the family of God
This Sunday my husband and I had the honor of becoming baptismal sponsors for the son of good friends at our church. I'm tickled to be a godparent and I'm so deeply honored that we've been entrusted with a role in helping guide this little boy along his journey of faith. Our congregation has a special baptismal banner that is hung in the worship space on days when a baptism is performed, and the wonderful ladies who create the banners for our church have made this one so it can be customized. Yesterday, our little godson's name adorned the banner. Eight years ago last June, the name on the banner belonged to our own baby girl.
I love the symbolism of this banner because it so visibly demonstrates how baptism connects us as a family of God through time and space. When our daughter was baptized, it hung in what once was the multipurpose worship space and now is our fellowship hall. Yesterday, it hung in the sanctuary that was completed when she was a toddler. Our banner moved a couple hundred feet and so did the font, but the community that surrounds it remains the same. So, too, on a larger level, the sacrament of baptism connects us through time and space. The good Norwegian folk who witnessed my baptism in a NE Portland congregation that no longer exists; the Iowa congregations who witnessed our godson's parents' baptisms; worshippers in cities and hamlets around the world; the pastor who gently sprinkles a fragile newborn child in a hospital ward (or at home on the farm, as in my grandmother's case) -- all these are woven into an endless web of connection between God and humanity.
One of the hymns we sang yesterday morning has been stuck in my head ever since, and I know I'm not alone, as I caught my daughter singing it to herself yesterday afternoon. The words are Marty Haugen's; the truth is eternal. Every verse is special, but today the last one touches me in particular:
Let us build a house where all are named, their songs and visions heard
and loved and treasured, taught and claimed as
words within the Word. Built of tears and cries and
laughter, prayers of faith and songs of grace, let this house proclaim
from floor to rafter: All are welcome,
all are welcome, all are welcome in this place.
--"All Are Welcome," Marty Haugen, Evangelical Lutheran Worship #641
I love the symbolism of this banner because it so visibly demonstrates how baptism connects us as a family of God through time and space. When our daughter was baptized, it hung in what once was the multipurpose worship space and now is our fellowship hall. Yesterday, it hung in the sanctuary that was completed when she was a toddler. Our banner moved a couple hundred feet and so did the font, but the community that surrounds it remains the same. So, too, on a larger level, the sacrament of baptism connects us through time and space. The good Norwegian folk who witnessed my baptism in a NE Portland congregation that no longer exists; the Iowa congregations who witnessed our godson's parents' baptisms; worshippers in cities and hamlets around the world; the pastor who gently sprinkles a fragile newborn child in a hospital ward (or at home on the farm, as in my grandmother's case) -- all these are woven into an endless web of connection between God and humanity.
One of the hymns we sang yesterday morning has been stuck in my head ever since, and I know I'm not alone, as I caught my daughter singing it to herself yesterday afternoon. The words are Marty Haugen's; the truth is eternal. Every verse is special, but today the last one touches me in particular:
Let us build a house where all are named, their songs and visions heard
and loved and treasured, taught and claimed as
words within the Word. Built of tears and cries and
laughter, prayers of faith and songs of grace, let this house proclaim
from floor to rafter: All are welcome,
all are welcome, all are welcome in this place.
--"All Are Welcome," Marty Haugen, Evangelical Lutheran Worship #641
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