BORN IN ZION: THE CASE FOR THE CELEBRATION OF INFANT BAPTISM

In covenantal theology, Zion and the church are one and the same, so children born to Christian parents are children born in Zion.

The Psalmist wrote of the privilege of being born in Zion in Psalm 87:

A Psalm of the sons of Korah. A Song.

1 His foundation is in the holy mountains.

 2 The LORD loves the gates of Zion

         More than all the dwellings of Jacob.

 3 Glorious things are spoken of you,

         O city of God! Selah 

 4 “I will make mention of Rahab and Babylon to those who know Me;

         Behold, O Philistia and Tyre, with Ethiopia:

         ‘This one was born there.’ ”

 5 And of Zion it will be said,

         “This one and that one were born in her;

        And the Most High Himself shall establish her.”

 6 The LORD will record,

         When He registers the peoples:

         “This one was born there.” Selah 

Throughout the ages, the reformed church has believed that there is the visible church and the invisible church; the invisible church being all of those who are chosen and elect of God, the visible church being the community of believers we commonly refer to as “the church”(i.e. the First Baptist Church, the Eastside Presbyterian Church, etc.). While there is only one route into the invisible church (by grace alone, through faith alone), covenantal theologians teach that there are two ways into the visible church. Like our dispensational brethren, we believe that one can enter into the visible church by profession of faith. But unlike them, covenantal theology also acknowledges that one can be born into the visible church.

If the sign and seal of one’s entrance into the visible church through profession of faith has always been baptism, then why shouldn’t the same sign and seal be applied to one born into the visible church? While it may be harmless to make a child wait until he or she is old enough to “make his calling and election sure”, why would we want to? (And then there is always the question, how old is that, anyway? Isn’t it true that wheat and tares will never certainly be distinguished in this age? So at what minimum age can the visible church be certain that any of her members belong also to the invisible church?)

There are abundant benefits and blessings that are the birthright of one who has been born in Zion, born into the visible church. Here is a child who, by God’s grace, will never carry the deep scars of the world on their body or their soul. Here is a child who will, hopefully, never know the outer darkness. Yes, the sign and the seal can wait. The child will be no less a child of Zion. But isn’t that something worth celebrating, that “this one was born in Zion”? The Psalmist certainly thought so!

There is a scene from the movie “The Matrix” in which the main character, Neo, is introduced to the young man known as Tank. Neo, newly freed, retains the holes in his flesh that once connected him to the Matrix. To his surprise, he notices that Tank has no holes.

NEO:

You don't have...

TANK:

Any holes? Nope. Me and my brother Dozer, we are 100 percent pure, old fashioned, home-grown human. Born free. Right here in the real world. Genuine child of Zion.

The sacraments are signs and seals, certainly, but they are also a celebration. And a child “born free. Right here in the real world. A genuine child of Zion!” ought to be cause for celebration, if anything is. When the visible church baptizes a baby, the entire body of Christ witnesses the signs and seals and celebrates the wonder that “this one was born here"!

 

By the time we knew it would be a beautiful Indian summer day six years ago in Tigard, Oregon, the beautiful Indian summer day on the east coast had been turned into a day of unprecedented shock and horror. One by one, four commercial airliners filled with travelers fell from the sky. Their impact destroyed the two tallest buildings in New York, several surrounding buildings and parts of the Pentagon. Only the heroic, self-sacrificial actions of a plane load of patriots over Pittsburgh kept the list from being longer and the death toll even higher. As it was, almost 3000 people lost their lives that day. 3000 families shattered. Uncounted thousands of friends and relatives left to pick up the pieces and fill in the holes.

 

Within hours the skies were emptied. The regular cacophony surrounding our nation’s airports was silenced. Neighborhoods used to the sometimes irritating noise of jet plane arrivals and departures grew eerily quiet. It stayed that way for two whole days.

 

And for those two days—and the days that followed--our nation stood united. For a few days in September, Democrats and Republicans, African Americans, Hispanic Americans, Native Americans, Asian Americans, and  Caucasion Americans became simply…Americans. Flags sprouted in every lawn. Bumper stickers appeared on ’84 Chevys and ’01 Mercedes saying “We Stand United”. And for a few days in September, we did. And it was wonderful and awful and something no one should ever forget.

