He Was There With Me Then

It was March of 1993 after a Wednesday night church service. The sanctuary was quiet, empty, save for a couple of stragglers lingering in the pews, talking amongst themselves. I stood petrified at the back of the church, waiting to be called forward, my soon-to-be wife at my side. 

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“Pastor Huepel,” a church elder called as he ambled down the aisle, eyeing our pastor as he made his way to the baptismal altar in his white robes. “What’re you doin’? The service is over.”

Pastor Huepel just smiled and gestured to me. “We have a baptism tonight.”

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He stopped in his tracks. “Right now?” he asked, a high pitch of disbelief in his voice. He looked me up and down as he passed. 

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The church cleared out soon after that. 

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Fine by me, I thought to myself. Who wants to watch an adult be baptized, anyway?

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I didn’t blame  the elder for his confusion; it was an unusual time for a baptism. Not only that—it was an unusual age; I was thirty three and about to be married. 

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My baptism was long overdue, and it hadn’t been my first attempt.

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My parents planned to have me baptized when I was a baby. They were members of Faith Lutheran Church in Sioux Falls, and they took my older sister and me most Sundays. My aunt and uncle went to our church, too; they were supposed to be my godparents. 

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 Days before my baptism, my dad and my uncle had a terrible falling out. I don’t know what the disagreement was about, other than it had something to do with money that my dad felt my uncle owed him. The fallout was severe. Not only was my baptism cancelled, but my parents were angered enough they decided our family was leaving the church and Christianity altogether. 

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Our family fractured that day. 

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Worse yet—our faith fractured. 

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As a result, I grew up knowing nothing of Christ or religion. Our family celebrated Christmas and Easter, but to me, it was about getting presents and chocolate Easter bunnies. 

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I remember asking my dad about church one day, sitting at the supper table. It didn’t go well. 

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“Pastors think they know everything. They preach nonsense,” my dad had told me, scoffing. “And the church? They just want your money, just like everyone else.” 

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He had met my eyes then, staring hard, as if imploring me to believe. “Anyone who believes in that stuff is foolish, Jeff.”

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His words stuck with me. They didn’t leave for a long time. I repeated his script until I believed the words.

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As I grew older, I remember having friends ask me what church I went to.

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“I don’t go to church,” I would say. “They preach nonsense.”

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The funny thing is, as much as I said otherwise, it felt like I was missing out on something, something important. I just couldn't put my finger on it. I searched for meaning, for belonging, even when I didn’t know what I was searching for. It was like when you pack for a trip, and get the car loaded and double check every single thing, and yet as soon as you get on the road you can’t shake the feeling that you left something behind. 

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I felt that way for years.

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My opinion of the church later softened slightly into thinking church people were all just goody good people that had a nice club.  A club that, due to my past, I was shut out of and most definitely would not be welcomed into.

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Then I met her. Carol. The love of my life. We met at a community organization called the Sioux Falls Jaycees. She was pretty, smart, and I knew she was a special person.  After working on a few Jaycee projects together, I wanted to get to know her more.

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“You know,” my friend Terry said one day, watching my gaze follow Carol across the parking lot. “Carol really likes you. I have no idea why.”  

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Eventually, I found the courage to ask her out. Our first date we went to Leslie Neilson’s 33 ⅓ movie.  Looking back, that probably was not a good choice for a first date.

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It didn’t take long to fall in love with her. I gave her a ring as soon as I was able. 

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It was through Carol that I found my way back to the church. She told me about Jesus, of a love that surpassed death and a grace that conquered sin. She upturned every single misconception I had, and as if the bugs were finally washed off my windshield, I could slowly but surely see the church for what it was meant to be. The church wasn’t an exclusive club for the righteous; it was a hospital for sinners. It wasn’t a group of judgemental do-gooders; it was a warm group of imperfect people praising God for the gift of Salvation, for a hope that supersedes all else. 

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God spoke to me through Carol. I know this and feel this without a shadow of a doubt. I can’t explain it, but believing in God no longer felt ridiculous like my dad had wanted me to believe. It felt momentous, extraordinary, necessary. 

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So, thirty three years later, on a random Wednesday night in 1993, I finally had my new start. And as I kneeled in front of the baptismal fountain, and the waters of new life and living hope washed across my forehead, my anxiety disappeared and a truth settled deep in my heart. It was the truth that no matter who you are, what you've done or whatever your situation is, be assured, God is always there.  

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I knew then it wasn’t just a new start.

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It was a new beginning.

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And, while not entirely, and surely not all at once, my family began to heal as well. After my baptism, my mother came back to the church and was a member of Zion Lutheran for several years before her passing. My father and sister still resisted. Even so, there was still hope in the strain; just before they passed, we said the Lord’s Prayer together. I believe they finally found their faith at the very end.

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It was years after my baptism, and after my family had all passed, that I found a cross in the untouched basement of my parent’s home. It was a wooden cross, small and dust-covered, hanging in a room in the far corner of the basement. I remember seeing it as a kid and thinking nothing of it. It had been hanging there for 60 years. It was then, staring at that dusty cross, I realized that, even though God was banished from the house by my father and seemingly had no part in my struggles as a child, He was always there. He never left me, even when I couldn’t feel Him or see Him. Even though God waited until my 30’s to bring me back, he had not abandoned me. 

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He was there with me then, and is here with me now.