When I was growing up, our church had a giant bathtub at the front. So did all the churches I knew well. This was the baptismal tank. It was hidden behind curtains most of the time. But every few months for a baptism, they were drawn back so the congregation could watch.
I was baptized when I was 14, a pretty standard age. I was Plymouth Brethren, and like most evangelicals, the Brethren believed in adult baptism by immersion - well, at least teen baptism.
Two types of people got baptized. One was the coming-of-age cohort, like me. I was baptized with most of my Sunday School class; it was our turn. It was voluntary, and there were always some kids who didn't get on the bandwagon - either by choice or just missing the announcement.
The other category were older people who were either new to the faith, or had somehow missed the standard roundup when they were 14, or…had been baptized as infants in one of the misguided traditions like Catholics, and were correcting the error.
For several Sunday afternoons we had additional classes outlining the tenets of our faith, led by the church elders, and one evening two of the elders solemnly visited our house to have a short interview with me. That visit felt very grown up, but all the rest felt very routine.
I don't recall much from the classes and it felt routine precisely because I had been immersed for years in these teachings. It was just reinforcing everything that I already knew and believed. Baptism was the next step that let things fall in their natural place, but by my own choice.
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