Baptism, Grace, and Community

A few thoughts for a friend who was baptized recently, on the anniversary of my baptism

June 11, 2026, marks the anniversary of the day I was baptized, many years ago. I’d rather not say just how many years — let’s just say at that time the Beatles were just a bar band in Hamburg, Germany.

Like many people baptized as an infant, I’ve had to make sense of Christianity — and what it means to me — after the fact. Therefore, I’ve always been interested in people who choose, for whatever reason, to be baptized as adults.

Just the other day I got a message from a friend who in fact was just baptized. She is an artist and a committed student of world mysticism, but now has received baptism at an Episcopal Cathedral. As I thought about the religious, spiritual, and indeed mystical implications of her taking this step, I found myself reflecting on my own baptism — and on what, in a more general sense, it might mean (and most certainly does not mean) for someone to be baptized in this day and age.

So here are my thoughts.

First, a disclaimer. This is not meant in any way to be “advice.” The last thing I am qualified to do is provide specific guidance to anyone on their spiritual life! Whatever your relationship might be to baptism (or to adulthood), please read this simply as a reflective meditation, not only on my friend’s recent baptism, but on my own baptism all those years ago, and on the mystery and grace of baptism in general.

Baptism is, or is meant to be, a gift. Christians have turned it into a lot of different things over the years: a way for a family to celebrate a newborn, an insurance policy for going to heaven, a kind of “Christian magic,” a kind of virtue signaling for one’s obedience to an authoritarian god, and/or a necessary step to take to show that someone “belongs.” Some of those add-ons might be very nice, others might be a misstep. Whatever else we may think of it, let’s begin at the beginning: it’s helpful to keep baptism centered on that quality of gift — or to use more theological language, grace. Think of a mother lovingly washing her small child. That, I believe, is what baptism is mostly about. It’s been said that all of western philosophy is simply a series of footnotes to the writings of Plato. In a similar way, anything you or I or anyone else might say about baptism is simply a footnote to this essential reality: that the One who created, loves and keeps us, wants to care for us like a mom bathing her kiddo.

For our first footnote, here’s a concept that gets linked to baptism: sacrament. For some Christians, baptism is a sacrament of initiation. Others are allergic to the very concept of “sacrament.” Welcome to the Christian family, where we love to argue about, well, everything. But since I’m firmly in the sacrament camp, here’s what I’ll say: baptism is a material expression of spiritual grace (there’s that giftedness again). What makes a sacrament so beautiful is that the gift is always given in a very material way: water, bread and wine, anointing oil, the laying on of hands — these are the completely down-to-earth “stuff” out of which sacraments are born. And the grace, the gift, is not just some idea that we tack on to the stuff: it’s the heart of it all. When you feed someone, what matters is not you thinking about nourishment; what matters is the real food that you share. Likewise with baptism: Christians have lots of ideas about what baptism means, but at the end of the day, it’s still mainly about getting clean: a nice wash or a nice bath.

That wash-versus-bath bit is an allusion to yet another way Christians argue: is baptism only for adults, or for all people? Does it require being dunked (full immersion), or is water getting poured or sprinkled enough to do the trick? I get it that theological arguments are born out of people’s genuine desire to practice their religious faith as honestly and accurately as possible. But from where I sit, it seems that too often, religious disagreements are squabbles over details that don’t matter nearly as much as the core principles of spirituality — or of life in general. At the risk of sounding impertinent, I rather think all the arguments about baptism over the years boil down to people trying to figure out if avocados are better served sliced or mashed. The heart of the matter is that we all need to eat. Arguing over the right way to prepare the meal (or perform the ritual) strikes me as really missing the main point.

Nevertheless, we can’t get away from the words — or the ideas behind the words — that surround baptism (or any other sacrament). This is not a bad thing. What makes a sacrament beautiful is the way it brings material actions and spiritual words and ideas and stories together. This is true of all sacraments. The words we pray around Holy Communion matter just like the bread and wine itself does. Of course, the words can be where things really get sticky, and we really start disagreeing with each other. So what I’m about to say really just reflects my own perspective, and I guarantee you there are Christians out there who vehemently disagree with probably every thing I say. So be it.

The Bible records Jesus instructing his followers to baptize people “in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit” (Matthew 28:19). Some Christians will insist that if you don’t use exactly those words, then it’s not a “valid” baptism. Others are much more flexible here. Without getting too lost in the weeds, I would point out that no one knows exactly what words Jesus himself used (he spoke in a different language than what the New Testament was written in, so even from the beginning there were issues with what could have been lost in translation). Is it the matter of using the exact right words? Or is just having the right meaning good enough? And then who gets to decide that? To give one very important example: many Christians in our time chafe against how masculine-coded those words are. Can we use inclusive language without changing the essential meaning? Again, people disagree. See what fun this is? Or should I say: see how quickly this gets very complicated, which runs the risk of losing sight of the main point (that baptism is a gift in which divine love is shared with us).

