There it was in the bulletin, sandwiched between "The Promises of Baptism" and the hymn, "Just A Closer Walk With Thee." It was "The Baptism of Eugene Pyne, Jr." I thought it must be another of these infant baptisms they do in the Christian Reformed Church.
I had played it safe, myself. Baptized as an infant in the Roman Catholic faith, I was baptized again as a senior in high school in an evangelical church. Sitting there in the 14th row at Neland Ave. Christian Reformed Church, I fully expected Eugene to be carried up by his parents, wrapped in a blanket and probably bawling loudly.
Just before we reached the baptism part of the service, I noticed something in the announcements that intrigued me. It read, "Eugene's profession of faith and baptism will be done in a way that is appropriate for his intellectual and developmental level." Wow. What could that mean? How old was this guy anyhow? As we approached "The Baptism of Eugene Pyne, Jr." I watched the congregation, looking for any clues.
When a man walked up to join the pastor, I knew it was Eugene. He looked like a Eugene, if I can say that nicely. He was probably in his 50s, and had thick glasses and a grey crew cut. His ears sort of stuck out, too. Then it struck me that the announcement was trying to tell me that Eugene was mentally disabled.
This wasn't some old man turning his life around after years of hard drinking and chasing women. Eugene was coming as a child, with a child's simple trust in God. My throat suddenly had a lump in it.
The pastor asked him three simple questions:
"Eugene, do you believe Jesus is God's son and that he died for your sins so you could be with him in heaven?"
"Yes."
"Do you believe that the Bible tells the truth about Jesus and how he rose from the dead?"
"Yup."
"Gene, do you love Jesus and promise to become more like him every day?"
"Yup."
Eugene knelt down while the pastor applied water to his balding head. When he stood up, he flicked some water out of his ear, and I smirked.
The hymn that followed featured Eugene on harmonica, and it was great to see him belting it out with the piano and our voices behind him. After the hymn was over, Eugene slipped his harmonica back into his pocket and stood expectantly by the pastor. Pastor Kammeraad presented him with a baptismal certificate and a brand-new hymnbook, both of which Eugene tucked under his arm.
What happened next was amazing. It seems that this particular church has small groups called "households" which meet together for prayer and Bible study, and all of Eugene's household came up to sing to him. The song was called "Welcome To The Family," and to see twenty people, some as young as 9 or 10, singing to a balding, "retarded" man was incredibly moving. I remember thinking that this was what church should be all about.
The rest of the service, including the sermon, I'm afraid to say, is a blur to me now. But I left church that morning knowing one thing: God loved Eugene Pyne. And people there were showing that to Eugene, who may not have understood God's love any other way. And aren't we all a little like that?