The Lord's Welcome

Re-reading Baptism in Light of the Temple Context

Living in the desert of Southern Nevada, my children are enthralled by the rain. They run outside in the rare downpour and, giggling, dance around with their faces to the sky, only to scurry back wide-eyed when it thunders. For their cousins who live in more temperate regions, a rainstorm offers little of that joy or terror; unless it is unusually intense, they shrug it off as a mild inconvenience. What is true of rain is true of events, actions, and texts of every kind: what something means to someone depends greatly on the context in which it is interpreted. With that in mind, I believe one of the underappreciated blessings of the temple is that it provides a novel context for interpreting baptism. By situating baptism within the context of the temple, the Restoration invites us to re-read its symbolism in a new light.

Baptism as a Symbolic Cleansing

Historically, both within our church membership and in Christianity more broadly, baptism has been understood as a mostly self-contained symbolic act that represents the baptizee’s initiation into Christian discipleship and membership in the kingdom of God. The ordinance’s symbolism is generally interpreted in light of three metaphors: (re)birth, cleansing, and resurrection (see John 3:5, Acts 22:15-16, and Romans 6:3-6), each of which is visually reflected to some degree in the physical act of being immersed in and withdrawn from water. 

Although all three metaphors are invoked in official and unofficial Church discourse, it seems to me that the cleansing metaphor is the most prevalent among our membership: The primary children sing, “I know when I am baptized my wrongs are washed away.” A bishop in my stake used to give children who were preparing for baptism a white handkerchief, which represented the cleanliness available to them through baptism. (Perhaps recognizing the potentially negative implications of this object lesson, he also emphasized to the children that the handkerchief was washable, so if they made a mistake after their baptism, they would not be stained forever.) Notwithstanding that kind of rhetorical corrective, I have heard members of the Church on many occasions report that after their baptism, they felt like they needed to try extra hard not to make a mistake in order to preserve their post-baptism purity. My father tells me that after he was baptized, an older sister in his ward implored him to remember how he felt at that moment because he would never be so pure again.

These are understandable, if problematic, responses to the cleansing metaphor. And while there is nothing inherently wrong with this understanding of baptism, it is not hard to imagine why some members of the Church, with the cleansing metaphor implicit in their thinking, struggle to feel worthy to enter the temple. 

Baptism as the Hospitable Offering of a Gracious Host

Interpreting baptism’s symbolism within the temple context allows for new meanings which may be particularly helpful to those who struggle with feelings of shame and unworthiness—those who, even with the wholehearted endorsement of their Church leaders, may feel vaguely like they would be trespassing on (or perhaps even contaminating) holy ground if they were to enter the House of God. To understand this hopeful new reading of the symbolism of baptism, it is helpful to conceptualize the temple ordinances as a single “super-ordinance,” rather than separate ordinances that happen to occur in the same place. From this perspective, each ordinance is more like a chapter in a book than an item on a checklist—and the fact that it takes place in the temple does more than underscore its eternal importance; it provides the setting of the story. 

As the first of the temple ordinances (or ‘chapter one’ of the temple super-ordinance), we can read the symbolism of baptism in light of that particular setting and symbolic narrative. In that interpretive context, baptism can be viewed as a bath that is offered to guests upon their arrival at the Lord’s house. The temple context thus extends the traditional cleansing metaphor of baptism and suggests that it can be understood not simply as a mystical bath that cleanses us of sin, but as a sign of welcome and hospitality offered by a gracious host. 

This is especially clear when we consider the historical significance of washing in the cultures of the Near East, including ancient Israel. In these desert civilizations, when a guest arrived at one’s house, it was customary to offer them a bowl of water to wash their feet and, when desiring to bestow special honor, to anoint them with oil. We see this tradition referenced in Jesus’s visit to the house of Simon the Pharisee, who is rebuked after he silently objects to the way a sinful woman washes the Savior’s feet and anoints him with expensive oil: “And [Jesus] turned to the woman, and said unto Simon, Seest thou this woman? I entered into thine house, thou gavest me no water for my feet: but she hath washed my feet with tears, and wiped them with the hairs of her head. Thou gavest me no kiss: but this woman since the time I came in hath not ceased to kiss my feet. My head with oil thou didst not anoint: but this woman hath anointed my feet with ointment” (Luke 7:44-46). Understanding the historical context of hospitality allows us to read these remarks as a criticism of how Simon hosted his guests: though he invited the Savior to his home, he did not treat him as hospitably as he should have. 