This all points to why I tend to see baptism very much as a relational act. No one gets baptized all alone. Usually there are at least three people present: the person who performs the baptism, the person getting baptized, and at least one witness, usually a sponsor, friend, or family member. There is an important spiritual clue present in this simple fact. Baptism is not just some sort of transaction we have with God, in order to become a Christian, or get our sins wiped away, or whatever. As important as God is to the sacrament, it’s just as important to consider that it is a way to create or strengthen a web of human relationships. This is why I believe marriage is a sacrament, even though many Christians don’t see it that way: marriage is all about relationship, and God, it seems to me, is also all about relationship.

What I think really matters about “Father, Son and Holy Spirit” (or more contemporary variations like “Creator, Redeemer and Sustainer”) is that they remind us that relationship and relationality are at the heart of the mystery we call “God.” The Bible says God is love. But love only exists in relationship. God is eternal, so God exists even beyond the limits of time and space and the material universe. Where does relationship happen, in relation to God, then? It must be within God. God is love and this divine love emerges from within. One of the great early mystics (St. Augustine) even suggested that God is Lover, Beloved, and Love. I think that’s a brilliant way of entering into the Trinity. (If you haven’t figured it out yet, Christians are all about the Trinity: in fact, that’s the main thing that distinguishes Christianity from Judaism and Islam).

So to be baptized means to be in relationship — with a church or some other form of faith community, and (gasp) with Christianity on a global level. Many Christians nowadays are struggling mightily with global-level Christianity. So if you also are struggling with it, know that you are not alone. Whether you are newly baptized or have been around for many years, remember: it’s okay to disagree with this or that aspect of the Christian religion or the institutional church. Disagreeing with, or struggling with, aspects of Christianity do not make us “bad Christians.” On the contrary, a fraught relationship with religion can be a sign of a living, mindful spirituality. (The other side of this is also true: you don’t have to reject religion in order to be spiritually alive and growing, and anyone who says you do is just grinding their own axe).

What, then, does it mean to be a Christian? The first, and perhaps most controversial point, I would make is that it has little to do with what we do (or don’t) believe. Yes, many churches have creeds that the faithful are expected to recite (and, presumably, to assent to), and even some of the churches that have done away with creeds often seem to have very narrow ideas about what is or isn’t acceptable for Christians to believe. I’ve come to believe that institutionalism tends to reward people who hold narrow or rigid beliefs, while those whose beliefs tend to be broader and more flexible or expansive often either just walk away from institutional religion or else find a way to exist quietly within the structure, usually because they appreciate the benefits of spiritual community enough to put up with the shadow side of religion. What all this means is that even in the most rigid or dogmatic of faith communities you will find a surprising variety of beliefs and values among the members. The more I realize this, the more I’ve come to accept that, despite what the most dogmatically-inclined will loudly insist, religion ultimately is not about how we believe, but about how we conduct our lives (that’s another irony: sometimes the people with the most “pure” beliefs often lead a secret double life where their behavior is quite inconsistent with their proclaimed values. But that’s a matter for psychologists to untangle).

I’d say that the true heart of being a Christian is very simple: it means to be someone who finds value in the teachings of Jesus and who wants to apply those teachings to one’s life, in whatever form or fashion seems appropriate. Many Christians find, in the teachings of Jesus, inspiration to become great contemplatives or mystics. Others find guidance to become powerful activists and inspiring leaders in the human quest for peace and justice. Martin Luther King Jr., Dorothy Day, Mother Teresa, and Gregory Boyle are examples of the kinds of activist Christians that organize their entire lives around serving others and making the world a better place. As much as I love contemplative monks and ecstatic mystics, I believe those inspiring activists are just as committed to the wisdom of Jesus as any meditating nun or silent monk.

To round off this question of what does it mean to be a Christian, I am reminded of the amazing wisdom of the African-American mystic Howard Thurman, who famously gave this piece of advice to a younger person: “Don’t ask yourself what the world needs. Ask yourself what makes you come alive, and go do that. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive.” This resonates uncannily with one of the great teachings of early Christianity, from a saint named Irenaeus: “The glory of God is a living human being, and a human life is the vision of God.” This is often translated as “The glory of God is a human being fully alive” — which plays a little fast and loose with the original Latin (there’s that “lost in translation” problem again) but still carries a great spiritual message. We have to learn to be fully alive, and fully ourselves, to be completely faithful to the gift of baptism. God does not wash us in order to make us just like everyone else; on the contrary, God offers us refreshing water in order that we may be the full embodiment of the unique gifts and characteristics God has given us.

I suppose I also need to say a word or two about what being a Christian does not mean. It does not mean being a fundamentalist, which is a type of psychological immaturity (or arrested development), not spiritual strength. It does not mean judging other people (or ourselves) for sins, real or imagined. It does not mean wallowing in shame or feelings of guilt. If we do something wrong, we acknowledge it and clean up our mess and resolve to do better next time, and then we’re done with it. It’s important to remember that being a Christian has nothing to do with conforming to just one political party or one set of views and values about any issue (and especially about sexuality). History is littered with people who have given religion in general (and Christianity in particular) a bad name: overzealous “believers” who insist that God is only on the side of people who believe and act exactly like they do. Sorry, God is not a bigot like that. And even though I, like many Christians, believe that God really does take sides when it comes to issues like violence or injustice or exploitation, I also believe that God never stops loving and caring for the perpetrators as much as the victims. You can be opposed to harmful behaviors while still loving and caring for those who have been responsible for such harm. That’s not easy to do, but it is the way of God.

