You Can't Be Serious

Thought For The Day

I suppose everyone has a story about religion. Some of the memories have deep meaning and great impact on our character, others are markers of changes in attitude and growth. My story has a little of both.because it is about something that happened when I was nine.

I did not grow up in a home where religious heritage had laid a path to follow. I do not know what religion was practiced in the homes of my grandparents, aunts and uncles. I did not attend a parochial school. I do remember attending a number of different churches and being required to sit quietly with my parents for church services that involved loud men making threats about the safety of my soul if I were not "saved". To say that church was not a destination I favored is a bit of an understatement. I dreaded Sunday in those days and was a reluctant participant. That all changed when the missionaries came to visit.

When the missionaries came to school my parents in the tenets of the new church they were investigating the whole picture of religion began to change. This was the introduction of growth, education, community, friendship and possibilities. While the threat aspect remained, it was muted in favor of the more positive attributes of new horizons and community.

After a fairly long investigation my mother decided this was the kind of lifestyle change that she deemed correct for the family. My father was less convinced and withheld approval and participation until further review. Since I was of sufficient age to be considered for baptism by immersion, that event was set as a goal to be accomplished as soon as possible.

Immersion was a word with which I was unfamiliar and so I questioned those around me for an explanation and was told that baptism was accomplished by standing in a large bathtub like tank and put under the water by an elder, all of me, the whole enchilada. Naturally, this did not meet with my immediate approval and since I had no real authority to argue the point I began to stew and ruminate about the event until I was so twisted up in my knickers that I could scarcely sleep. The largest part of the problem centered on the fact that I believed since this was an event which mirrored a bath I would necessarily be without raiment, clothing for those of you who don't remember Sunday school words. And, the idea that I was to be nude and watched by the entire congregation put me in a terrible state.

The terror did not subside until I was given the white clothing which was to be worn for the baptism. Just another example of the little things that make a big difference in the lives of children. But, I must tell you that the relief I felt when those clothes were handed to me is beyond description.

Herb Ratliff, May 7, 2012, All Rights Reserved