The candle sits on a table before the baptism, unlit. That represents the person before Christ; full of potential, but without light. Then, just before the dunking, the candle is lit, representing Christ coming into the person's heart and life.
But there is always one more candle. The extra candle represents the fact that God isn't finished yet. There are more "candles" out there, full of potential, waiting to be lit. It's a challenge for us all to remember that we must share the light.
Another thing that happens during a baptism service at E3 is that the person who's to be baptized tells his or her story, and has those who have been "light" to him or her come up and stand with him or her during the baptism. It's a beautiful picture of what investing in someone's life can produce.
My pastor said there are no awards presented in Christendom; we don't get trophies for how many people we lead to Christ or how much we do for the kingdom. At least, not on this earth. But being able to stand with someone you've led to Christ or helped along the way as that person is baptized is its own reward.
During the 11 a.m. service, which I attended, there was only one person who was baptized. The others got dunked during the 9:30 a.m. and 7 p.m. services. I watched the faces of her friends and family members as they watched her being baptized. There were tears and smiles of pure joy. I could relate.
I've had the privilege of seeing lots of teens come to Christ and be baptized over the years. Some of them I've led myself, some were led by others. But we all had the same destination: the foot of the cross. And each time, I wore a smile from ear-to-ear, and shed lots of tears. That young man or young lady went from being one of my kids to my sister or brother in Christ the second they asked Jesus into their hearts. The eternal reward is that I'll see them in heaven. I need no other trophy or recognition.
I also thought back to the people who had a part in my salvation experience. I was 11 years old when I "got saved." I watched my mom experience it, and I saw a change in her countenance. I didn't call it that then; I just remember that she looked different. I couldn't put my finger on why at the time, but I could definitely see it. And I wanted whatever it was she had. So our preacher, Benny Pate, came to see me and explained it all to me, and I asked Jesus into my heart. I got dunked soon after.
I will never forget what happened at the end of the service. Our church had a tradition of asking newly-dunked people to stand down front at the end of the service, so the church could shake their hands or give them a hug. People lined up and did both. But there was one that stood out to me. Mrs. Myrtle Cliatt.
Miss Myrt, as we kids called her, had polio as a child, and so she had a very pronounced limp. But she was a spiritual giant in my eyes. She knew the Bible from cover to cover, and often answered questions I had. Even the ones that might seem silly to most adults...Miss Myrt answered them all, and never judged. She always hugged me too. And her husband, Mr. Ralph, looked like Santa Claus, complete with beard, rosy cheeks and twinkling blue eyes. He brought me a lollipop every Sunday, even after I was too old for that sort of thing...but that's another story.
On that Sunday, I stood there with wet hair and shook hand after hand. Then it was Miss Myrt's turn. She limped toward me, and she said, "The angels are rejoicing in heaven." Then she hugged me. Simple words. Simple act.
I didn't get it then. But I do now. The angels rejoice every time a sinner comes to repentance. The amazing thing is this: they have no need of repentance, and maybe don't even fully understand it. But they still rejoice every time one of us comes "home." Imagine how they'll act when we finally do get home...to heaven.
I imagine that I'll see loved ones who've gone before me...and there will be great rejoicing by both angels and my loved ones...and I'll see Miss Myrt. She won't be limping, though.
Miss Myrt was one of my candle-lighters. She invested in me and it paid off...for both of us. So thank you, Miss Myrt. The angels rejoiced when you came home for sure.