Being a Christian does not mean you never get to explore any other faith or wisdom tradition. Thomas Merton famously said that he (a very Christian monk) intended to be the best Buddhist he could be. So of course you can learn from other wisdom traditions, whether it be Buddhism or indigenous spirituality or any other faith or spirituality. Getting baptized just means that Jesus will now be in the mix of all of your spiritual exploration. Likewise, to be a Christian does not mean that gay people have to be celibate or that transgender people have to pretend they’re cisgender. Unfortunately, there are some immature or psychologically wounded Christians out there who seem to think that God doesn’t like queer people, and doubly unfortunately, some of them have a lot of power and influence. But they are not preaching the love of Christ, they are preaching their own homophobia and transphobia.¹ In a similar vein, becoming a Christian does not in any way mean that women have to accept limitations placed on them by men. Alas, some churches and too many individuals continue to tolerate sexism within Christian circles, and even progressive churches like the Episcopal Church still have a lot of work to do to make sure women are safe and have access to the same power and opportunities that men do. Anybody can become a Christian (and many people inherit it from their families), but this means, sadly, that some Christians have deficient values and have not bothered to let the radical wisdom of Jesus transform them from the inside out. Many of these “rotten egg” Christians nevertheless manage to get themselves into positions of power and privilege and they proceed to wreak all sorts of havoc in the name of Christ, both inside and outside church walls. It is a perennial problem that, unfortunately, all Christians of good will and sincere desire to follow Jesus must continually contend with. And since Jesus stands for love, we don’t get to kick those people out of the Christian family (even though they would gladly kick many of us out). We all need to continually learn more, and slowly grow into, Jesus’s way of radical love.

Finally, let’s unpack the question of sin. There’s a rather scary set of words you’ll hear about baptism, straight from one of the creeds: “one baptism, for the remission of sin.” What does that mean? Many people interpret it in an almost magical way: that when you’re baptized, all your sins are wiped away and your sin-o-meter is basically reset to zero. It’s an appealing idea (who doesn’t want to get a free pass?) But it’s also a thorny problem, for just about everyone starts to rack up new sins, within days (if not hours) of their baptism. So much for a clean slate! Fun fact: this is why Christians in the middle ages came up with the sacrament of reconciliation (commonly called “going to confession”). Since baptism is a one-and-done sacrament, anyone who commits a sin after baptism doesn’t have a way to wash that particular sin away. So reconciliation is a compromise: another sacrament that wipes the slate clean, only without a repeat of baptism. But what if all of this is based on a misunderstanding of sin — that sin isn’t about all the naughty and bad things we do, but is rather a symptom of how much suffering and brokenness there is in the world? Yes, I know I’m sounding like a Buddhist here, but contemplative spirituality (like all forms of mysticism) is surprisingly similar beneath all the differences of cultural religion. So if we see sin as existential alienation and suffering rather than as a list of naughty (or harmful) actions, then baptism as the remission of sin starts to make more sense. Remember what I said earlier: baptism is about relationship. Relationship between God and humanity, and relationships amongst ourselves. God is love, after all. Therefore, it is through relationships founded on love (rather than on power, exploitation, or fear) that we can truly heal the world. That’s what baptism does for us, that’s what leads to the remission of our (collective) sin.

There is so much more I could say about baptism, and about being a Christian, but this post is already long enough. I am certainly a broken and imperfect Christian myself, and I have all but given up completely on the institutional form of the Christian religion, but I keep going back to the wisdom teachings of Jesus and I keep praying and seeking to grow, step by baby step, along the path of love. May we all walk this path together.

1. Fundamentalists and other conservative Christians often argue that the Bible condemns homosexuality and instructs women to be obedient to men. It is true that there are a small number of Biblical verses that on the surface appear to say such things, although Bible scholars have shown that sexual and gender-based ethics in the Bible are much more complex and nuanced than most people realize. In actuality, the so-called “gay clobber” verses simply express the cultural biases of the ancient world. The same thing could be said about verses in the Bible that seem to enforce the subjugation of women. The Bible is thousands of years old, and it contains many ideas that society at large now views as obsolete or outdated — for example, there are verses in the Bible that can be interpreted to suggest that it is wrong to charge interest on loans, to eat shellfish or even a cheeseburger, to remarry after divorce, to disobey the government, even while the Bible also appears to condone slavery. Almost all Christians today take a common-sense approach to understanding those archaic verses, so it’s high time we take the same reasonable approach to the outdated sexist and homophobic ideas that seem to be present in the Bible as well.