dedalus_1947 | Child of God

Although you see the world different than me
Sometimes I can touch upon the wonders that you see
All the new colors and pictures you’ve designed
Oh yes, sweet darling
So glad you are a child of mine.

Child of mine, child of mine
Oh yes, sweet darling
So glad you are a child of mine
(Child of Mine – Carole King & Gerry Goffin, 1970)

Sarah Kathleen turned 6 months old on May 12, 2011, and was baptized the following week. I don’t think the significance of those events really hit me until a few days prior to her baptism, when I was sitting in front of a cinema in Monrovia, waiting to see a movie with my brothers Eddie and Alex. I was alone on a street bench waiting for their arrival when the random thought of Prisa’s high school Kairos letter drifted nostalgically into my mind. This was the letter I wrote to her in 1998, when she was a senior at Louisville High School and went on her Kairos Retreat. It was the first time I had written my daughter a testament of the love and pride I felt for her at that turning point in her life.
“Why couldn’t I have written one sooner?” I thought, regretfully. “There were so many crucial events in her life I should have memorialized, but she grew up so fast. I blinked and she’d changed from infant to child, and before I could refocus, she went from elementary to high school.”
Then it hit me like a bolt of lightning with its reverberating rumble of thunder: Sarah’s baptism was in three days! I still had a chance to remedy a parenting regret by writing my granddaughter a letter on one of the first momentous occasions in her life (even if she wouldn’t be able to read it for a few years). I took out my pocket notebook and started jotting down a few lines until I saw Alex approaching. I put away the notebook, knowing I had plenty of time to finish this letter before Sarah baptism.

Needless to say, the birth of Sarah Kathleen, coupled with my retirement, has awakened the dormant nurturer within me. I have never felt more giving and loving towards a child as I do for my granddaughter. My feelings and attentions towards Toñito and Prisa as infants were somewhat different. Those tumultuous emotions were brand new but compartmentalized by my career, and perhaps a bit secondary to Kathy’s, the primary and full-time nurturer and caregiver. Until Sarah’s birth, I had never given an infant so much undivided time and attention – and I loved doing it! That’s the strange part, I love performing the ordinary, but necessary tasks infants require: attention, diaper changes, feedings, outdoor strolls, and practice. Sarah so preoccupies my mind that the only parallel experience I can think of is when I first fell in love with Kathy. I couldn’t get Kathy out of my thoughts, and I longed for the next opportunity to see her. Yep, that was it – I was in love again! From the first electric moment after her birth, when I felt that tiny body moving in my arms, and saw her sleeping, baby face, I was totally in love. I cannot ever express how grateful I am at being able to see and care for her twice a week. It is a lover’s paradise, but not without pitfalls. Infants grow up so quickly, that the baby you love one month will suddenly change in the next - they never stay the same. So thankfully, I’ve been able to caution myself with the lesson I learned many years ago with Toñito and Prisa, during long drives home after wonderful visits with my mom and siblings, or returning from a long walks through the neighborhood: to be present in those moments together as they happen; relishing those times as transitory gifts; visualizing them as permanent scenes; and letting them pass. We can’t freeze our children or grandchildren in time – they never stop growing, learning, and changing – but we can remember special occasions. So my desire to write Sarah a Kairos-type letter on her baptism day became an imperative for me.

Actually, Sarah’s baptism was a little late in scheduling, and I’m sure its tardiness ruffled a few Catholic feathers, and dusted off some old fashioned concerns about unbaptized babies. In the Catholic tradition of our Irish and Mexican-American families, infant baptism took place quickly after birth, usually during the first month. This urgency was predicated on the Pre-Vatican II fear that babies who died without receiving the sacrament of baptism were denied the beatific vision of God in Heaven and doomed to Limbo – a netherworld where the souls of righteous pagans and innocent, unbaptized babies dwelt. Kathy and I were raised in that milieu, the cold-war era of Catholic school, nuns, foreign missions, and saving pagan babies from the vacuum of Limbo.

