You Are Welcome. We Love You.

Scott-

As a young missionary 40 years ago, I would have never believed the scene before me. Here we sat, Kathy and I, on the stand in a chapel of a very modest African church house looking at the people gathered for a Saturday morning baptismal service, the rows of ceiling fans turning silently above us. The close benches up front were filled with people dressed in white—28 of them plus the two ready to do the baptizing. That’s not a typo—28 people. All taught by two companionships of sister missionaries. The rows behind them were filled with the lively colors of women in their Sunday-best African dresses seated by their duller-clad counterparts and adorable children. (Pardon this small digression—the man on the stand to my right—the bishop—was wearing a white shirt and . . . Frosty the Snowman tie. Wait, what! Seriously. I don’t know where that came from.)

We attended two other baptismal services today. At the one we witnessed 22 new members get baptized and at the other 14. Sixty-four people in all. There were other baptismal services today. We were only able to make these three. Each of the services followed the same patten familiar to us back home . . . with a few little differences that delighted us.

The first baptism service: Kathy and I are on the stand. Everyone finds their seats. The chorister steps up and faces the audience. And, without accompaniment, belts out the first lines on her own then brings in the congregation singing together back from the start. We haven’t been to a meeting yet with piano or organ accompaniment, so no one feels constrained by the suggested notes or meter that might be enforced by an accompanist playing from a hymnal. It jars me out of a rut. After the opening prayer we are invited to step outside of the chapel for a picture—the candidates line up while everyone else pulls out their phone-cameras. I take my shot along with everyone else. We return to our seats. The counselor in the bishopric conducting reads the names of each baptismal candidate and invites them to stand one at a time. When they do, the congregation calls out loudly, “You are welcome, we love you!” (We welcome you.) Two priesthood holders in white, there to perform the baptisms, are introduced as our “John the Baptizers” for the day. There is a talk on baptism and then we move to the baptismal font, which is located outside.

After the service more pictures. Among them a maybe-25-year-old male asked if he could get his picture taken with me. Of course, I smiled. He grabbed my hand, interlocked his fingers in mine, and beamed at the phone camera held by his friend a few feet away—click. They traded places and he took a picture of his friend with me. I stood there holding hands with these men, thinking this might be the first time I have held hands with an adult male since I was seven or eight years old. I savored the moment. It’s not awkward here.

All of these people will be confirmed members of the church tomorrow in one of two sacrament meetings. I’m guessing there won’t be much time for talks. Another new experience awaits.