baptism

Robert had not always lived his life well. He had been a bad child. He skipped school and threw rocks at stray cats. He did not get along with his parents, who he thought were painfully foolish and ordinary. He steadily teased and tormented his younger sister, Katherine, for the very same reasons. The older he grew, the more unruly he became. He did not finish high school and he left home with a backpack full of his father’s liquor when he was seventeen. 

Robert did odd jobs for money. He bought an old car and began driving west. He made it all the way out to California where he met a revivalist preacher named Joe. Robert stumbled into one of Joe’s sermons after a long night out at the bars and an even longer morning sleeping off a hangover in his car. Joe’s white tent went up right next to the parking lot Robert had been staying in for the past few weeks. 

Robert was taken with Joe. It had very little to do with what he was saying, and everything to do with the way people listened to him. When Joe told his audience to raise their hands up to heaven, they did. When he told them to fall on their knees and pray, they did. When he told them to cry out for forgiveness, they did. When he told them to throw a nickel in his basket, they did.  

Robert introduced himself and Joe hired him on, first as a pair of hands to help set things up and eventually as a mentee. Joe was moved by Robert’s devotion to him and marveled at his fascination with the congregation. As the years passed, Joe began letting Robert lead sermons on his own. He was a very good speaker, better than Joe. He could’ve gotten the congregation to kiss a snake on its mouth by promising them Eden. Soon, Robert had collected enough of his own donations. He split with the money and drove down to Louisiana, where he heard folks were looking for the lord. He set up his own white tent and picked up right where he left off. 

Robert ended up marrying a pretty young girl named Vera and they had a baby girl they called May. He bought them a nice house with a white fence and built up a pretty white church to go with it. He would never forget his first Sunday preaching in that brand new house of worship. The wood had been cut down mere weeks before and he could still smell that fresh coat of varnish. The benches, which were being sat on for the first time that very Sunday, gleamed in the sunlight that burst through the stained glass windows. The colors danced on the walls and Robert’s leather shoes clicked heavenly as he paced. 

He preached about materialism that day. He pleaded with his congregation to remember the white tent in which they had started, though Robert had already forgotten it himself. He had felt goosebumps raise the hair on his arms when he told his people that he would lead them to salvation as long as they let him into their hearts. As long as they threw a few coins in his basket. Robert felt like he had truly been born on that day. That was his baptism.