"My 2nd Baptism" by Guest Blogger Robert Hager

My dad, Robert Hager, known to many as Papa, has been writing stories for years. For a while, he taught a class about how to write your memoirs in the form of short stories. I thought it would be fun to occasionally feature one of his recollections. 

My Second Baptism by Robert Hager

     Sunday, December 7, 1941! My mother and I had attended Sunday School and the morning worship service at the Monroe St. Methodist Church in Toledo, Ohio. We walked home and ate Sunday dinner. Mother cleaned up the kitchen; then we went into the living room and turned on the radio to listen to the Longine Symphonette. Instead of the music, we heard the awful news of the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor which had begun about the time we were singing the closing hymn of the worship service.

     I was only fifteen and a half years old and I thought, regretfully, I'll never be in this war. It'll be over before I'm old enough to enlist. Of course, history proved me wrong. It took the Allied Forces nearly four years to overcome the determined Axis Powers, and on April 24, 1044, five days before my eighteenth birthday, I enlisted in the U.S. Navy. In late 1944 I was a Seaman 2/c aboard the U.S.S. Pelias, a submarine tender, anchored in Pearl Harbor in the Territory of Hawaii.

     By habit, but not much conviction, I attended the Sunday services led by Chaplain Frazee, a devout middle-aged Congregational minister from New England. Every Sunday he would lead us in singing the U.S. Navy hymn, "Eternal Father, Strong to Save." It became on of my favorite hymns, and still is, though it is seldom sung in civilian congregations.

Eternal Father, Strong to Save
   
    In addition to the Sunday morning service, I began to attend an informal Bible Study group because I was invited by a shipmate. We used material supplied by a Christian organization called The Navigators. The Navigators were very strong on Bible memorization. I began to realize that my Christian background, though long-standing, was weak, almost ephemeral. I had attended Sunday School and church all my life because that was what one did in my family, not because of any personal belief in the redemptive powers of Jesus Christ. One night shortly after Christmas of 1944, I said in the Bible Study Group, "I think a person accepts Christ gradually, over a period of time."

  Ray Piper, a study group member said, "Bob, a person accepts Christ, becomes a Christian, because he makes a God-led decision to do so, and a decision is made in an instant of time - not gradually." God had prepared me to hear exactly that kind of statement, and on December 29, 1944, a new name was written down in glory as I bowed my head and said, as St. Thomas did, "Yes, Lord, I believe."

     During the first week of January, 1945, the Pelias sailed for Midway Islands, two little sand piles nearly in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. After arriving at Midway, I began attending services led by Chaplain Nelson, a Captain in the U.S. Marine Corps, and a Southern Baptist from Alabama. Because of Chaplain Nelson's teaching, I came to believe that I should be baptized. I had already been baptized as an infant but that had been the choice of my parents. I felt now that I should make my own decision to be baptized following my earlier decision to commit myself to Christ.

     As the day of the baptismal service approached, I wondered more and more about how I would feel immediately after my baptism. Would I be euphoric? Would I hear angelic choirs? Would I see visions? Would I receive a startling revelation? Would the Spirit of God descend on me in the form of a dove? I thought I might even get a command from God to become a missionary or minister.

     It was a Sunday afternoon in the late Spring of 1945, shortly after my 19th birthday. It was cool and somewhat overcast. The sea was quite calm which made the baptizing easy for Chaplain Nelson. One by one, the men waded into the ocean to meet and be baptized by the chaplain. When I reached the chaplain, he put his arm around my shoulders and turned me to face the shore where the other participants were standing along with twenty or thirty additional worshipers.

     In a voice loud enough to be heard above the surf, Chaplain Nelson asked, "Seaman 1/C Robert William Hager, do you publicly confess that Jesus Christ is the Son of God, and that you have accepted Him as your Savior and Lord? And is it your intent to follow His commands and teachings and to live a godly life as the Holy Spirit enables you?"

     My answer came clearly and resolutely, "Yes, Sir."

     "Then," said the chaplain, "I baptize thee in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen." As he began the word, "Amen," he dipped me under the waters of the mighty Pacific Ocean, surely as thorough a baptism as any Methodist ever received.

     As he helped me to my feet, I thought, now, I'll find out how it feels, but all I felt was cold and wet. I was disappointed. That's it? Where was the euphoria? Why didn't I hear a command? How come the angelic choir missed its cue? I suppose I should have shared my questions with the chaplain, but I didn't. I continued to wrestle with them for a couple of weeks. I'm a slow learner. But, finally one day the light dawned on me. The foundational question was why didn't the experience of baptism match my expectations? The answer? I had faulty expectations.

     The basic reason for getting baptized was not to have some kind of emotional feeling, but to follow a biblical command to make a symbolic public statement of faith. The basic reason for getting baptized was simply to obey. I was at peace. Maybe I did receive a revelation after all, or at least some divine instruction.