What English Grammar Taught Me About Baptism

Have you ever thought about the fact that you follow rules you’ve never been taught?

Take adjectives, for example. In English, there’s a surprisingly strict order in which we stack them: opinion, size, age, shape, color, origin, material, and purpose—before you even get to the noun. That’s why “my old blue writing pen” sounds perfectly normal, but “my writing blue old pen” just feels… wrong.

We don’t memorize this rule. We absorb it. We imitate it. We embody it before we ever know it exists.

And strangely, I think that tells us something important about faith—and specifically about baptism.

Some Rules Aren’t Taught. They’re Lived.

English has another invisible rule called ablaut reduplication. It’s why we say “big bad wolf” instead of “bad big wolf,” even though it breaks the rule I just mentioned. The vowel sound in big (“i”) takes precedence over the one in bad (“a”), so the language shifts to accommodate it.

Once again, it’s a rule you’ve never been taught—but one you’ve been living by all your life.

This is where it gets interesting for those of us in the church. Because I think faith—real, embodied Christian faith—works the same way.

We can study all the theology we want (and we should). We can articulate statements of belief and doctrines of baptism (and we must). But the deeper truth is this:

The most important parts of our faith are not just taught—they’re lived, imitated, absorbed in community.

The Baptism You Learn Without Realizing

When we baptize someone in the church, it’s not just a symbolic action. It’s an invitation into a rhythm that’s been shaping the church for thousands of years. It’s rooted in the mikvah of ancient Judaism—a ritual cleansing that wasn’t about sin, but about preparing yourself to encounter God. It echoes John the Baptist’s call to repent, to turn around. And it’s modeled in Jesus’ own baptism, where God declares, “This is my Son, whom I love.”

But here’s what struck me recently:

For many of us, the meaning of our baptism will not come primarily through the words we read about it. It will come through the language of practice—through watching others, through shared stories, through standing in the water ourselves.

And that’s not a weakness of our theology. It’s the strength of our tradition.

Just like we learn to order our adjectives without ever taking a grammar class, we learn to live into faith by walking with others. Watching. Repeating. Practicing.

A Means of Grace

In the Commons tradition, we talk about baptism not just as a symbol, but as a means of grace. That is, we believe Christ is really present in these moments. That something holy and transformative is happening. That God meets us—mysteriously, intimately—in water and bread and story.

And we trust that baptism is not just about what we declare to God, but about what God declares to us: “You are my beloved.”

Which means you don’t have to have it all figured out. You don’t need the perfect words. You don’t even need to know all the rules.

Sometimes, grace gets in the water before we do.

Maybe It’s Time

Maybe baptism has been on your mind. Maybe you’ve watched others and wondered about your place. Maybe the idea of encountering grace in something as physical as water sounds both strange and strangely beautiful.

If that’s you, don’t wait until you’ve memorized the rules.

You may already be living into something that’s forming you.

And maybe it’s time to name it.