Reflecting on Our Baptism
Isaiah 42:1–4, 6–7 · Acts 10:34–38 · Matthew 3:13–17
They say it really happened. On the day of his ordination, a grandmother spoke up proudly: there had been no priest in her village, her grandson was often sick, so she baptized him herself—with milk instead of water. Milk, she believed, would make him strong.
The laughter soon faded. The bishop later explained that baptism with milk is invalid. And because baptism is the gateway to all the sacraments, everything would have to begin again.
Perhaps it is only a story. But it reminds us that baptism is not a small beginning. Together with Confirmation and the Eucharist, it initiates a person into the mystery of Christian life. It opens a door that is meant to lead somewhere.
And yet, for many of us, that door feels strangely quiet.
We were baptized as infants. We do not remember the heavens opening or the Spirit descending. We did not hear a voice calling us beloved sons and daughters. No dramatic passage from darkness to light stands out in our memory. And so baptism can feel distant—something done long ago, rather than something alive within us.
So the real question is not whether baptism should be repeated. It cannot be. The real question is this: How can we experience the power of baptism?
The Acts of the Apostles offers an answer.
The Ethiopian eunuch is already searching, already reading the Scriptures. Philip tells him the story of Jesus. When they come upon water, the eunuch asks, “What is to prevent me from being baptized?” Philip replies, “If you believe with all your heart, you may.” And only then does the water come.
In the house of Cornelius, the pattern is even clearer. While Peter is still speaking, the Holy Spirit falls upon all who hear. The Spirit comes first; baptism follows. The sacrament seals what God is already doing.
How about infant baptism, then? An infant cannot yet profess faith.
The Church’s answer is revealing. Infant baptism proclaims the primacy of grace. Before we choose God, God chooses us. As Paul reminds us, we are saved by grace—not by our initiative, but by God’s gift. Yet grace is never meant to stand alone. What is given freely calls for growth. That is why infant baptism entrusts a child to the whole community—parents, godparents, and the Church—to nurture a faith that will one day be freely embraced.
In baptism, the heavens are opened—not once, but forever. The Spirit rests upon us, not as a visitor, but as a companion. And the voice spoken over Jesus is whispered again: You are my beloved.
That voice changes direction. It sets us on a path Scripture dares to call resurrection.
Baptism is not only about belonging; it is about becoming. Christianity was never meant to be only a ritual, but the Way—a way of living shaped by the Spirit. And if baptism feels distant, the answer is not to repeat a ritual, but to reopen the heart: to listen again to the story of Jesus, to trust it, and to let the Spirit breathe where it wills.
Then the water begins to move again. And life, quietly but truly, becomes new.
Scripture Attribution
New Revised Standard Version Bible: Catholic Edition, copyright © 1989, 1993
the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of
Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved.
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