My family attends church together, but after the morning sermon, we all go our separate ways into differing Sunday school classes. Last week, my class discussed the resurrection of Christ while my husband’s covered baptism.
I got into some friendly bantering with classmates over details presented by the witnesses of Christ’s return from the grave. We all parted ways, kidding each other on our mildly different points of view of the gospel message. The discussion in my husband’s class also highlighted differing opinions:
There seems to be two views dividing the importance of baptism among most main-stream Christians. One group points to the great commission in Matthew 28:19 as a command that believers MUST be baptized. “Go ye therefore and teach all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, the Son and Holy Spirit,” doesn’t seem to leave much room for argument.
“Ah, but John 3:16 teaches that the only requirement for salvation is to believe on the Lord Jesus Christ,” the other side points out.
The class had ended with neither side convincing the other of their opinion.
As Ernie was telling me this, I happened to glance down at my left hand. I wear a ring on my third finger, but it isn’t a wedding band. About ten years ago, I’d broken my left pinky. It had never healed right, resulting in a little finger that can never be fully straightened, and also won’t fully bend. The break also resulted in not only the little finger, but the ring finger next to it increasing in ring size. For months, I went ringless until I finally purchased a simple gold band to replace my wedding set. Over the years as my girth increased, even this band had to be abandoned. When my father died, I inherited his ring. Mom and Dad had never had matching gold bands, but sometime during their marriage, Dad acquired a stainless-steel ring inset with turquoise stones. He wore that ring for years, until he and Mom divorced. It now adorns my finger.
Yes, some day, Ernie and I plan to replace it with a genuine wedding band, but for now it serves a purpose. I’d felt strangely “naked” in those days of going ringless, incomplete without a symbol of my marriage commitment. Even as old and tarnished as it is, that ring signals to the world that I have been claimed by someone.
It’s just a piece of jewelry. Whether I wear it or not, Ernie and I are still married. But, the ring serves as an outward sign that I am spoken for.
Now, imagine if you will, a peculiar wedding ceremony. The groom goes to slip his token of affection on his beloved’s hand, but she refuses him.
“I don’t want to wear that!” she exclaims.
“But…I bought it for you!” the groom protests. “We picked it out together! It shows everyone we belong together!”
“But I don’t want to,” she insists. “We’re still married. I just don’t want the ring.”
The groom is stunned and insulted. But since he loves her, he swallows his pride, nods, and slips the ring into his pocket. He won’t force her to wear it.
But already, the relationship is off to a rocky start. One has to wonder how committed she is when she rejects this simple outward act as irrelevant. The groom carries that ring, wondering if the day will ever come when she’ll love him enough to want the ring displayed in its proper place.
I’m pretty sure that’s how Jesus feels about baptism: We picked out the ring together, we’re married. Why don’t you want to show it?
Go ahead. Slip on the ring. Show him your commitment. Take the plunge.
The Reluctant Firefly 