On Sunday afternoon, about 20 of us gathered at lakeside some 100 meters in front of a 12th century church. The Alps rose on the opposite side of the lake, boats sailed across our view, the sun sparkled off the water.
We had come to this spot for F.’s baptism. I spoke to the small group of our need of a pure conscience, of the need of washing, of our desire for forgiveness and the Father’s desire to forgive. F. descended into the water, his dad baptizing him in the name of Father, Son and Holy Spirit. (We took pictures, in a spiritual way, of course.)
With F. wet and joyful, individuals prayed blessing down on him, on his family, on his church. We headed to the meeting place to share bread and wine, song and Word. Several told of their own baptisms, what it had meant, what it means.
It was one of those times that Jesus’ presence was not only acknowledged but also felt. We finished the day encouraged and, in a small way, sharing in the joy of angels.