With this story in mind, it is notable that upon entering the Lord’s house, we are both washed and anointed—initially during baptism and confirmation, and subsequently during the initiatory. As noted, we can understand these ordinances as signs of the Lord’s hospitality and desire to welcome us and honor us in his home. Unlike the inhospitable Simon, God greets us with open arms and an open heart. This seems to be David’s perspective in Psalms: “Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever” (Psalm 23:5-6). In these oft-quoted words, David positions himself as a guest, whom the Lord protects, honors, and provides for in abundance. The concluding line reflects his assurance that he is welcome in the Lord’s house and may dwell there forever enjoying the blessings of the Lord’s hospitality.

As we interpret baptism as the initial expression of the Lord’s hospitality, it is notable that we are welcomed in the Lord’s house not with a mere foot wash, but a full bath. In a desert climate like ancient Israel, this would have been the ultimate luxury, as water was scarce and most people did not even have bathtubs (see Bathing in the Hebrew Bible).  The baptismal font thus reveals both the Lord’s hospitality and his vast wealth. Confirmation and the bestowal of the gift of the Holy Ghost follows the luxurious bath of baptism. Though our heads are not literally anointed with oil during confirmation, it can be viewed as a symbolic anointing in which a precious gift is poured out on our heads. Just as the baptismal font greatly exceeds the basic obligation of hospitality, being anointed with the Holy Ghost is far more precious than any oil and can be understood as an overflowing demonstration of the Lord’s desire to welcome and honor us in his house. Indeed, in Paul’s view, the Holy Spirit is the “earnest of our inheritance”  (Eph. 1:14)—a sign that God not only will treat us hospitably, but he sees us as inheritors and wants to assure us of his intention to bequeath to us his vast wealth. Thus, we can see temple anointings as a sign of God’s intention to make us kings and queens, priests and priestesses, joint heirs with Christ, and inheritors of all the Father has (see D&C 84:38). As we symbolically enter the Lord’s house, we are welcomed as honored guests and inheriting children. 

Baptism as a Revelation of Divine Love

Understood within the symbolic context of entering the Lord’s house, there is a pervading sense of hospitality in the initial ordinances of the temple. This reading of baptism as the hospitable offering of a gracious host rather than the qualifying act of a faithful initiate shifts our focus from what we must do in order to dwell with God to what he offers us in his love and grace. This is not to say that these interpretations are mutually exclusive, but each certainly has a different focus. And for many of us, I wonder if the thing we need most as we enter the temple and pursue our discipleship more generally is not just increased conscientiousness but a deeper sense of God’s love. If that is, indeed, the case, interpreting the ordinance of baptism within the context of the temple, rather than in isolation, may be helpful. 

In this reading, as we attend the temple, we are positioned as travelers. The Lord of the house welcomes us in and offers us a bath not because he is put off by our dirtiness but because he wants us to rest and refresh ourselves after a tiring journey. The dust on our feet is not a sign of failure; it is an inevitable part of travel by foot. Keeping the house clean may be a byproduct of the bath, but its primary purpose is to make us feel welcome. The Lord’s concern is our comfort, not the cleanliness of his house. 

After a refreshing bath, the Lord honors us by anointing our heads with precious oil. He wants to make it abundantly clear that we are welcome, that our presence in his house brings him joy. This contextualized reading invites us to see ourselves not merely as passers-by whom the Lord deigns to temporarily shelter because he feels duty-bound to take care of us, but rather as inheriting children, royalty, returning to the place of our upbringing. There will be feasting and rejoicing to celebrate our return. 

This recontextualized reading of baptism is one of the gifts of the ongoing Restoration, and perhaps we ought to ask ourselves how we might receive it more fully and share it more widely. Perhaps as we ponder the Lord’s welcome symbolized in temple baptisms, we can come to sense more keenly his happy anticipation for our return home. Perhaps as we participate in the subsequent ordinances of the temple, we can do so with an openness to the wonderful possibility that God not only permits us to dwell with him, but rejoices in our presence. Perhaps as we go forth from the temple, we can do so not only with a desire to be better, but with a trust that we are already dearly beloved—and as such, we can strive to live as the inheriting children God already considers us to be, our behavior reflecting, not affecting, his opinion of us. It seems to me that, one way or another, this gift of the Restoration is an opportunity to become more attuned to the Lord’s hospitality, grace, and love—an invitation to accept God’s outstretched hand and agree to dwell in his house forever. As we travel the deserts of mortal life, may we find in the House of the Lord cool refreshment, a warm embrace, and hearty encouragement for the journey home, where the celestial welcome typified in the temple will surely exceed all expectations.

David Sabey is a husband, father, educator, essayist, and amateur pizzaiolo. He's trying to get better in each of those domains.

Art by Pekka Halonen