To Church We Go
I went to church on Sunday on a reconnaissance mission. Andrew and I have agreed (or, rather, I proposed and Andrew amiably went along with it) that Lucia should be baptized, and so I found a local Catholic church and went to check it out. The logistics of a baptism are challenging, seeing as how I’m a lapsed Catholic, Andrew’s not baptized at all, we were married outside the church, and we’re not members of a parish. And the reasons for pursuing it are murky, even to me, even though I do feel it’s the right thing to do—despite the fact that the things Andrew and I will teach her are at odds with most, or all, of current church doctrine. An unwise perusal of the Catholics Come Home website last night, where I read that not only are homosexual unions “disordered” but childless married couples are as well, reminded me that for a liberal-minded person living in 2010, being a Catholic necessarily means cherry-picking from the less astonishingly outdated and intolerant parts of the faith.
But it’s hard, very hard, to simply set aside 12+ years of Catholic schooling and 30+ years of actually being Catholic when it comes to thinking about baptism for Lucia. To this day, sometimes when I drop a pen and bend down to pick it up I can still hear the voice of Sr. Regina, one of my elementary school teachers, instructing me to “offer [the action] up to the souls in purgatory.” Offer it up, she said. Offer it up. Baptism has always seemed like a necessary rite of passage, something you just do for your baby. Like a good life insurance plan, it seemed morbid but never optional.
I’m not really being clear; and my reasons for wanting Lucia baptized aren’t all rooted in morbidity and fear. I was thinking recently about our trip to Seville and Granada for Holy Week a few years ago—those candlelit processions, those fervent crowds. It’s a breathtaking spectacle no matter what your faith; but it feels like something more—something more intimate, more moving—when the faith driving the processions and rituals is your own. It connects you, somehow, to something larger, gives you a sense of belonging. Whether or not Lucia will embrace or renounce that belonging will be up to her.
Tomorrow I meet with the church deacon to see if a baptism will be possible.
But it’s hard, very hard, to simply set aside 12+ years of Catholic schooling and 30+ years of actually being Catholic when it comes to thinking about baptism for Lucia. To this day, sometimes when I drop a pen and bend down to pick it up I can still hear the voice of Sr. Regina, one of my elementary school teachers, instructing me to “offer [the action] up to the souls in purgatory.” Offer it up, she said. Offer it up. Baptism has always seemed like a necessary rite of passage, something you just do for your baby. Like a good life insurance plan, it seemed morbid but never optional.
I’m not really being clear; and my reasons for wanting Lucia baptized aren’t all rooted in morbidity and fear. I was thinking recently about our trip to Seville and Granada for Holy Week a few years ago—those candlelit processions, those fervent crowds. It’s a breathtaking spectacle no matter what your faith; but it feels like something more—something more intimate, more moving—when the faith driving the processions and rituals is your own. It connects you, somehow, to something larger, gives you a sense of belonging. Whether or not Lucia will embrace or renounce that belonging will be up to her.
Tomorrow I meet with the church deacon to see if a baptism will be possible.
Comments