A Second Baptism of Rain and Tears

I’ve been getting up each morning before the kiddos wake up to finally spend extended time writing and reflecting on my Camino de Santiago pilgrimage last year. It’s been wonderful. Here is a story of one of the most sacred moments I experienced; a second baptism of rain and tears.
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As the fork in the road approached, I could see that the Spiritual Path was going to take me straight up a mountain saturated in dark clouds. It would be a long, wet and lonely road, but I knew it was the road I had to take. I needed to move toward the darkness and see what it had to teach me.

I had read that the journey to the top of this mountain would be difficult. Why would I leave flat trails, sunshine and friendship for the rigorous darkness? I’m not sure I could have put it into words other than the fact that I subconsciously knew it was a much more significant decision than where to turn on a map. Something was turning over in me and I had come too far to walk away now.

I was raised in an evangelical Christian home and attended church each Sunday. As such, I “accepted Jesus into my heart” at a very young age and was baptized in the following years. While I don’t doubt the sincerity and intention, I can honestly say that that “conversion” is not the one I point to when someone asks me when I started following Jesus. At the time, baptism was something I knew I should do and that most of my friends had done. It was good and sacred, but didn’t hold the holy significance of descending below the waters to fully experience the death of ego for the sake of being rebirthed as a fully loved participant in God’s restorative revolution in the world. It was a sacred ritual, but I simply hadn’t stumbled through the Camino of life long enough to fully understand what I needed saving from and who I was being saved into.

As I walked up the mountain, the rain began to come down harder and harder. For days I had worked to avoid becoming fully soaked on the trail, but it was quickly becoming evident that I wasn’t going to be able to control that.

Control. I love control and in my day-to-day life it’s one of the primary barriers I’ve erected to fully embrace the liberating love of baptism.

I gave up. I didn’t give up walking, but I gave up controlling. After missing the yellow arrows that mark the way of the Camino TWICE in a matter of an hour – and getting redirected back to the path by thoughtful locals waving out their car windows – it was clear I was not in control and I’d be wise to acknowledge it as such.

Once back on the path with the rain coming down as hard as ever, I looked straight up into the sky with my arms spread wide and watched the drops hit my face. I began to weep.

I kept walking with eyes to the sky and a cocktail of tears, rain and sweat mixing on my face and running down my body. It was as though I could actually feel everything. My senses and my soul were intertwined in one sacred dance reminding me of the gift of life and the liberative properties of holy water found on the path of God.

The baptism of my youth was sacred, but it wasn’t enough. The faith constructs of my youth were important, but they were insufficient. The way of control served a purpose, but had been an obstacle to healing for far too long.

I was being baptized with holy water.

Rain and Tears.

A new way. A new faith. From control to liberation. Wounds being healed. A Jesus worth my life. A God with eyes of compassion rather than judgment. A path full of mystery and delight rather than dogma and obligation.

This was the faith I was being saved into…and in the sacred company of the steady trees and holy wind, I was baptized.

Life out of death. The old is gone and the new has come.

Thanks be to God.