The New Baptist in Town Thomas M Parsons

8. The New Baptist in Town

At my church, the one whose message I felt was lacking, I was teaching a Sunday School class of junior high boys, using materials supplied by the denomination’s press. A chart that came with the materials illustrated various incidents in the life of Jesus, including His baptism. One of my students noted that Jesus and John the Baptist were both standing in the water when John baptized the Lord, according to the illustration on the chart. He wanted to know why. After all, everybody knew that the denomination to which this church belonged practiced sprinkling of infants. The picture suggested immersion of adults.

I had been studying the Bible since accepting the Lord the previous October, and I was becoming aware of the fact the Bible taught immersion, not sprinkling, as the correct form of baptism. I could answer my student’s question honestly, and go against denominational teaching, or I could answer the question according to denominational teaching, but compromise what I believed to be the truth.

I taught what I believed to be the truth. I had been attending the First Baptist Church of Lincoln Park in the evenings, since our church did not have an evening service, and I had been learning much more at those evening services at the Baptist church than I was at my own church in the morning. I had to do something. I could not long continue to be in both denominations. I had to chose one or the other.

An appointment with my pastor did not ease my mind. He said he understood what I was saying, but he felt the denomination needed people like me to help it find its way back. I also had an appointment the same day with Dr. Charles MacDonald, the pastor of the Baptist church. He said that if I had real convictions from the Lord about what the Bible taught, I must be part of a local church that taught what the Bible taught. In my mind, that was the Baptist church.

I prayed about the decision, and very quickly came to the conclusion that I must follow the Lord’s leading to the First Baptist Church. By the time I started college in the fall of 1959, I had stopped attending our old church, and was regularly attending services Sunday morning, Sunday night and Wednesday night at First Baptist, and sitting under the ministry of Dr. Mac, as his people affectionately referred to him. How many times since that decision was made over forty years ago have I thanked the Lord for leading me to that church. My whole life has been better for the decision. So many good things came out of that simple choice.

There were new friends at First Baptist. John, the fellow who had written”John 3:16" in my yearbook was a member there. And Stewart from VCY. And Bob. And Bob’s steady girlfriend Beth. And Jan.

Dr. Mac was a superb Bible teacher. By 1959, he had been pastoring for many years and had much experience in dealing with people and in preaching the Word. He was a kindly man, with grey hair and Biblical wisdom to match. On Sunday evenings, he preached a regular doctrinal series of sermons. He covered all the major doctrines. Soteriology. Eschatology. Sanctification. Theology, including the attributes of God. To him doctrine was not a word to be avoided in Christian circles. Doctrine was essential, and he wanted his people to know Biblical doctrine and to be able to give an answer for what they believed, a Bible-based answer.

There were also new friends who were not in my age group. There were young married couples with whom I became acquainted, and older couples, and yet older widows. And Bob’s mother, who was a believer and loved the Lord, but whose husband was not a believer. And Jan’s parents.

Growing spiritually was not difficult to do at First Baptist, at least not for me. I learned a tremendous amount in just a few short months. I participated in the college and career group activities. I was challenged in a Sunday School class for my age group. And I loved my new friends and the kinds of talks we had. It was great to have friends who really loved the Lord and tried to put Him first in their lives. I had never had that before.

My parents wanted to know what I wanted for Christmas in 1959. I said I wanted a new Bible. Actually, I should say I wanted a Bible, since I really did not have one of my own to call my “old” Bible. Whenever I did read the Bible, it was an old Bible I found at home. I don’t know whose it was originally, but it was old and falling apart. I wanted a Scofield Reference Bible. They were very popular at the time, and everyone recommended that I ask for that Bible.

It is still here on my desk over forty years later, the Scofield Reference Bible with a black cover and all of Dr. Scofield’s original notes. Its pages are bent, turned, and torn and many verses are highlighted in red and many notes of my origin have been added to the margins. It shows that its owner has spent much time with it.

I enjoyed all the services at First Baptist, including Wednesday prayer meeting. But I especially enjoyed Sunday evening services. The word that comes to mind as I think back to those Sunday evenings is warm. Sitting in that church with its white painted woodwork and eggshell blue walls, and the purples of the carpet and white pulpit furniture, surrounded as I was by God’s people, hearing God’s Word taught by a man who truly was God’s servant, even today fills me with satisfaction. It was in that church with those people under that pastor’s ministry that I really grew in the Lord. Listening to the Word of God preached so faithfully and carefully gradually changed me.

That was the difference I noted between First Baptist and the church I had been in before. People really were changed at First Baptist. What they heard and read in the Word was consistently translated into what they said and did. That was phenomenal. I had not seen that before.