 

But normalcy and safety combined quickly with politics and ideologies to return us to business as usual. Few flags fly in my neighborhood on this September 11. And on Capitol Hill some dare to use the word “traitor” when a front line general simply tells the truth.

 

September 11, 2001 was an awful day. The date will live, along with December 7, 1941, in infamy. Too bad the unity that awful day created can’t live as long.

 

And that’s the view from the Rabbit Hole on September 11, 2007.

 

This Fourth of July is special. Why? Because our Tim is home…and safe…and he almost wasn’t.

On the morning of July 4^th , 2006, we got a phone call from Tim’s fiancée, Mary.

“Hi, Mom,” she said. “Tim just called. He couldn’t tell me much, but he’s going out on a mission, and he was pretty concerned. He wanted me to call you and ask you to be praying for him, and he wanted me to tell you that he loves you all.”

In the six months Tim had been in Iraq, we had never had a phone call like this. He’d been on dangerous missions before, but the fearless bravado of youth—especially youthful Marines—had trumped any concerns for safety. But this was different.

Earlier that week, he had called to tell us there was a slight chance his team might be sent on a dangerous mission, and he really didn’t want to go. That was different, too.

We contacted some of our family and friends and asked them to be especially praying for Tim that day. Not wanting to be a burden, we didn’t tell everyone on Tim’s prayer team—after all, it was only a hunch, a mother’s intuition—but somehow the word got out anyway, and people all over the country were praying for Tim.

It was several days before we found out what had happened on that Fourth of July.

A large terrorist cell had been uncovered operating out of a local hospital. Sick women and children presented a pretty effective deterrent to western forces, concerned about collateral damage.

The Marines had worked out a plan to capture the largest number of insurgents while still resulting in a minimal number of civilian casualties, but every time they attempted to put the plan into action, intelligence would learn of a planned ambush, and the mission would be cancelled.

Finally, the top brass decided that these particular terrorists had inflicted enough damage, and they needed to be stopped, no matter the cost. And the cost, they told the troops involved in the mission, would be high. The ambush would be formidable. The snipers would try to take out the gunners first. In all probability, the first wave of gunners would not survive. Tim’s team would be in the first wave. Tim was the gunner for his team. He knew he was not expected to survive.

Tim had two days to consider this prospect. How does a soon-to-be-married twenty-two year old with everything to live for process the probability of impending mortality? Tim doesn’t talk much about those two days, about the thoughts that went through his head. He has told us that it put a lot of things into perspective. What’s the famous quote about the power the prospect of being hanged in a fortnight has to concentrate the mind?

But as the sun rose on that 4^th of July, a very strange thing happened. The ambush never materialized. The Marines drove their tanks and humvees into the hospital parking lot as peacefully as if they were coming to visit a sick friend. Somehow, the terrorists’ intelligence had failed this time. To this day, no one knows why. Well, Tim knows. And we know.

There were more miracles that day. The hospital was booby-trapped with numerous improvised explosive devices—bombs. But none of them exploded. Most of them were disarmed before they had a chance. The few that weren’t, simply failed to go off.

At the end of the day, the Marines had captured many terrorists, making a significant dent in one of the strongest cells in Iraq. With zero American casualties. And zero civilian casualties.

And a year later, the people in charge of analyzing and predicting and understanding these things are still shaking their heads.

But some of us know what happened that day. We know that the God of David still responds to the prayers of His people. That the words of Psalm 91 are as true today as they have ever been.

Psa 91:1-16

He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will abide in the shadow of the Almighty. (2) I will say to the LORD, "My refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust." (3) For he will deliver you from the snare of the fowler and from the deadly pestilence. (4) He will cover you with his pinions, and under his wings you will find refuge; his faithfulness is a shield and buckler. (5) You will not fear the terror of the night, nor the arrow that flies by day, (6) nor the pestilence that stalks in darkness, nor the destruction that wastes at noonday. (7) A thousand may fall at your side, ten thousand at your right hand, but it will not come near you. (8) You will only look with your eyes and see the recompense of the wicked. (9) Because you have made the LORD your dwelling place-- the Most High, who is my refuge-- (10) no evil shall be allowed to befall you, no plague come near your tent. (11) For he will command his angels concerning you to guard you in all your ways. (12) On their hands they will bear you up, lest you strike your foot against a stone. (13) You will tread on the lion and the adder; the young lion and the serpent you will trample underfoot. (14) "Because he holds fast to me in love, I will deliver him; I will protect him, because he knows my name. (15) When he calls to me, I will answer him; I will be with him in trouble; I will rescue him and honor him. (16) With long life I will satisfy him and show him my salvation."

