My Baptism

Getting dunked at the 2003 Convention "Give God Gory" in Tacoma, Washington.

I told my parents I wanted to get baptized when I was 12 year old, proving I had dedicated myself to serving Jehovah. My older sisters were baptized at 12, and I wanted to follow in their footsteps and not be a late spiritual bloomer. In the next few years, they had both been either disfellowshipped, reproved or marked that I postponed my baptism. Eventually, my parents forced me to cut off all contact with them, since they were now labeled as bad influences. It was an incredibly difficult and confusing time for me.

After I turned 16, I started to feel the pressure from my parents and the congregation that I need to get baptized soon. Time was running out for me to make my choice. It was expected for children that are raised in the religion that they commit while they’re teenagers. Some would argue that since Jesus was mentioned in the Bible having amazing spiritual answers at the age of 12, that should be the age that a child should decide to become a dedicated and baptized Witness.

I felt like I was on a train approaching the station and there would be no other stops after this one. I couldn’t even begin to figure out how to get off that train if I wanted to. I had never been “off” the train. What was it like? Where would I live? How would I finish high school? Could I survive being disfellowshipped and disappointing my parents like my sisters? Was I strong enough to take care of myself?

I dealt with this internalized crisis by pouring myself into my Bible study. The problem with this was that all the “facts” I was allowed to examine, I already knew. They were the beliefs from the Watchtower that I had been indoctrinated with since I was in diapers: If I left the “truth” I would be alone in a dangerous world full of bad people, I work become one of them and then I would die by fireballs in Armageddon.

Panic started to set in as we were nearing the time for the District Convention and the deadline to get approved to be baptized was approaching. Despite the voice in my head that kept shouting “you don’t know enough and haven’t read enough literature to be ready,” I told my parents I would start preparing for going over the baptism questions with the elders. Like two minutes later they were talking with the elders and made the arrangements for me. Shortly before the convention I was approved.

The day of my baptism was one of the saddest days I can remember. My parents allowed me to invite my sisters to watch me get baptized. I was hoping to see them because I had not been allowed to see or talk to either of them in many months, and it was clear that today would be the only exception. Amy couldn’t make it but Missy arrived as I was changing into my modest swimwear. She found me as I was in the procession from the area’s locker rooms to the pools. She hugged me and walked alongside me for several minutes, holding my hand. Then I realized what, or rather, who, would’ve been at the station waiting for me. But it was too late, it was my turn to get in the pool.

Sisters holding hands.

In a sense, my baptism was a true baptism. Since, it was the beginning of my life of “choosing to serve Jehovah” over my relationships with my sisters and the freedom to choose what I wanted in life.

In the article You Have No Choice, Dr. Timothy A Carey discusses how we have a lot less choice in our lives than we may think. When we’ve chosen a path in life, it may come with limitations. He goes on to say:

The crucial point then is not really whether or not our choices are limited. Rather, the main issue may be who is limiting the choices in our lives. If we are constraining our own choices by selecting certain preferences in order to live the life we want then it won’t even feel like our choices are limited. If another person, however, is telling us what our choices should be or need to be, or what our range of options are, this is likely to be another matter entirely.

Who was limiting the choices in my life? At the time of my baptism it was overwhelmingly my parents and the congregation. I know my they would have shunned me if I decided to leave and not get baptized, as they did my sisters (and as they do to me now). Whether they knowingly gave me a Joshua-like ultimatum or were complicit in the coercion they faced as Jehovah’s Witnesses, I think it comes down to the fact that I made the choice they wanted me to make.