Joe Motsenbocker, isn’t that a great name! An amazing man. Joe was my mother’s cousin and a spiritual giant who could speechify at a moment’s notice. Our family, and his accumulated congregants, respected this giant, whose physical body was ordinary. His big voice and personality electrified a room, quieting it until the only words heard were his. When I was very young, the family’s response to his arrival, at any gathering, felt like Jesus himself, was entering the room. The man was one of those people who was always old, at least to me. His voice was craggy, like someone who’d blasted out ten-thousand, heated, heart-felt sermons. Joe was privileged to travel to many places most of us only dreamed about. Once, he went to the Holy Lands and got to wade in the River Jordan. He’d wax eloquent when relaying the experience of standing in the water where Jesus was baptized. Tears welled in his eyes and his voice would tremble when he recounted the experience. While there, he collected a jar of mud from the River Jordan and brought it home.
Aunt Norine Holt attended the Cuba Community Church. Joe Motsenbocker was the minister at the time. One hot Sunday, a young man in his 20’s came forward. He asked to be baptized in the Trinity River, and he wanted the service to happen that afternoon.
Norine had osteoporosis and it slowly stole her mobility. She lived a short distance from the church and anytime she felt well enough, she’d go to church. She was there that day, and Oh . . . how she wanted to attend that baptism. The Trinity River was a quick drive from her home. Norine knew she wouldn’t be able to walk down the steep slope, but she could stand on the cliff above and see everything. When she arrived for the service, a barbed-wire fence blocked her access. Knowing she’d never get past the fence, Norine and her walker waited by the road; there, at least she could hear the singing.
But the candidate wanted her to participate in his baptism. He ran to the frail woman, lifted her over the fence, then handed her the walker. Norine was happy with her bird’s eye view, she even joined in the singing as the volume swelled to where she stood.
Brother Joe held the jar of mud. Near the end of the service, he mixed a bit of mud from the Trinity River with a bit of mud from the River Jordan. Rubbing the mixture on the young man’s head, he reminded everyone that Jesus was baptized, just like this man, in the River Jordan. Joe lowered the young man into the baptismal water.
When the closing song ended, Norine and her walker, began the trek back to the barbed-wire fence. As she stood there wondering how she’d get back over, the young man, wearing wet clothing, ran to her. He lifted her and her walker back over the barbed wire, then waited for her to balance.
Aunt Norine said that was the most spiritual service she’d ever attended.
I wonder who this young man was, and how his baptism impacted his life.
Actually, Aunt Norine Holt was my great aunt, by marriage; a kind and funny lady. In our family, once a person acquired the title of aunt or uncle, that title became a permanent part of their name, and children were expected to use it when speaking to, or referring to that person. That habit was so deeply ingrained, I still honor my kin by speaking their title before their name. Maybe that was a way for us to keep relatives straight, maybe it was to show respect, or maybe it was one more thing that tied us together; I don’t know. What I do know is we touched each other’s lives in ways that affirmed to each of us that though we were many, we were part of something unique and lasting; something that mattered. I feel fortunate to have grown up in that very large family. Though sir-names varied, Holt blood bound us. Life events like this, and so many more, became stories to be shared. I’m thankful I was present when Aunt Norine told this story. I hope I’ve done it justice.
And just so you know, Joe Motsenbocker was not always a spiritual giant. He was an ornery boy, possibly encouraged by even more ornery uncles; but the stories I heard are good.
