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My baptism, like all baptisms in the Orthodox Church, was a community event that involved most of the church membership. Baptism is a major act in the life of the church and people make an effort to be present at each one, not only because it is a joyful event to witness the rebirth of a new member in Christ, but at the same time each baptism of a new member of the body is a reminder, for every other witness present, of their own baptisms; it is a reenactment in a way, or a reaffirmation and renewal for everyone involved. Had I not previously witnessed several other baptisms in the years prior to my own, so as to be familiar with this wonderful inclusiveness of support and love, I would have been taken aback, and been a little embarrassed by the outpouring of attendance for this service, whose entire function and purpose was to invite me into the life of the church, into the Kingdom of God. It can be a little overwhelming to experience this kind of attention, yet it is a generosity that is reflective of God’s love for us, and it is an experience that warms the heart.

The baptism service is long, not inconsequential, nor something done quickly so as to move on to something better. I don’t know exactly how long it is but it must be close to an hour and involves the choir singing multiple hymns and prayers along with the participation of the priest and deacon, and the entire congregation. Additionally, each catechumen about to be baptized, has chosen a sponsor, someone who is there beside them, literally and figuratively having helped them in the months or years previous, as they approached this important step, and now standing alongside in this service as participants, assisting the catechumen, responding along with them, walking beside them. My sponsor, Jack, had been an Episcopal priest for about thirty years prior to converting to Orthodoxy many years prior to my baptism. He was very knowledgeable, kind and humorous; the exact sort of person to trust with an important event such as this, so I felt at ease, and in good hands.

There are far too many elements and aspects to baptism and chrismation for me to address them all here, and besides I likely only know a fraction of them anyway, and there are other books written on the subject by authors far more knowledgeable than I; but I can give you a first-hand account, eye witnessed and experienced in detail. I’ll share the highlights of mine, but I encourage everyone to experience for themselves an Orthodox baptismal liturgy at least once in their life, because they are beautiful in very many ways, and are life-changing as well.

We began the service at the western entrance to the church. Actually it was the southern entrance, since our building isn’t a proper Orthodox temple, but had it been designed and built originally as an Orthodox church, then the entrance would have been at the western end, while the altar would be at the eastern. Much of Christian cosmology associates Christ with the east, so this is the basis of this architectural orientation. So the baptismal liturgy begins at the west (south in my case), as far away from the eastern altar as possible, because this expresses the reality of our soul’s condition before baptism; we are as far away from God as we can be, lost in our sins, reveling in our worldly passions, going our own way in every conceivable way. As the service progresses we move towards the east, towards the altar of our Lord, towards our new life in close communion with Him. Several important things occur at the ‘western’ entrance: an exorcism to free us from the influence and power of Satan and the demonic powers of this world, our verbal renunciation of him from our lives, and our verbal proclamation of allegiance to our new lord, Jesus Christ. During this point in the service, I am asked to proclaim the fact that, “I unite myself to Christ.” Stating this out loud three times, in the presence of all of my church family, gave me chills, because it was a statement of power, and felt very authoritative and binding. I felt grateful in this moment, that the church understood my inner need to say this, and had given me the words to proclaim it for everyone to hear, and to hear myself say it, not once, which could have just been an accident, and not twice which might have allowed me still to change my mind, but a third time, somehow sealing the deal.

As I approached the altar, coming closer to my God, I stood before the baptismal font. Here before me, in the middle of the sanctuary was a large pool of water roughly two feet wide, six feet long and two feet deep; in a subtle way it resembled a coffin. How appropriate, for it was to be my burial, and my tomb yet simultaneously my womb, and my birth.

Father John blessed the waters and anointed them with oil. As Christ sanctified the entire world when He incarnated in the flesh and came to reclaim what is His, these baptismal waters, as part of our Lord’s created and sanctified world are blessed and made holy. I don’t understand the mystery of baptism, all that it is or does, but as Father John blessed and anointed the water, I imagined its purity, and that it would somehow convey this purity to me as I was submerged within it. I imagined these waters as suddenly crystalline, and as a conductor of the energies of God, activating my own soul and bringing it to life again. I wrote this about the experience:

My life has been a rainbow of iniquity—

the red of anger misplaced,

the yellow of cowardice,

the green of envy,

and the blue of dejection.

But Christ has healed my colors,

transforming them,

into a spectrum of devotion.

Through baptism and the oil of gladness—

the fragments of my mind and heart,

have been gathered,

and life restored to my fading soul.

The baptismal font:

that crystalline prism which purifies,

the disparate and multi-colored,

paths of my sinful life,

yielding new life in me,

uniting me in the white light of Christ.

I have been distilled by water and the spirit—

dissolute no longer,

dissolved into the life of Christ.

I have descended into the crystalline waters;

my impurities have fallen away,

and I am raised up again as a pure vapor.