So as you eat your burgers and enjoy your fireworks, take a minute and join us in thanking our God, the God who is still the defender of His people, for His mercy and grace in protecting our son. And pray for His protection over those who are still in harm’s way. May they all come safely home.

I ran into another Marine Mom at the grocery store today. She has two sons in the Corps--one in the reserves and one in Iraq. Her son's only been there a few weeks, stationed at Camp Ramadi, just like my son, Tim. The rapport was immediate. Though we had never met before, we understood one another. I knew what she was going through. She knew what I had been through. We embraced each other and held back mutual tears. I was surprised at how close to the surface my emotions still are. The memory of what it was like to have a son in harm's way was so ready, so fresh.

Unless you've been there, it's impossible to understand the pride, the hope, the sacrifice that attends the deployment of a loved one. I'm so glad mine is home. I ache so deeply for all those whose are still there. And my heart breaks everytime I hear of one who isn't coming home. I want this war to be over in a way that all the liberals in congress can't begin to understand.

And yet, my greatest fear is that, with the newly elected Democratic congress, this war will be over before it's time. That we will, indeed, "cut and run". That we will leave those Iraqis who have bravely risked everything to bring a semblance of democracy to their country to the mercy of extremists. That Iraq will be, after all, another Viet Nam.

You see, I was eighteen when we broke all our promises and left Viet Nam. For what seemed like my whole life, I had watched the evening news with my parents. I had seen the body bags. I had listened to the casualty counts. I knew that my friends' brothers and fathers were dying over there. Then, in 1974, I watched vicariously the desperation of people willing to do anything--anything--to get out of Saigon. I watched the bamboo curtain slam down on that nation. And now, more than thirty years later, Hmong Christians still suffer because of that betrayal. And the Viet Nam vets...and their families...wonder what all the sacrifice was for.

If I thought it would do any good, I would plead with our new congress to not let our sacrifice--and the far greater sacrifice of too many families like ours--be in vain. But I have lost faith in the political system. When ideologies speak louder than constituencies, what can one voice do?

And that's the view from the Rabbit Hole.

I got a phone call this evening from my son, a Marine corporal stationed at Camp Pendleton. I asked him if he'd heard anything about Senator Kerry's recent comments essentially categorizing all those who serve in Iraq as either slackers or dropouts.

He sighed heavily. "Yes," he said. He sounded hurt. I can't blame him. I was hurt, too. You see, my twenty-two year old son just returned from a six month tour of duty in Ramadi, Iraq. Two-and-a-half of those months were spent at Government Center. No showers. No hot meals. No flush toilets. I'd like to see how long the silver-tongued senator could last there. But I digress...

He was nearly killed in a humvee crash. He had an RPG fired at his head. He volunteered to be the gunner for his team when his unit was ordered into a near-certain ambush. Because we serve an awesome God--and everyone we knew and everyone they knew were praying to that God regularly on behalf of my boy--he came home without a scratch. But not without sacrifices on his part and on the part of the family and fiancee (now wife) who love him.

Mr. Kerry needs to meet my son. I think he'd be impressed by this sharp young man. Most people are. He has an IQ well up into the gifted range. He scored 99 on his ASVAB. He could have been and done anything he wanted to do. He chose to become a Marine, because after what he witnessed on September 11, 2001, as an impressionable 17-year-old, he figured that was the best thing he could do to protect his Mom and Dad and three brothers and little sister. He volunteered to be the gunner for his signal intel team knowing full well that a large percentage of Marine Corps fatalities in Iraq have been gunners. He also knew that he was the only one on his team who was ready to face eternity.

My son outshines Mr. Kerry on every level: Character, intelligence--and just plain good looks! The senator should be embarrassed for saying such a foolish thing and heartsick over the aspersion he has cast on this nation's best and brightest. But I'm sure pigs are more likely to sore on wings of eagles.

And that's the view from the rabbit hole.