Sweet Bessie Brown...a baptism 'overkill'

In 1970, or thereabouts, I was at OCC for the 2nd time. I had fallen through the
3rd story of OCC's Learning Center, then dropped out of school for 3 1/2 years for five major surgeries, and then had come back to graduate, at last, with my degree. I was living in the dorm with a character from Denison, TX. named Bill Crabtree.

E.J. Sellars, our dorm dad, came to our room one day, looking for someone -- anyone -- who could help him out. It seemed that the church just east of OKC -- Harrah or Newalla, OK., or some other little town out Hwy. 66, if I remember correctly, needed a preacher for that coming Sunday. I was not a preacher (had never done anything like that in my life), but the sound of $50 caught my attention. (Do I hear an 'AMEN'?). I agreed to do it and then I began looking around for a song leader, since I can't carry a tune in the proverbial bucket. I found a willing helper (I think the church paid him a little money, too). His name was Steve Kelly. He's from Shawnee, OK., and is a cousin to Marilyn Dobson and Debbie Powell. Steve was a lot of fun and a great guy. I thought: 'This will be okay -- we'll get through it, hopefully won't do badly, and we'll make a few bucks on top of it all. (So much for selfless motives!).

The singing went well, since Steve 'knew his stuff''. The sermon was canned, and contrived, and I feel confident in the knowledge that people in the audience suffered greatly. However....

When I finished the sermon and offered the invitation, secretly praying that there would be no 'responses' (you have to understand here that I DIDN'T KNOW THE 'WORDS'), here came a tiny little lady slowly down the aisle toward the front of the little auditorium. She looked 100 to me, since I was 26 years old. She was likely in her mid-70's. She wanted to be baptized! "Oh, boy, what am I going to do now", I thought! I wanted to bolt from the church building!

After taking Bessie's confession of her faith in Jesus Christ, I went like a slave, 'scourged to his dungeon', to quote part of a line from an old poem --'Thanatopsis' by William Cullen Bryant -- to the changing room next to the baptistry. There, with the help of some of the old timers, I got into the rubber suit provided for that purpose. I left my slacks on, not wanting to get down to my tidy whities ---and besides, it was a waterproof rubber suit, right? I also left on my white long-sleeved dress shirt, and just rolled up the sleeves, imagining a scene where I would perform the baptism 'cleanly' and then walk away from it all....intact.

At the moment of truth, I repeated those sweet words -- words that I had heard all my life--and with just a touch-too-much enthusiasm, I laid her back into the water....more than a touch too much, it turned out. An involuntary raising of one of her legs caused one of her feet to breach the surface of the water like a hooked trout...and there followed more than a little snickering from the general direction of the small audience.

To compound matters, when I leaned down to make sure that Bessie and her hair were totally immersed (I had heard tales of elders making people 'do over' a baptism because hair had floated on the surface and I wasn't taking any chances!), I leaned down just a touch too far... O.K., more than a touch. I 'took on water' into my rubber suit, soaking my socks, my pants, my underwear and even the shirt. Unbelievable! How could I have messed up something so simple?

Wading back toward the 'exit' to the baptistry was easy -- the hard part -- after Bessie had left the scene of her (I imagined) near-drowning, was when I tried to walk up the stairs. Rubber suits weigh considerably more when one tries to walk in them--- with water in the legs --- up stairs and out of the water! I thought I'd never get up those stairs! My legs felt like lead. I felt like a beached whale. More snickering.

The weight of the rubber suit was straining the suspender-like straps. I was worried now...what if the suspenders snapped under the weight of so much water? Not a pretty sight to contemplate.

Once back in the 'changing room', which by now I felt more like calling it a 'decompression chamber' -- something like one might find on board a submarine-- I tried to get out of the suit. I had a lot of help. It seemed to me that every old gentleman in the entire congregation had gathered to see the college kid try to get out of that portable aquarium called a rubber suit! There was a lot of water in that suit, and the trick was to get out of the suit without destroying the flooring in the room ... or putting on a show in my wet skivs. It was NOT a pretty sight!

I was soaked. Take a moment and get a visual on this scene: people are waiting to congratulate Bessie. People are also waiting to congratulate the novice-ain't-never-ever-gonna-make-a-preacher' boy, and try to make him feel that he did a 'fine job'. I slipped on my dry shoes and stood up -- then felt the shoes begin filling not-so-slowly with water from the wet pants, shirt, socks and underwear. I shook hands and accepted tentative hugs and pats on the back and nice words from the lingering members of the little church, who, I'm sure, thought that the baptism had made it a wonderful day....sideshow and all. Finally, I sloshed my way out to my car, with Steve Kelly still laughing and trying to assure me that things had gone well! We sloshed our way back to campus, and I got into some dry clothes.

I got over being soaked and embarrassed, and although I never again heard about little Bessie Brown, later on I forgave myself for being such an incompetent preacher. I had been humbled, but Christ had been exalted. All in all, not a bad day!

Rest in peace, sweet Bessie!