Sunday Morning Baptismals

There was always something different About a Sunday morning baptismal In salty ocean seashore waters Down in the yard of the old Gypsum plant With the sun quickly warming the night time Coolness out of ten am. It was hard to say whether those who got dipped Did so in true belief or just to have it done and over with, Being told that to do so was to have one’s sins Forgiven and prepare them to live eternally in that place Called Heaven. God knows that come Monday morning, most of the dipped went Right back to being and doing exactly what they did Before they were dipped on Sunday morning, including dipping. But, there was a different feel to a baptismal Sunday Morning, More than other Sunday mornings, whether because It was enhanced with church members singing hymns, Raising spirits in each and everyone involved to Different heights of feeling something different or Because Jesus, though invisible, was in fact there Among the dipped and the dippers alike, without it being A true Sabbath day. I never saw Him, myself. Still, I most enjoyed the whole proceedings, sitting on the grass Waiting for the next one to get dipped and saved And watching ants, oblivious to the reasons for it all, Scurrying purposefully through the blades of freshly cut greens. It was entertaining. I was tempted but, resisted, and just enjoyed it all Passing a morning until Sunday dinner and smells of roast meat And boiled salt riblets grasp a hold on my nostrils Bidding me go home to momma’s cooking. W.C.Hull © 2017-19-1-956-E