NaBloPoMo post 15: Water Birth
The first Christmas mass I ever attended was at the end of 1997, in Mackay, Queensland, Australia. I don't know the denomination, but the sermon was definitely one of those hellfire and damnation rants that I used to think was all Christian sermons. Part of it stuck with me, because I was so amused. The priest was going on about how Christians were lucky ones, because instead of one birth, they received two! The same one everyone gets, plus the rebirth at Baptism.
I bit my cheek to keep from laughing. At the time, the pagan ritual I practiced most earnestly was Beltane. Not once, not twice, but every single Spring, I leapt a fire to burn off last year's skin and be reborn with the rest of the world. How could a yearly rebirth compare to a paltry two?
Well, nearly-22-year-old-me, I'll tell you.
My Baptism came on Holy Saturday, April 19, 2014. Father Bill told me that there were four Baptism times in a year, once a season. But Holy Saturday was a really great one for an adult Baptism, because it's linked to Jesus' life, Baptism, and death. It's also the most spectacular service I've ever seen.
Holy Saturday is the day before Easter, and in Episcopalian and similar churches, it's nearly the end of a very intense week. There are special services every day, though at St. Martin's I think there are only brief ones on Holy Monday, Holy Tuesday, and Holy Wednesday. Then things really kick into gear for Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, Holy Saturday and then Easter Sunday.
I'm not sure how many people get Baptised in choir robes, but I sure did. The choir was singing a fat stack of special songs, a few at every service, and we had to go in at 7am on Easter Sunday to sing for both Sunday services!
Brutal. It was my first time being in the choir for Holy Week, and honestly, after all the pomp of Maundy Thursday's and Good Friday's services, I wasn't expecting much for Holy Saturday. I was so, so wrong.
There are candles in other processions, but none where the candlelight is the only light in the big dark church for most of the service. The effect is both eerie and comforting, as the giant cave of the stone church is a void. But we stand together, huddled by the candleflame, and each other. The metaphor of congregation as family is never more powerful than when you're standing amongst them, safe and alight in the dark.
Scattered throughout the service was the most amazing greatest hits of the Old Testament. These great voices calling out in the dark and cozy place, embodying the voices of Joseph and Moses and so many others. I realized this wasn't just the most perfect Baptism-day for an adult, it was absolutely the most perfect Baptism-day for a Jew! Along with everyone else, I skimmed through the bible I'd read fully through. Unlike them, when it came to the stories of Jesus, I felt like I was readying myself to take a step into their world, to embrace the New Testament with the same love and curiosity I have for the Old.
Suddenly, Father Bill was calling my name. I stood facing him, the choir behind him but the rest of the congregation behind me. I could feel all eyes on my back and was very grateful for my "godparents" on either side of me. Kikea-the-Episcopalian has two mommies: a chatty woman I spend time with after every service, and a gentle Alto in the choir whom I walk most of the way home with, after every practice.
I remember my voice quavering just a bit as I made my Baptismal vows. It may just be a series of "I do" and "I will", but I'm not used to being a focal point in a service.
Then we walked down to the font of Holy Water at the back. The Alto gripped my hand tight, and I tried not to think of a silly moment in Heathers and vampire hunters with their vials. Father Bill dripped water on my head as he blessed me in the name of the Holy Trinity, and unlike most Baptismal receivers (it is usually done under the age of one, in Episcopalian churches), I did not wail. I did feel very special and warmly welcomed, with many of the congregation gathered close to watch me.
We returned again to the front, and Father Bill said my whole name, bringing me formally into the Episcopalian church. He anointed my temples with chrism, a fragrant oil that smells so beautiful. I closed my eyes as he anointed me, and I saw rays of light, like when you open your eyes underwater in a lake or pond.
My first vision in St. Martin's, and what a perfect time for it!
Whenever I recall those fingers of light, I feel peace. I think it's how the Holy Spirit chose to present Himself to me, though of course I'd been walking His way for some time before that.
After the service ended, there was a special spread. Cake and cookies, all homemade and delicious. Wine was on offer, but I remembered the very early start to my Easter Sunday looming and declined. I felt like I was floating around the hall, and lots of people came up to welcome me personally into the congregation. Over the next few days and weeks, every parishioner I knew and many I didn't came up to offer their own words of welcome.
Even Tiger (who was working that night) had this to say: "Welcome to the faith!" He's a Catholic, but that acknowledgement that I was part of the bigger label, Christian, was very sweet.
