
One of the great joys of ministry is baptizing infants. We Methodists believe that God does the baptizing—we’re just the human instruments of His gracious activity. And because we’re Methodists, we’re so laid back about it that we offer the full buffet: immersion, sprinkling, and the mysterious middle option known as affusion.
If you’ve never seen affusion, imagine a college prank that somehow wandered into the sanctuary and got canonized. For the uninitiated, affusion is simply pouring water over the candidate’s head. It’s the liturgical equivalent of someone saying, “Hold still, this won’t hurt… probably.”
Most babies are adorable, and I love holding them for those few sacred moments. But sometimes the baptismal waters are troubled. One Sunday, little Junior had a pacifier in his mouth. Before I took him from his mother, she reached in and pulled the pin. Now, taking a pacifier from a baby and pulling the pin on a grenade share certain similarities. In both cases, you brace yourself, because the next sound you hear will not be angelic.
Some infants, on the other hand, fall asleep in my arms midbaptism. They’re so peaceful and precious. I’ve been in ministry long enough that those sleeping cherubs are now full members of the church—and they still fall asleep in my arms, only now it’s during the sermon. So the next time you see a brother or sister snoozing in the pew, feel free to wonder whether they slept through their baptism too. And remember: every one of them was once a cute baby… or at least someone said they were.
But here’s the part that stops me in my tracks: many of the infants I’ve baptized recently will live to see the year 2100. I will not. They will witness things we can’t imagine. Think of the changes you’ve seen in your lifetime. Technology evolves so fast it makes your head spin. A decade ago, we were introduced to the smartphone. Before that, our phones were not very bright. They were basically pocket bricks that could call your mama and maybe play Snake if you were lucky. Now they can do everything except fold the laundry—and I’m sure that’s coming.
So the next time you see an infant, be amazed. You are looking at someone who will experience a century you will never see. Pray for them. Pray that they inherit a world shaped more by compassion than conflict. Pray that our technology builds community instead of tearing it apart. Pray that they grow up knowing peace, and knowing the astonishing power human beings have to love one another.
Because the future they will live in is the future we hand them. Through them, you and I get to touch a world beyond our years. That’s worth pondering the next time you’re in the presence of a child.
Maybe that’s why this story is in the sacred text:
Parents brought their children to Jesus so He could bless them. The disciples tried to shoo them away—because apparently even in the first century, church people were good at gatekeeping. But Jesus was having none of it. He said, “Let the children come to me. Don’t stop them. The Kingdom belongs to such as these.” And then He gathered them up, placed His hands on their tiny heads, and blessed them.
Pray for a child.
They hold the keys to the kingdom.
And they hold the future we will never see—but God will.











