The Yellow Raincoat

Like most children, I suppose, I had a high priority to be like everyone else when I was little.  My parents were not sympathetic. The symbol for me became my raincoat.  My mother bought me an all-weather coat, which made me look, well, like a smaller version of my dad and made me stand out like a sore thumb around all the other kids.  All the other kids had a standard kid raincoat—the slick yellow rubbery kind. 

One year I put my foot down.  I was going to have a yellow raincoat like everyone else or die.  My mother finally relented. 

I wore it to school with great pride the first day it threatened to rain.  It was like I had had a nerd inoculation over the summer.  I arrived at school and hung it up with great relief that I no longer stood out.  I was sure my social problems were over!

At some point during the day it started to rain; not just light rain, a deluge.  It was a Noah-like flood.  Now I was not worried about the rain.  My mother never failed to pick me up when it rained.  I knew she would come get me. 

The final bell rang.  I put on my yellow raincoat, and I went out to the car pool lane.  My mom, however, was not there.  I was surprised, but I started to walk home.  New raincoat or not, I was getting soaked.

I hadn’t gone far when, sure enough, my mom drove by.  She was going very slowly and peering out the window.  I waved.  She did not stop.  She headed on toward school.  I kept heading home, now mildly annoyed.

I looked back over my shoulder.  She was making another pass, driving slowly, clearly looking for me.  I waved my arms in the air like someone lost at sea trying to catch the rescue plane’s attention.  Once again, she did not stop.  She just drove on by.  I was way beyond annoyed at that point, and when I finally walked in the door, soaking wet, I let her know about it.

“I came looking for you,” she explained. 

“I know.  I waved and waved and you didn’t stop.”

“I looked and looked,” she responded.  “But I couldn’t tell which one you were.  Everyone looked alike in their yellow raincoats.”

Now, to this day I’m not absolutely sure whether or not she couldn’t tell which one I was and didn’t stop or she did see me waving and decided to teach me a lesson.  Same difference, I suppose. 

In the waters of Baptism, Jesus is proclaimed to be who he is, which is hardly being like everyone else.  A voice from heaven announced, “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased” (Mk. 1:11).  Baptism is about becoming who we are, who we really are, who we uniquely are. 

That’s why Baptism involves water, I think.  It’s so we can decide whether we’re going to put on a yellow raincoat like everyone else or face the consequences of being the individual we were made to be.  If we choose the latter, one of the things we’re going to have to face is standing out in a crowd, as immaturely uncomfortable as that might be.

Peace,

My Favorite Baptismal Promise

There are three statements in the Baptismal Covenant, each one beginning with “I believe.”  At any given moment they’re each a little iffy, but I try.  There are also five vows.  They are made with the words “I will, with God’s help.”  Four are completely unrealistic.  One is not.  It is my favorite one. 
 

We can pretty much count on failures in the four I mentioned:  faithfulness in worship and prayer, proclaiming the good news of God in Christ by word and example, loving one’s neighbor as oneself, and striving for justice and peace.  Sometimes we do.  Sometimes we don’t.  That’s about the most we can realistically hope for.  It just goes with being human.

There’s one other baptismal vow, though.  It includes this rather realistic view of humanity:  “Will you . . ., whenever you fall into sin, repent and return to the Lord?”  Now that one has a note of realism about it, and a deep appreciation of what it is to be human.  Not if you fall into sin, but when you fall into sin. 

Of course, there’s the second part of that, the repentance and returning part.  That requires something on our part, but it is not quite like the other four promises, the ones we know we’re going to fail at.  Just as much as falling into sin is a part of what it is to be human, so returning to God is basically human, whether we recognize it or not.  To be human, I think, is to be basically inclined toward God.  Awareness is not required.  Neither is will.  It’s just our natural direction.  And you can catch glimpses of it in little moments of good in all human beings. 

That has something to do with what Paul spoke about the meaning of baptism.  “How can we who died to sin go on living in it?  Do you not know that all of us who have been baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into his death?  Therefore we have been buried with him by baptism into death, so that, just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, so we too might walk in the newness of life.”  (Rom. 6:2-4)  Christ’s death and his rising to newness of life sets our direction as irrevocably as being born human does.  It’s just human nature, as remade once and for all in Christ. 

“For if we have been united with him in a death like his, we will certainly be united with him in a resurrection like his.  We know that our old self was crucified with him so that the body of sin might be destroyed, and we might no longer be enslaved to sin.  For whoever has died is freed from sin.”  (Rom. 6”5-7)

Falling into sin and returning to God is one vow we can count on.  It’s just like being born and dying.  It’s just human.  That’s why it’s my favorite.

Peace,