I believe that the five years I attended First Baptist were ministry forming years for me. In the local church there I saw a model of what the local church should be. In Dr. Mac I saw a model of what the pastor of a local church should be. And in the people I saw models of what a Christian should be. Those models to this day remain firm in my mind.

It is not that the church was without problems. Wherever sinners gather, there will be problems, and we had our share of them. But those Sunday nights still stand out in my mind as times of real worship and real growth. So I grew that winter of ‘59 and into the spring of ‘60. And by the end of my first year of college I had made an important decision. I wanted to become a member of First Baptist.

Pictured is the auditorium of First Baptist Church in 2005. You can read about FBC in Church of My Youth

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Joining my old church was easy. I said I wanted to join and they said okay. They did not ask me if I knew the Lord as my Savior. They did ask me if I had been “baptized,” by which they meant sprinkled, and, as I reported in Windsor’s Child, I had. So they accepted me as a member. But things were different at FBC. They, the Pastor and deacons, asked me about my salvation experience. I gave my testimony. They asked me questions about how I knew I was saved, and if I thought I could get unsaved. I answered their questions. Then they said I would have to be baptized by immersion, because that is what the Bible taught. I agreed. I had been studying the scriptures and knew the verses they referred to. I was willing, indeed I was eager.

On Sunday, May 22, 1960, at the evening service, a baptismal service was scheduled. There were five of us to be baptized that night. It was to be a youth service, actually, with our Youth Pastor, Rev. Robert Terpstra, preaching a message entitled “Confidence in the Lord,” and the children’s choir singing.

Dr. Mac had met with us before the service for instruction and prayer, and he had counseled us to be careful that when we came out of the water we take our first breath through our mouth instead of our nose, because the first breath through the nose can draw water up into our throat and make us cough and sputter.

In the congregation that night were my mother and father. Mom had been in a Baptist church when she was a little girl, and said she had accepted the Lord and had been baptized there. But it had been several decades since that had happened, and she had not been active in a local church all that time. Dad’s church experience had been much like mine before I met the Lord. Church was a place you went to meet people who could help you grow in society and get ahead. Church was a place you went so you could say you went to church. Oh, and yes, you also worshiped God there.

I believe the baptismal part of the service came early in the program. It is listed first in the bulletin I saved from that evening. Since Dr. Mac was not preaching that night, he could have the baptismal and then not have to be concerned about getting dried and dressed and out on the platform as quickly as possible.

The big moment came. I went down into the water assisted by one of the deacons and Dr. Mac. The water felt warm as it filled in around me as I moved slowly through it to the front of the baptismal tank where there was a microphone set up for me to speak into. Dr. Mac said something like, “This is Tom Parsons, and he would like to share his testimony with you.” Which I did. Then Dr. Mac said, “On the authority invested in me, I baptize you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.” I knew when he said, “Holy Ghost,” I was to take a deep breath and hold it. I did. And down I went into the water.

Not being a swimmer, I had been just a little anxious about being totally submerged in water, over my head. That was not a comfortable feeling for me. But Dr. Mac had explained it all, and I was convinced it was what God wanted me to do. After all, I was dramatizing for all to see what Christ had done for me.

There, submerged in that water, I was showing how Jesus had been submerged in His death for my sins. There in that water I was showing how I had formerly been dead in my trespasses and sins. And there in that water I was showing how someday I would also be submerged in physical death and buried in a physical grave.

I had been praying that my family would understand what I was demonstrating to them. Dr. Mac had explained it to the congregation briefly before he had us come into the pool to be baptized. But did they understand? Did they know why I felt the sprinkling Mom had asked the United Church of Canada minister to administer to me back in Windsor was not enough? Did they understand how I had come to trust Jesus Christ as my Savior? Did they know that they needed to do the same thing and that that was one of the reasons why the Lord had commanded me as a new believer to undergo believer’s baptism? I hoped they would see it.

Then Dr. Mac raised me from the water, just like Jesus was raised from the dead on the third day, just like I had been raised to new life in Christ and just like I would someday be raised from physical death to spend eternity with God in Heaven. Did they get it? Did they understand what it meant to be submerged in water and raised from it? Did they know I was not doing this to get saved, but to show that I already was saved? Again I hoped they did.

And as I came out of the water and opened my eyes, I took my first deep breath through my nose and exited the baptismal tank spluttering and coughing just the way Dr. Mac had said I would if I took my first breath through my nose.

But I was the new Baptist in town. And I was glad that I had found a church which took the Gospel message seriously. I was glad to have friends in the church whose lives really were different because of their faith in Christ. I was glad to have a pastor who really knew what the Scriptures were talking about and who could teach the Bible’s truths in a way I could understand. And, with baptism behind me, I would never have to splutter with water in my nose again.

At least not before a congregation of my friends, family and a few strangers, and one young lady who whispered to her friend, “I’d like to go out with the new Baptist in town!”