Altar Call

I remember the first time I heard a Baptist refer to the raised area at the front of the sanctuary as the "altar."

A close friend of mine then, Jerry Beers, son of a Wesleyan Methodist minister, had used the term "altar call." This was in 7th grade at Bethel Christian School, when it was at 737 E. 26th Street in Erie, PA.

The rest of us scratched our heads. Altars are for pagan gods and associated with lots of blood and dead animals. Surely we misheard.
Mrs Andrus, Pastor Kenneth Andrus's wife, who taught 7th grade bible class, informed us rather curtly that the word "altar" can also mean the front of the church where the pastor stands and communion is prepared and people kneel, etc.

I think she thought we all knew this and were making a fuss to disrupt the class (hence the tone of her response), but I can tell you, this 7th grader never heard that before, and to this day I find it an unusual word in a Baptist setting.[1]

[2012-12-03]

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A seasonal note: Some evangelical churches have no problem with Santa Claus. Santa actually visited my mom's church in Johnstown, PA, when she was a little girl. I think that's wonderful.

There's been an overcompensation in recent years in response to the (very real) secularization of Christmas. Some folks just can't make a measured response to anything, so they throw everything out. That's unfortunate.

Johnstown was the site of an enormous flood in 1889 that is still talked about to this day. I have a very old book on the subject published not long after. 2,209 died. It was the first major disaster relief effort handled by the American Red Cross. Learn more >

[2012-12-03]

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[1]
I think the raised section is formally composed of the chancel and transepts, but I had to look that up. No Baptist I know would have known what those are, but no Baptist I know has a need to know, either.

In my experience: the altar platform is wide and deep and contains the pastor's podium, sometimes the choir stand, and usually three chairs between the pastor and the choir. Sometimes the middle chair is larger and more ornate; that is the pastor's chair. The other two are for the assistant pastor, a visiting pastor, or the events announcer. The baptistery, which is a small pool, is in the very back and a permanent part of the church; it's only filled with water when in use.

A Baptist pastor in my tradition dunks the baptizee once; he says, "I now baptize you in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost," covers the person's mouth with a cloth and leans them backward, fully immersing them and bringing them back up.

A related story: During a baptism service, the lights are dimmed in the sanctuary and bright lights are turned on in the baptistery. It's a very solemn event. The baptistery at 737 E. 26th Street was flush with the wall and below the altar level, like a built-in hot tub, with a curtain in front that opened and closed with a pull string, like mini-blinds do today.

(Us kids would occasionally take a peek back there and be discovered and scolded by adults; the attraction was irresistible: a swimming pool in church.)

Well, Pastor Andrus was beginning a baptism service. The lights were dimmed, the baptistery all full of water and lit up like Christmas, and he was in the water, up to his waste in his baptismal robe, and he started to open the curtain.

Normally, the curtains part and the pastor says a few words about how each of those about to be baptized had professed their faith in Jesus and were demonstrating their new life with this ceremony.

(Unsaved family members often attend baptisms, so the pastor always takes the opportunity to present a salvation message; for Baptists, salvation is a choice and a moment in time, most often accompanied by a "prayer of salvation," recited from printed materials or repeated after a mentor. Many Baptist children - myself included - repeated this prayer of salvation privately to ourselves many times, just to be sure we got it right, because the consequences of doing it wrong were very frightening.

This was not encouraged. A thoughtful Baptist will tell you that the formula is unimportant. But humans like formulas; they're comfortable and reassuring, and now as an adult, I think that's okay. The songs, the order of service, baptisms, weddings, funerals - they're all formulas. Why not prayer too? At least some of it.)

But the curtains didn't open. They squeaked, very loudly. If it had been a short interruption, it wouldn't have been a problem, but something was terribly wrong and the squeaking curtains refused to budge. The noise was especially interesting as it reverberated around the baptistery and was amplified by a fixed microphone.

As is usually the case, you laugh harder when you try not to, and us kids couldn't contain ourselves.

Someone leapt up from a pew after a moment and helped fix it. I'm sure the pastor was a bit unsettled, and the adults embarrassed for him, but us kids enjoyed the diversion.

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I was baptized in that baptistery at at Bethel Baptist Church on 737 E. 26th Street when I was 11 or 12 years old.

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