I've never had such a warm sense of belonging before. I'm so proud to be an Episcopalian- well, truly, an Episcopalian Jewish Pagan.
I bit my cheek to keep from laughing. At the time, the pagan ritual I practiced most earnestly was Beltane. Not once, not twice, but every single Spring, I leapt a fire to burn off last year's skin and be reborn with the rest of the world. How could a yearly rebirth compare to a paltry two?
Well, nearly-22-year-old-me, I'll tell you.
My Baptism came on Holy Saturday, April 19, 2014. Father Bill told me that there were four Baptism times in a year, once a season. But Holy Saturday was a really great one for an adult Baptism, because it's linked to Jesus' life, Baptism, and death. It's also the most spectacular service I've ever seen.
Holy Saturday is the day before Easter, and in Episcopalian and similar churches, it's nearly the end of a very intense week. There are special services every day, though at St. Martin's I think there are only brief ones on Holy Monday, Holy Tuesday, and Holy Wednesday. Then things really kick into gear for Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, Holy Saturday and then Easter Sunday.
I'm not sure how many people get Baptised in choir robes, but I sure did. The choir was singing a fat stack of special songs, a few at every service, and we had to go in at 7am on Easter Sunday to sing for both Sunday services!
Brutal. It was my first time being in the choir for Holy Week, and honestly, after all the pomp of Maundy Thursday's and Good Friday's services, I wasn't expecting much for Holy Saturday. I was so, so wrong.
There are candles in other processions, but none where the candlelight is the only light in the big dark church for most of the service. The effect is both eerie and comforting, as the giant cave of the stone church is a void. But we stand together, huddled by the candleflame, and each other. The metaphor of congregation as family is never more powerful than when you're standing amongst them, safe and alight in the dark.
Scattered throughout the service was the most amazing greatest hits of the Old Testament. These great voices calling out in the dark and cozy place, embodying the voices of Joseph and Moses and so many others. I realized this wasn't just the most perfect Baptism-day for an adult, it was absolutely the most perfect Baptism-day for a Jew! Along with everyone else, I skimmed through the bible I'd read fully through. Unlike them, when it came to the stories of Jesus, I felt like I was readying myself to take a step into their world, to embrace the New Testament with the same love and curiosity I have for the Old.
Suddenly, Father Bill was calling my name. I stood facing him, the choir behind him but the rest of the congregation behind me. I could feel all eyes on my back and was very grateful for my "godparents" on either side of me. Kikea-the-Episcopalian has two mommies: a chatty woman I spend time with after every service, and a gentle Alto in the choir whom I walk most of the way home with, after every practice.
I remember my voice quavering just a bit as I made my Baptismal vows. It may just be a series of "I do" and "I will", but I'm not used to being a focal point in a service.
Then we walked down to the font of Holy Water at the back. The Alto gripped my hand tight, and I tried not to think of a silly moment in Heathers and vampire hunters with their vials. Father Bill dripped water on my head as he blessed me in the name of the Holy Trinity, and unlike most Baptismal receivers (it is usually done under the age of one, in Episcopalian churches), I did not wail. I did feel very special and warmly welcomed, with many of the congregation gathered close to watch me.
We returned again to the front, and Father Bill said my whole name, bringing me formally into the Episcopalian church. He anointed my temples with chrism, a fragrant oil that smells so beautiful. I closed my eyes as he anointed me, and I saw rays of light, like when you open your eyes underwater in a lake or pond.
My first vision in St. Martin's, and what a perfect time for it!
Whenever I recall those fingers of light, I feel peace. I think it's how the Holy Spirit chose to present Himself to me, though of course I'd been walking His way for some time before that.
After the service ended, there was a special spread. Cake and cookies, all homemade and delicious. Wine was on offer, but I remembered the very early start to my Easter Sunday looming and declined. I felt like I was floating around the hall, and lots of people came up to welcome me personally into the congregation. Over the next few days and weeks, every parishioner I knew and many I didn't came up to offer their own words of welcome.
Even Tiger (who was working that night) had this to say: "Welcome to the faith!" He's a Catholic, but that acknowledgement that I was part of the bigger label, Christian, was very sweet.
I've never had such a warm sense of belonging before. I'm so proud to be an Episcopalian- well, truly, an Episcopalian Jewish Pagan.