Is this the Sunday I get "bappatized", Mom? Rocki asked for the umpteenth time.
No. I replied hiding my amusement at her seven-year-old pronunciation of this new word. This is Easter Sunday. You will be "bappatized" next week when Bishop Talton comes.
Is this the Sunday when we get to say the "A" word, she whispered with an impish grin.
Yes! My smile escaped; delighted that she was already grasping this new Episcopalian tradition of waiting patiently through lent until Easter Sunday to shout Alleluia at the conclusion of the service.
Alleluia! she erupted, anxious to be the first one to say it today.
Alleluia! I chimed back, laughing at her zeal! And then I felt my eyes sting and my throat tighten.
The sense of relief and release I felt was one that only other fussing, ambivalent parents can identify with when thrusting ones children into a new and unfamiliar church of one's own adult choosing. Will they fit in? Will they be awkward? Will they forget when to kneel and when to stand. Will they forget to zip their zipper upon leaving the bathroom? I felt now for the first time since our arrival at St. John's that my kids were not only going to survive this transition, but that they could really thrive here. They were connecting. Perhaps they were already feeling that "Welcome Home!" promised on our visitor mugs.
The following Saturday, we accompanied Rocki to her baptismal class to familiarize her with the elements and sacraments to be used in her baptism on Sunday. Father Larry was thorough; his enthusiasm and zeal for each step of the sacrament obvious. Each tradition became rich with meaning and spiritual significance. He made it clear that although these sacraments do not have magical power in and of themselves, they do give shape and form to our own internal spiritual reality.
The air was filled with anticipation and awe for Bishop Talton's arrival that Sunday morning. My husband Dave and I had invited our closest friends and family to share in this exciting step in our journey of confirmation and Rocki's baptism. They brazenly took up four front pews. I realized I had not been this giddy, sober and electric simultaneously since our wedding day.
Suddenly, the big moment arrived and we began filing up toward the baptismal font with great reverence; Rocki muttering her rehearsed responses under her breath like a mantra, I will...I will... I turned to see my husband eagerly waving up any other family members who wanted to join us, and my mother-in-law bounding up the steps last minute with my son DJ running a close second. Shelby, our older daughter choosing to wait comfortably from the first row. Rocki was beaming as Bishop Talton baptized her, beaming as she took her first "bappatized communion", and beaming as she ran all over the neighborhood later that day to show off her baptismal candle she is supposed to light every April 7th as a reminder of this special day.
Just recently, Rocki's Godparent certificates arrived in the mail. It listed the special responsibilities, prayers, and days to pray for Rocki throughout each year. It was a sober reminder of an awesome, ongoing responsibility that Dave and I will also have for their youngest daughter next month upon her baptism. Again, I was deeply moved. Rocki's Godparents, Mark and Liz Powers, are two of our closest friends from college. They were chosen long ago because they just seem to "get" Rocki. It was bittersweet to look across the baptismal font at my friends, knowing that they would be leaving us soon to pursue their dreams in New York. Also Episcopalian, I feel a communion with them now, through the common book of prayer and liturgy, that beautifully transcends this gap in our geography.
Reflecting on this with our confirmation class at our final meeting last week, I shared how powerful this entire week was. I have concluded that Baptism, like Confirmation, is not merely an event. It is a continuing process. It is not solely for my daughter, but is inclusive of the entire body of Christ. It is not static. It is ongoing. St. John's has brought an intentionality and rich purpose to my faith with its expression through tradition symbol and sacrament. These sacred tools provide a tangible and concrete way for me to articulate my faith in Christ during a season when mere words often fail to do it justice. St. John's points me to something larger than myself by connecting me to my historical Christian past, and encouraging me to strive toward an eternal identity with Christ when I once again will say, Alleluia! and hear that final and familiar reply, Welcome Home!
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