Remembering my baptism

Sunday we took a brief trip to Goderich and the Beach.  The sun, the two-toned lake, and the cloudless sky were restorative.  The water was early June temperature--it made my feet and legs ache.  I have a bit of a ritual with Great Lakes and the Oceans--I always attempt to overcome my natural reluctance and jump into the water.  (I mean at normal times of the year...  I am not planning on joining the polar bear club anytime soon).  I almost always find the cold is a bit more manageable than I originally assume it will be, invigorating really.  

Sam was out there repeatedly dunking himself--crying out "one, two, three."  I thought to myself:  in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. 

I was baptised around this time of year.  I believe I was 13 or 14.  It was a big deal.  I was baptised with my best friend's younger brother and another friend's Mom.  I remember being very scared and embarrassed in that teenage angsty sort of way, but I had been reading my Bible frequently and felt a sense of strong conviction reading about Jesus' baptism. 

It was a simple thing, but it was one of the first times I remember choosing to be brave.  These memories flooded over me as I jumped into Lake Ontario this week.... the sense of letting go, the sense of relief when the water wasn't as bracing as I feared, the reminder that I can overcome my fears, the sense of cleansing and refreshment.

We are told in Scripture that in baptism we recall that we have been buried and raised with Christ Jesus.  Baptism is death and resurrection at the same time.  I wasn't baptised a Mennonite or even baptised into church membership.  Right now when so much that I loved and worked for the last 5 years, the last 10 years, the last 20 years is feeling stripped away... I remember my baptism.  I remember that I can be brave because of God's promised presence.  I remember that I can be brave because the power that raised Jesus Christ from the dead is present in my own life.  I remember that I can be brave because I remained joined to Christ even if important human associations are stripped away.  I have spent a lot of my early adulthood looking askance at my "just Jesus and me" faith of my childhood, but boy, sometimes you need it.  I need to remember that Jesus is close, proximate, ever-present and as Paul says:  "I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus or Lord."

Wonderful Minari

 

On Sunday I watched Minari with Doug and Johanna.  This movie would have delighted my Mom. We only went to the movie theatre a few times when I was a kid in the mid-80s (the era of Farm Aid) and it seemed to me that I watched a lot of heartbreaking farm stories. (This is my favourite).

Minari follows a young Korean family that is trying to make a life for themselves on a 50 acre farm in Arkansas.  Some aspects of the story are universal to the genre:  the perils of drought and inclement weather, the untrustworthy nature of city people, tenacity, health concerns,  the strain on marriages, and the isolation.  Other aspects are more particular:  the challenges of crossing-cultures and generations, the unique relationship between the Grandmother and the youngest child, and the unique friendship  between the Father and his strange Pentecostal neighbour.  Again, and again, the movie, eschews easy stereotypes allowing each character--even the ones that only flit on the stage briefly--their own complications.

I really loved the movie.  There were bits that especially resonated with my own history: the Sunday School bus, the intrigue of going to a friend’s house where the rules are much more lax, and just the general look and feel of a rural community in the early 80s.  

I found myself wishing that it had won more awards.  I love Frances McDormand, but Nomadland and the way its storytelling floated detached from material conditions--the loss of industrial jobs and the way that precarious employment atomizes people and destroys selves and communities--left me cold.   (It isn’t surprising that the director has a Marvel movie lined up).

 Those 80s farm movies my Mom loved were very much stories told in the shadow of Reagan. These movies fit well with stories about coal miners and mill works. Artists were trying to understand something that was being lost, perhaps the dignity of work....

Minari reminds us that work must connect us to place, to family, to weird communities and friends.  Nomadland is also a story about  resilience and work, but it makes resilience a characteristic of the individual, another way of saying rugged individualism. In this way it is the perfect parable of our neo-liberal moment.

Minari reminds us that resilience requires roots, connection, and buttresses.  We need one another to be resilient.  We need other people to be  more than passing shows on our road of life. We need other people to confuse us and complicate our lives.  We need our roots to grow twisting  together--wonderful like Minari!