A couple of months ago, I went to the baptism of a little boy named Isaac. He is the son of good friends of mine and the happy first born in their family. The baptism wasn’t in a Presbyterian church, so some of the liturgical furniture was a little different. But that was all to the good. When things are less familiar, I tend to pay more attention.
Before the baptism, the minister spent time teaching and reminding the congregation about this sacrament. He led us carefully through Old and New Testaments, pointing out and clarifying the various important stories and phrases that resonate when we celebrate baptism today. And then, after the promises and the water and the songs were sung, Isaac’s parents were given a candle. They were told to light in their home each year when they celebrate the anniversary of Isaac’s baptism. I’ve seen candles used this way at weddings before, but never at a baptism. I love this idea—a gift of light to celebrate the promises of God.
We don’t have any baptismal candles in our family. But we do have turkey.
Because Beangirl was baptised at Thanksgiving.
Initially, we thought of it as a convenient occasion, with lots of family gathered around. The long weekend meant that my sisters could conveniently come from out of town, and there was the inevitable feast afterwards to feed the family. But, standing at the font that autumnal Sunday morning, with the songs of Thanksgiving in my ears, I felt a deeper rightness about the day. At Thanksgiving, we were celebrating the continuing blessings of God: food and harvest, the joy of changing seasons and the gratitude that we feel when we are connected to creation. And, after the nine months’ growth and the labour of birth, the blessing of those difficult early days of learning to be a family as my body learned to feed a child, and then to stand in our church surrounded by the love of God and the caring congregation, I felt overwhelmingly thankful.
Thanksgiving is about recognising God among us, and, of course, so is baptism. Baptism marks us as those who know God and want to know God more. The water we use in this ritual reminds us of the newness of life that we can continually find in God, and of the covenant promises that God will be with us in all things. And, fascinatingly, the word “ritual” comes from the Latin “ritus” which means to flow—the same root as the word “river.” Through ritual, we enter into the flow of God’s grace. Or perhaps, in the rites of baptism, we join a stronger current that flows towards the sea.
The best image of baptism that I have seen was painted sometime in the 1450s by Piero della Francesca. Now dubbed The Baptism of Christ, it was painted as the central panel in a polyptych for the abbey in Borgo Sansepolcro. Have a look.
Jesus stands in the centre, bracketed by John the Baptist and a tree. Jesus and the tree both look wonderfully rooted, and John is actively baptising, pouring water down from a small bowl, while the other hand is held tensely, as if John is apprehensive about the results. Three colourful angels also stand watch, with worried faces, as if they too are unsure. They know that God is afoot here. But you can see the water falling, and Jesus’ eyes are looking down, prayerfully. He wants this blessing. This is important work. And above Jesus’ head, the Holy Spirit as a dove appears, its shape mirroring the shape of the nearby clouds. In the background, there are people, emphatically human. One man stands in his underpants, pulling his shirt back on over his head, as if his baptism was a mere cooling dip in the lake. Like the water caught mid-pour, he is caught, inelegantly, half-dressed. Baptised, but not yet clothed anew. There are four other figures, elaborately—perhaps clerically—attired, depending how you read their fabulous hats. One gestures heavenward, as if he, too, might have seen the dove, but the others seem calm enough, so perhaps they are only debating abstractly. It has been known to happen. It is the contrast between the involved baptism and the unaware people that I love. They are present—God is present among them—and they are unaware, at least for now. And that’s alright. They are not painted as ignorant or foolish. Just there and involved in other things. In their own things. There is no condemnation here. Until Jesus showed up, John was much like them. But then things shifted for him. I imagine that his non-pouring hand was not so apprehensive for the previous baptisee. The blessing of it all is that God shows up in the middle of human life—in the harvest, in family life. Sometimes, we’re just the one before God in line, and God waits for us. But sometimes, we are called to play an active role. We get to bring our children forward to feel the water, to teach them about the promises of God. We get to remember blessings and celebrate. We get to be thankful.
Happy Thanksgiving.
