I was 23, married and waiting for babies to start arriving when I got serious with God and soon after, baptised. I was dunked in a line-up by a Pentecostal pastor in a hired main-line church in the city, on a hot airconditionless afternoon since the warehouse style Pentecostal building had no baptistry.
Family and friends of the 28 dunkees came along to watch. Some with joy, some with curiosity, some with bamboozlement and some with clouds of annoyance/compulsion/duty to said loved ones simmering over their heads.
Continue reading “The curious relationship between being pickled and baptised”