Fancy That!
“Fancy getting baptised at your age!”; that wasn’t said as a question, it was said more as a statement. “Yes, I did fancy, and at the age of 73, with the help of others I was baptised,” I said emphatically. “But why?” came the response. “Because it was the right thing to do!” was my truthful answer and there the conversation ended, but it made me pause for reflection.
Two years ago, I moved from Oxford to Bishops Waltham. It was not the best of times, and I did not know Bishops Waltham, but my son and his family had recently moved here. So, it seemed a safe place to come.
I found a flat and soon met my neighbours who have both been towers of strength, especially when I needed it – thank you.
I must admit that I was not in the best of spirits, with too many life changes in too short a period, but I wanted to make my move a success. So, what do you do, when you have much on your mind and especially when you are near the sea?
Paddle of course! I drove down to Southsea, took off my shoes and socks, rolled up my trousers and stepped into the Solent. Possibly, I think, looking like one of those marvellous characters from a Donald McGill seaside postcard.
I am fascinated by the sea and although we divide it up into oceans, seas, gulfs etc the water I was standing in could have been, in some past time, anywhere across the globe, let alone have once been rain or a river. Given time to think, the big issues crowd in – global warming, and dropping sea levels and they bring with them a danger of feeling quite helpless. I felt the need to do something, so remembering my bygone school lessons on displacement, I bent down and removed a reasonable-sized pebble from the sea floor and put it in my pocket. Well, it will have made a difference, not much – but every little counts! Perhaps you will remember that next time you are standing on a beach.
A few weeks later I was walking across the North Pond bridge when I noticed that the pond was not as full as it had been. Not dry like this year, but the water level was lower than it had been. What could I do to help? I had the answer in my pocket. So, leaning against the balustrade I took out the pebble that I had collected and making sure that there were no ducks around dropped it gently into the pond.
As it entered the water it made a most satisfying sound and it disappeared. All that was left was an ever-growing ring of ripples, leading out from the centre. I thought as I looked at those ever-widening circles: there was me at the centre of my universe and surrounded by my family, friends and perhaps those furthest ripples were friends to come.
Then, suddenly, something hit me and rooted me to the spot. At that moment a sadness struck me with almost a physical force. I had been entrenched by my arrogance and self-absorbed conceit. How could I think in such a way? I stood there, leaning on the railing looking down at the water feeling desperate when a tufted duck swam from under the bridge with its feather headdress and white stripe. It looked up at me and said “don’t cry”.
Was this God talking to me? Then, I saw the pebble as the Holy Trinity and ripples rising from its centre as God’s Grace spreading out over the world.
So, I started to come to this church – quietly at first when no one was there. I would sit and think and pray and absorb the quietness, solitude and spirit of this place.
My quiet attendance continued for quite some time, in fact until last year’s Remembrance Service – that was the first service I attended and the people I met here bought the church to life. Since that time the Church family, through their kindness and understanding, have been, together with my faith, instrumental in my decision to be baptised.
So, I really can say that my journey to baptism began with a stone’s throw from St. Peters.
