February 7, 2010

Glynn Cardy

Epiphany 5

Video available on YouTube, Facebook

Baptism literally means ‘to dip’. Nobody really wanted to call this great rite of the Church ‘dipping’ though, and besides to the politicians it sounded like fully immersing someone in water. So the Greek word baptizo was simply appropriated without translation.

There is something about baptism that gets the theological arguments going. In our patch of Anglicana, for example, you can, within some limits, create a Communion liturgy quite distinct from those in the NZ Prayerbook [as we have done]. You can also, within limits, help couples create their own marriage liturgies that often are distinct from anything in the NZ Prayerbook. With funerals there are very few limits – we specialize in accommodating the dead. Yet with baptism we are meant to follow the dictates of the NZ Prayerbook to the letter. Interestingly, very few parishes or priests do. 

A number of church leaders see baptism as entry to the club: the Church club. This is why some want parents to be well informed and committed to the doctrine and discipline of the Church, including regular attendance. This is also why some are sceptical about children being baptised. How can children possibly be committed? And can parents/godparents really be surrogates when it comes to commitment?

In broad terms there are two understandings of Church, ‘gathered’ and ‘comprehensive’, which are at odds with each other. The former sees Church as those who attend, are on the parish roll, and who participate. Like a club you know who is a part of it and who is not. The latter understanding sees Church as those attendees and non-attendees who try, even occasionally, to live the way of love, justice and compassion known in Jesus. I don’t think you have to be clairvoyant to know which understanding of church I have. 

For those of the comprehensive bent, baptism is not so much about entry into an organisation called Church but about celebrating our entry into this whole sacred wide world. The world is not an evil place from which children and others must escape. Rather the world, like the church, is infused with godness. At baptism we acknowledge our immersion into the life and mystery of the sacred all around us. 

Baptism isn’t about erecting boundaries. It’s about God rejecting boundaries. It’s about God’s ‘yes’ to each one of us. God’s ‘yes’ precedes any response to God that we might make. God’s ‘yes’ is the energy, mystery and source of all life embracing us tenderly and lovingly, not because we are special but because everyone is special. 

Baptism is not about proclaiming our commitment so much as proclaiming that the God best known as Love is committed to us – always has been, and always will be. It is not about proclaiming that we love God, but that God loves us. In baptism the child does not so much acquire some new identity or magical blessing from on high. Rather the community simply acknowledges who that child has always been and might potentially become in the embrace of the God called Love.

One of the ongoing tasks of the Church is wrestling with language. Language cannot contain God. God is bigger than words. Words also change in meaning. Some words, important in the past, are no longer real for people in their daily lives – like ‘Saviour’, ‘Lord’ or ‘sin’. Some old words are important enough to re-interpret, but most aren’t. In a baptism liturgy cramming a sentence full of outdated church words might satisfy some theological purist but it is nonsense to many who have to say it. One of our tasks therefore is finding words that make sense, that have meaning, that connect with people’s lives, and encourage them into all that is good and possible.

In the NZ Prayerbook Liturgy Of Baptism, after hearing quoted a passage from the Book of Acts about receiving the promise of the Holy Spirit the parents are asked ‘How do you respond to this promise?’ Their response is prescribed: ‘We hear God’s call and ask for baptism’.

The question is problematic. What is the promise of the Holy Spirit? Come on, you’ve been in Church for years and years, what is it? And what is it in language that makes sense in our day and age?

This idea of telling parents the words they have to say seems, to my mind, to be quite revealing. There is a subliminal institutional message: ‘We want you to think as we tell you to think’. We don’t want to hear anything different or original from you. We don’t want to hear your beliefs; rather we want you to fit into ours.

Then there is this notion of ‘call’. Do you have to feel called by God, however you understand that phrase, in order to bring a child for baptism? Let me be personal. I don’t feel called to go to church, celebrate life, join with others in working for change, go to parties, host parties, or recover from parties... There are lots of things I do because they are a part of who I am. Bringing my children to be baptised is no great existential decision. It is simply a part of who I am.

