"You're ours."

"You're ours." It's what I say to babies before they're old enough to even recognize their names. They're usually wiggly, maybe smiling, but still little babies when we dedicate them; other traditions would baptize the same ones. This little guy was dedicated last Sunday. Gratuitous cute baby picture for the win. And yes, that's just what his hair does.

Cuteness aside, the covenant made that day is serious. Parents promise to raise children in the Christian faith, for one. For me, though, the church's promise matters more. One of the weirder parts of my tradition is the lack of rules about what has to be done in particular ceremonies. I've looked at our book of worship and those from other traditions. I've ended up a simpler ceremony that most would choose; the simpleness of it sometimes surprises even me. The parents get a question, and the congregation gets a two part question: "Do you promise to love this baby as you love yourselves and to teach him to obey all that Christ has commanded us?"

They're questions straight from the Bible, rephrased from the Greatest Commandment and the Great Commission. The Greatest Commandment, reiterated by Jesus, "Love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, mind, and strength, and love your neighbor as yourself." A slightly different version is in each of the synoptic Gospels. The Great Commission comes at the end of Matthew, and is also spoken by Jesus, "Go, therefore, and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you." Holding a cute baby, though, and asking seriously if a church truly intends to do these things, brings with it a surprising seriousness.

A baby might be cute and easy to love on the surface, but no one has to be convinced they're a ton of work. A baby's vulnerability is immediately evident; he needs other people to care for him. No one doubts that, either. "Will you love him as you love yourselves?" If you really listen to that, you'll likely let out a nice, "Oof," at some point. It's tough, at best.

And it should be. Covenants are difficult, are binding, and, if we let them be, transforming. A promise that lasts a lifetime will certainly be all of those things. If, though, we take these promises to heart, uphold them no matter what, it would fix a great deal of all of our church problems.

Let's say that baby grows up to be:

• Homeless
• Rich
• Incarcerated
• Addicted
• Intelligent
• Gay
• Irresponsible
• Beautiful
• Depressed
• Chronically Ill
• Poor
• Handicapped
• Successful

Or anything else, really. That baby is still, forever, the Church's. With God's help, we'll love him fiercely his whole life long, no matter who he turns out to be. It's a trust that the God who called us to love that baby in the first place calls us to still love that baby when he grows up different than we expected. 

I can't help but think we'd find some Spirit-filled, surprising places if we learned to never stop saying, "You're Ours."