were waiting.

You’re blessed. Be a blessing!