Occasionally I tweet about infant Baptism. And while I don’t remember any of them, I can say with confidence that most of them portray a certain aura about Jesus.

Namely, that he comes across as a ‘seething God.’ (My term.)

You see, I always address infant Baptism from the “losing” side. I always see it from the unseen angle of the confrontation at the font. While most people see the white baptismal gown and the godparents who would probably rather be having breakfast at some cozy diner, I see a heated exchange between the Lamb of God and the morbid angel.

Who already lost.

I see Jesus, receiving a baby into his arms while glaring off the devil with piercing eyes. Devastating eyes. Eyes that tell the first betrayer that he will NOT, in fact, have this soul.

It will belong to Him.

It is such an impactful portrait to my mind that I’ve occasionally prayed that the Lord bless me with the financial means to commission someone to put it to canvass. (My only artful talent is music. Serviceable, on a good day.)

Which leads me to my next point: I probably hold this view because I’m a death metal fan. I grew up listening to 80s glam metal only to develop the taste for something more extreme as the Lord added to my years. (For example, the first time I heard Slayer’s “Dead Skin Mask,” I was rethinking my taste in music. In fact, I even used a portion of that song as an intro to a sermon once. More on that some day…)

The point is, I’m a rough cut kind of guy. I am the guy who taught preschool classes where all of the kids knew Mr. Joe’s favorite color was black and all of the boys just wanted me to play Black Sabbath’s “Iron Man” on the iPod.

(After we heard some song by this Justin Beaver character who made all the girls jump around like popcorn.)

I look at things from a jaded perspective. I see the antithesis to the incredible grace earned on the cross, affirmed outside of a vacant tomb, and commissioned mere minutes before the Ascension. I know I will have an eternity to get to know those who were brought into the fold through infant Baptism by a relentless God.

But I also know I only have a limited time to glare at the angel who spat in the face of his Creator. And as long as the Lord keeps me on this side of the grave, I will continue to do so.

Because, in my opinion, when I’m in heaven with the other Baptized babies, we won’t have time for glaring.

Only smiling.

And praising.