Second question, [same as the first - little bit longer and a little bit worse] ‘Do you renounce all evil influences and powers that rebel against God?’ Church-think seems to have this historical hang-up about evil. The question sounds innocent enough [1]. But why are we asking questions about evil at a baptism. Why not ask them on Ash Wednesday or Good Friday? This question is a legacy from the days when the Church considered kids to be born evil and baptism supposedly washed out the evil as God poured in the good. 

Third question: ‘Do you trust in Christ’s victory which brings forgiveness, freedom, and life?’ The forgiveness, freedom, and life sound good. What’s this business about ‘victory’? Well, it is military language, and it was applied as one metaphor to understand the death of Jesus. This is all that stuff about some great cosmic battle, Lord Of The Rings style. While it makes for good fantasy, depending on your preferences, it doesn’t connect with the reality of most people today. 

The parents prescribed response to this one question is ‘In faith I turn to Christ, my way, my truth, my life, as I care for this child.’ To be frank this sounds like the writing committee that put together this baptism service had too much piety in their cornflakes that morning. I don’t think there are would be many of us who want to get to our feet and declare Christ as ‘my way, my truth, my life’. What do we mean by ‘way’, ‘truth’, and ‘life’? And who says that to be a committed Christian you have to own a statement like this? And, more importantly, why are we are asking this of parents of children being baptised? It is club-think: requiring parents to recite what some in the church believe as a precondition for their child’s baptism.

I have been offering open questions to baptismal families now for 22 years. Sometimes people put no thought into it, or are too nervous to express their true thoughts. But, time and again, more often than not, I hear wonderful things. Beautiful thoughts. Beautiful poetry. From the heart addressed to all hearts. The wonders of sacred love in people’s lives are magnificent, and it is not to be contained and controlled the Church. The sad thing is that without creating an environment for open questions the Church will never hear it.

The fifth and last question in the approved baptism Prayerbook service is a good one: ‘How then will you care for this child?’ The ‘then’ is unfortunate, as is the set response of ‘I will love this child and share my faith with her/him’. For the question provides the opportunity for parents and godparents to talk about their love and commitment to the child. This is an opportunity to put those deep feelings into words. The words will not be adequate, but they will offer a small window into the passion, power, and promise of parental love.

Knowing oneself to be loved makes the world different, and a world of difference. Being loved for who you are can enable a person to exercise their gifts and abilities more freely and confidently. It is somewhat intangible this thing we call love, and yet it empowers the one loved to give of who they are.

A number of years ago I officiated at a baptism service with a difference. The difference was a paddling pool, 4' x 4', surrounded by native plants, particularly ferns and a young totara. The family had brought all this into the church the day before. It was their idea. I just smiled and said ‘Yes’. When it came time to christen the child, the mother handed me a naked baby whom I sat in the pool and proceeded to baptise by scooping up water onto her head. Whilst this was happening the baby’s older sister, who didn’t want to miss out on the fun decided to strip off and join her sister in the pool. The mother, anticipating this and suitably attired, also got into the pool.

The congregation were deeply moved by the service. The abundant water seemed to symbolize the love of God that the baby entered and splashed in, naked, unashamed and uninhibited. The family too immersed themselves in this love as they paddled with their daughter and sister. The congregation also got a little wet, so say nothing of the floor!

At the conclusion of the service the whole congregation followed the family outside to plant the totara in the church grounds, taking water from the paddling pool to give the totara its first drink in its new home. It was if Love was surrounding and sustaining the planting and growth of something new and powerful.

In the beginning we belong. We belong before we claim that we belong. We belong to our parents and family. We belong to the comprehensive Christian community and to the community at large. Primarily, however, we are a part of that which is transcendent, unfathomable, and mysterious love – that which we call God. This is what can draw us beyond the confines of self-interest. To become who we truly are. To forsake being a bystander and instead plunge into the beauty, misery, and passion of our world.

[1] Although ‘rebel’ infers a cosmology/world view we might not want to own.