Singing this old hymn this past Sunday morning 
in a small congregation in northeastern Kansas
took me back nearly sixty years
to a small church in southwestern Kentucky.

On a Wednesday night in Pembroke,
in a new building with hardwood floors
and hardwood pews
and a Capella singing in the old style,

I felt even stronger a drawing toward the aisle,
the pressure that had been building in my chest
the last few times
during the gospel invitation.

Caught between twelve and thirteen,
I knew the meaning of sin and salvation,
knew there was only one way
to lay aside that ancient burden.

I didn’t discuss it with my mom or my dad
or either of my older brothers;
nothing anyone else had to say
was going to affect me one way or another.

I didn’t quite understand the leading of the Spirit
but during the first chorus that night, 
I felt the pulling stronger than ever before,
and wouldn’t resist it anymore.

Halfway through the second verse,
with my heart pounding through my brain,
I stepped out into the aisle,
feeling the eyes following me right up front.

I stood there in front of the preacher
while the congregation finished all four verses,
then answered his questions
with unrehearsed sincerity:

“Yes, I believe 
that Jesus Christ 
is the Son of God.”
“Yes, I repent of my sins.”

A few minutes later, 
we stood there together
in the cold water 
of that unheated baptistry.

“Based upon your confession 
of Jesus Christ as Son and Savior,
I baptize you in the name 
of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.”

In all of life since then,
with marriage, and children, and grandchildren,
more than a few awards and honors,
and a bigger house and more possessions than I ever imagined,

I have never known as great a joy:
rising up out of the water,
goose bumps and shivering
hands quivering,

all my sins washed away
and my name written 
by grace through faith
in the Lamb’s Book of Life.

Unworthy then and unworthy now,
I still bow before the throne of God.
His Spirit still leading
and my name still written.


H. Arnett
3/19/2024