Since our recent move from California to the great State of Texas, my wife and I have been looking for a new Church home. We attended a Southern Baptist Church twice and felt very smothered. There's being welcomed then there's being patronized.
We attended Calvary Chapels mostly since the early 90's since it was the most in line with what we believe and attending Shabbat services was severely restricted by my ***... here, most wouldn't know what a Messianic is. So, we started visiting a Methodist Church. We attended one in Texas in the early 90's before going to Calvary Chapel because the women preachers became a big issue with me.
It would be today had I not come to the reality that as long as men will not step up to the plate, a woman can lead (to the shame of the cowardice or selfish men) which was the point God was making with the ministry of the prophetess Deborah.
Today baby Braydon was baptized according to the Methodist traditions. And it was a beautiful ceremony. It was like a liturgical baby dedication more than a testimony of faith in Christ. And when the pastor held the babe and walked him around amongst the congregation in a quilt the ladies had made and softly sang "Braydon, Braydon God claims you. Braydon, Braydon he loves you too" over and over and we all joined in... tears of joy flowed from my wife and I. The Spirit of God was there... and all who come to Christ come to him in this way spiritually as little children... and it was one of the most special moments I have ever experienced.
Ordinarily I'd rear back on my dogmatic haunches and grumble about infant baptism. I still believe it is biblical that the actual baptism is neither that of infant nor adult water baptism but rather that of the Holy Spirit... which I believe we witnessed today... and that the water baptism is an outward expression of an inward transformation.
But it is clear there are times when God stakes a claim, as he did in Samuel's life... and Jeremiah (even before he was born), and in my life.
It used to befuddle me that I could never remember a "conversion moment" in my life... that point that no one ever forgets when the heavens open and they repent and choose the Lord as their savior. Until I recalled when God came to me at age 5. Mother was late in picking me up fom kindergarten. I was upset from the imposition on the teacher (Ms Maggard who was a wonderful believer) and from the fear that Mother had gotten into an accident of some kind. And I recalled the Lord came to me. I knew that I knew it was him. And he not only comforted me. He claimed me.
I've been his ever since. I had my prodigal years. But I never stopped believing from that day forward. So rather than rear up on my dogmatic haunches I will just say we have another young brother in Christ today. And he is a complete joy, smiling and happy and he was so quiet when we sang to him. Until then he was a little squirmy and (baby) talkative.