In the Methodist church baptism is mostly symbolic. It's not a magic portal or requirement for getting into heaven, but it is an affirmation that we have a church family that loves us, and that God renews and works in us. Both these things happen before we're even aware of them. That's why we baptize babies.
Marc and I are still going to the same hippy church we got married in, the same church I joined when I moved to Wichita and decided I needed a church that was crazy enough to love gays, put quotes from the Qur'an and Bhagavad Gita in the bulletin, sing the occasional Earth Wind and Fire song where it fits.
Josephine was very good. She looked around at the whole congregation with big amazed eyes, didn't puke on the minister, all those nice things. We were given a certificate and a little wooden cross to hang on her room, with "Matthew 19:14" on it (the "Let the children come to me..." verse).
Then she fell asleep on her Grandpa's lap, because apparently baptism is hard work.
With all four grandparents here we took some family pictures out in the garden, then came home and had enchiladas for lunch. It was a beautiful day.