An unexpected street baptism in West Central

A few Fridays ago, at 4:30 in the afternoon, about 10 of us — board members and volunteers — gathered at West Central Episcopal Mission to perform a cleansing and blessing of our several properties, buildings and land that had been home to Holy Trinity Episcopal Church for over 100 years. It was not a good day to be late. Liturgy in hand, I flew out the door of my house at 4:40 p.m..

When I arrived folks were already gathered in the open courtyard, a green space and neighborhood shortcut between two of our buildings. Next to Walt stood a man I didn’t recognize — a smiling, eager-faced black man who I guessed was in his forties. He was tall and stocky, but his eyes revealed an unguarded openness.

We gathered candles, processional crosses, a crucifix, and thurible. Holy accoutrements in hand, we prayed a service of Evening Prayer beginning with the confession. Like most churches over 100 years old, Holy Trinity had a mixed past. Antagonism toward the diocese, schism and even violence marked its history. With these darker moments in mind, I’d created a penitential service. We ended with portions of the Great Litany, leaning into its cries for deliverance and protection.

At the end of the Evening Prayer liturgy, Jim fetched an aspersorium full of water for us to bless, along with the aspergillum we would use to fling it into doorways and corners. The man next to Walt spoke up, “Are you doing baptisms?”

“We do baptisms at Easter, a week from Sunday,” I said, like a good Episcopalian. I continued flipping my prayer book’s pages.

When I glanced up, the man gazed into my eyes and said earnestly, “I want to be baptized. I want Jesus to save me.”

Liturgical curveball. Now what?

“Have you ever been baptized before?” I asked.

“No ma’am.”

“Well . . .” I stalled for time to think, and looked to Kristi and Jane, both priests and companions our work at the Mission. “Are we good with this?”

Apparently we were since neither objected.

I found the beginning of the baptismal rite. “OK,” I said. “Well. We need a presenter.” I looked to Walt who had been guiding the man through Evening Prayer. “Walt, will you be his presenter?”

“Absolutely,” Walt said.

Name. I didn’t know the man’s name!

I asked, and he replied, “Ron. Ron Franklin.”

“OK,” I replied. “Walt, whenever you’re ready.”

Walt replied emphatically, “I present Ron Franklin to receive the Sacrament of Baptism.”

“Do you desire to be baptized?” I asked.

Walt said to him, “You say, I do.”

“I do,” said Ron.

“Do you renounce Satan and all the spiritual forces of wickedness that rebel against God?”

Ron studied the book Walt held for him. “I can’t read,” he said softly.

Walt stage-whispered, “Say, I renounce them.”

“I renounce them,” Ron said.

“Do you renounce the evil powers of this world which corrupt and destroy the creatures of God?” I continued.

“Yes, ma’am, I do,” Ron said.

“I renounce them,” Walt coached.

“I renounce them.” Ron said.

“Do you renounce all sinful desires that draw you from the love of God?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Close enough,” I told Walt.

“Do you turn to Jesus Christ and accept him as your Savior?” I asked.

“Yes, ma’am!” he said emphatically.

“I do is what you can say to these next questions,” I encouraged him. “Do you put your whole trust in his grace and love?”

“Yes, ma’a—I do,” Ron corrected himself.

“Do you promise to follow and obey him as your Lord?”

“I do.”

I addressed everyone: “Will you witness these vows do all in your power to support Ron in his life in Christ?”

They replied, “We will!”

Then I turned the page to the Baptismal Covenant which begins with a call-and-response form of the Nicene Creed. There was no way I was going to drag Ron through those long, complex sentences. “Now to these next questions, you just say, I believe.”

He nodded eagerly.

“Do you believe in God the Father?” I asked.

“I do. I believe,” he said.

“Do you believe in Jesus Christ, the Son of God?”

We leapt over the immaculate conception and the Virgin Mary (those impossible possibilities), swept up Pontius Pilate washing his hands, the nails, the slow suffocation, the final spear, the myrrh and aloes, the winding shroud, heartbroken Mary Magdalene caught in Ron’s breath, ascension and second coming compressed in a buzzing v on this man’s lips two thousand years later, two simple words, “I believe.”

“Do you believe in God the Holy Spirit?”

“I believe.”

“Now you say I will,” I encouraged him.

“Will you continue in the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, in the breaking of bread, and in the prayers?” I asked.

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied.

“I think Yes ma’am works just fine,” I said.

He “Yes ma’amed” his way through every vow.

We blessed the water. Then I told Ron, “You can stand right here, and just lean forward.” He bowed his head in front of me. I scooped the water over his head with a caress, the way you would wash a baby, saying, “Ron, if you are not already baptized, I baptize you in the Name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.

“Amen!” we said.

Someone had fetched a towel. I blotted the water still dripping from Ron’s head, then gave the towel to him. He wiped the drips from his forehead and beamed at us.

Then Ron hugged me tight. He went to each of us, one by one, around the circle we had instinctively formed, and hugged us. When he came back to me, he hugged me again, then started laughing when he realized he’d gone all the way around the circle. He stood by Walt who put his arm across Ron’s shoulder. Then Ron began to weep. Walt wrapped his arms around him, as Ron said, I feel so good! I feel so good! over and over through his tears.

One, then two, then all of us began to sing, “As I went down in the river to pray . . .”

In the moments that followed, as we sang and Ron wept, I forgot the closing prayer. But it was OK. Everything was the way it was supposed to be.

Ron walked with us, still smiling, as we walked the perimeter of the property, sprinkling holy water and swinging incense into each corner. At each building we prayed and censed and sprinkled, reclaiming this space in this time for the work of God’s Kingdom. If I had not been late, we would have missed the gift God offered us through Ron—the reminder of Holy Baptism as the center of our identity, the ground from which we seek to bless and be blessed by the places and people of West Central.

As we neared the chapel, Ron asked tentatively, “Could I go to church here?”

“Yes, of course you can, Ron. Of course you can.”

In fact, he just had.