I am a new spirit,

a pure spirit,

a holy spirit.

As I entered the water, and as all of these things were occurring within me, there was another drama playing out at the water’s edge; a joyful and light drama, perhaps more of a comedy, unscripted, non-liturgical, spontaneous and improvisational, yet very biblical and certainly enriching my baptism immensely. Along the right edge of the baptismal font several of my favorite children lined up, crouching against the side of the font, their heads and arms draped along the rim of the font. Their smiling and laughing faces watching me as I was dunked under the water, holding conversations amongst themselves as I prepared to dunk a second time, some staring down into the water, another pointing out something of interest to her friend, and then another convulsion of laughter rippling through this happy chorus as I am dunked a third time. Could there have been a better welcoming committee at the shore of my baptism than a host of wonderful, laughing children, with bright and smiling faces? The Orthodox church rarely adds or changes its liturgies, but if it did, I would highly encourage the addition of children at the edge of every baptismal font during every baptism, for there could be no better welcome into the body of Christ, or into the Kingdom of God than to be welcomed by a smiling child.

(to be continued)

~FS

In the late winter of 2016 as my baptism was approaching, my mother’s health had declined to the point that my sisters and I accepted the help of hospice care, with the understanding that she likely wouldn’t live much longer. In fact, one nurse suggested during my visit in February that I should certainly plan to return again before Easter because she didn’t think our mom would survive more than another month or so.  I had grappled with the sorrowful inevitability of death before, with the deaths of my father, brother and step-father, all people very important to me, but the looming probability of my mother’s imminent death shook me more deeply. Though I knew Jesus should be the true cornerstone and foundation of my life, the reality was that up to that point in my life, my mom was these things for me, so the thought of losing her was an existential threat to me psychologically; it was profoundly difficult to imagine myself living, if she wasn’t alive.

Providing hope and a bulwark against the backdrop of this impending loss was my faith, and more particularly the expectation of my coming baptism and entry into the Orthodox Church. I saw my baptism as an inoculation in a way, or a homeopathic remedy to my sorrow, so to speak, because baptism is also a death, the death of who we have been as we are made new in Christ, and so, by this death I could be healed of death, and in a sense death could be put to death by the very mechanism of my death in Christ. I mean that the death of my mom, and my own inevitable death, could lose its sting, lose its power over me, and thereby in a sense be put to death, through baptism, or death in Christ. The reason for this of course, is the hope we gain from the other aspect of baptism—that by it we are joined to Christ, who has conquered death by way of His resurrection, and by the reality of His life after death, to which we also gain entry.

We are told to prepare for the Kingdom of God by repentance. Though our part is negligible in the economy of salvation, still we have things we are told to do and repentance is one of the main things. Turning from our old life of sin, turning towards a new life of virtue and of following the gospel commands, renouncing the things of our old life and proclaiming allegiance to our Lord, casting off the shades of darkness and putting on garments of light, allowing ourselves to be given an inner light that shines for all to see; these are the things of repentance and of baptism, and these things are to become a way of life for a Christian, not something done once and then forgotten, but something done daily and forever. Repentance is at the heart of Baptism and it is also the essence of the other great mystery known as Confession; which is required for the first time, just prior to Baptism and entry to the church. It is the opportunity to jettison all the sin, all the shame of the past, to throw it overboard once and for all, to bring it to the light and let Christ dissolve it, overcome it and purify it in his perfect light. The night before my baptism I met with Father John at the church and had my first confession, a full life confession which was my opportunity to repent of everything I had ever done or thought, voluntarily or involuntarily, with knowledge or in ignorance throughout my entire life up to this point. What a horror but what a joy it was, what a supreme shame and yet also what a magnificent relief, what flow of tears of mingled sorrow and contentment. It was the shower before the bath.

The following day I would be baptized, on Pascha of 2016, and I had just taken the first step by my Confession. It was the beginning of a new journey. About this new path I wrote the following:

Preparing for the journey;

traveling light.

You won’t need those things,

where you’re going.

And you can’t take them with you.

Can you squeeze the world

through a pinhole?

And if you could,

what use would it be to you,

in your new home?

Pull up what you have hidden,

under the floorboards—

throw them all overboard.

You’re a traveling light now;

traveling light.

Goodbye to darkness,

all your shadows disappear,

dissolving into brightness,

total victory over fear.

Perfect light,

contains no darkness.

Perfect love,

contains no weight.

Death in Christ—

means traveling light.

You are a traveling light now.

So travel light.

It is common to be afraid to bring shameful things to the light, because of fear of rebuke, of losing face, or being derided, or feeling accused; but there is nothing any of us have done that isn’t common to man, and by bringing everything to the light and repenting of everything we not only achieve our own freedom from the power it had over us, but we make the path easier for others to do the same and to find their own freedom, which is an act of love.

(to be continued)

~FS