Collecting money for the foreign missions was a major effort in the Catholic schools of the late 1950’s and early 60’s in Los Angeles. The sisters who taught us in those parochial schools made a big deal about supporting the efforts of the missionaries in Asia and Africa, who were saving pagan souls for Christ. At first I remember them simply encouraging us to donate money by putting our pennies and nickels into a large cardboard bank, labeled with the impressively long title of Society for the Propagation of the Faith. However, those efforts were only marginally successful because we found it hard to relate to such an awkwardly named organization that had no meaning to a seven or eight-year old child. Even simplifying the name of the agency into the Foreign Missions didn’t help, because it all seemed like adult stuff to us. It wasn’t until the Society for the Propagation of the Faith hit upon the strategy of imitating the March of Dime’s efforts against polio, that it became a big hit with us. The nuns stopped asking for money to help missionaries, and started telling stories of how we could save starving and orphaned babies in Asia and Africa. The sisters read horrifying tales of how pagan women in foreign countries sold or abandoned their infants because of their inability to care for them. In China, we were told, where only male children were prized, female infants were simply left in roadside ditches after their birth. At the conclusion of these stories, the nuns announced that we, the Catholic children of America, could save those pagan babies by adopting them and sponsoring their conversion to Catholicism. We had the power to save their lives and their souls. We were given small, individual, cardboard banks, decorated with pictures of smiling infants and children, and told to fill it with pennies, nickels, or dimes by encouraging family and friends to donate. Our banks were collected each Friday, and the money was counted. With every $5.00 the class could buy one pagan baby and choose a baptismal name. Naming a pagan baby was an elaborate class ritual of influence and deal making. Students who contributed the most money nominated the names, and their popularity and contribution amount usually swayed the vote. Babies were always given 2 or 3 Christian names, depending on the nun’s approval. Monikers such as Elvis, Spike, Butch, or Junior were never allowed. Official looking Certificates of Adoption for each baby were printed, filled in, and posted, so we could keep count of the children we had saved. I think the original idea was that we would remember and pray for these babies over the years, but that didn’t happen. Eventually we matriculated to the next grade, forgot, and lost track of the children we had adopted and named.

Over the years, the phrase, “buying pagan babies” or “adopting pagan babies” became a sort of Catholic code for identifying former parochial school students. We would laugh over our shared memories of those days and the nuns who directed the money collection and naming rites. It was only later that I started questioning their stories and those practices: Were the infants truly abandoned by their parents, or purchased from them by the missionaries? How did the mothers who gave up their children to foreign missionaries feel? What types of pain and guilt did they suffer? Why didn’t the Catholic missionaries just help the mothers and parents of these children, instead of buying them? It slowly began to dawn on me that the practice of adopting pagan babies was manipulative and exploitive – a vestige of the colonial belief that western cultures and religions were superior to native ones. But what bothered me the most was the idea of Limbo, and the doctrine that if babies died before being baptized, they were doomed to go there. So it was not surprising that when Prisa and Joe delayed Sarah’s baptism to coincide with her friend Dave’s ordination as a priest so he could officiate, vestiges of those old teachings rose up to worry a few of our older family members. Thankfully, the Church’s position on infant baptism had changed since our pre-Vatican 2 days in Catholic schools. As I learned when Kathy and I joined the Baptism Preparation team of our church in 1990, and began instructing parents and godparents about the rite of infant baptism, this sacrament required adult discernment, choice, and commitment before the holy water was poured. Baptism had ceased being an automatic christening ceremony and a safeguard against Limbo, where families simply came to listen to a priest recite prayers, anoint the baby with oils, and watch him pour water over the baby’s head. Baptism was a series of statements and vows that parents and godparents made to raise the child in the practice of the Catholic faith and to avoid sin. If the parents and godparents were not ready to fulfill these vows, baptism should be postponed until the children grew up and were old enough to decide themselves. Waiting a few extra months in insure that the right godparents and priest was present, seemed a good investment to make in Sarah’s faith formation. My only real worry about delaying the baptism was Sarah’s tolerance of a long and elaborate ceremony. A six-month old infant is a lot bigger, choosier, and more active than a two-month old, and the formal baptismal ceremony, with all the talking, anointing, and pouring of water, might make Sarah restless and irritable.

Sarah was baptized on May 19, 2011, in the same church where her parents were married, Our Lady of the Valley in Canoga Park. That Thursday afternoon was bright and sunny, with cloudless, blue skies and warm temperatures. Prisa and Joe brought Sarah to our house early, so she could eat, play, and nap before the ceremony. Although Sarah is a very active infant – rhythmically rocking her body from side to side when happy, or listening to songs and music, rolling over and reaching out for objects that intrigue her, or clanging together toys in her hands like a percussionist in an orchestra – she can also act like a precise scientist, studying a dividing cell under a microscope. In a way, she reminds me a lot of both her mother and uncle when they were children. Toñito would pull back and cautiously study people and objects before smiling, as if checking and judging them, while Prisa leaned forward with a smile, seeking to embrace the newest source of her interest. This unified tendency in Sarah was demonstrated throughout the afternoon, beginning with the preparations of getting her changed and dressed, the ceremony itself, and the continuous meeting and greeting of all the friends and relatives who came to celebrate this special event.

When 2:30 p.m. rolled around, Sarah was rested, fed, and alert when Kathy began changing and dressing her in her baptismal undergarment – a long, white, cotton slip. Sarah stared up at her, wide-eyed and curious, and fascinated with Kathy’s dangling, silver necklace. Kathy had to be deft and alert to the gyrations of an infant who could turn, roll over, and scoot away if the operation took too long. My job was to stand back and photograph the proceedings, suggesting poses of Sarah with Kathy and Lisa, her aunt and godmother, and later, action shots with her parents when they took her to the church. The most interesting photos were of Sarah’s encounter with her godfather and presider, Father Dave, in the sacristy of the church.

Dave is Prisa’s high school and college friend, who had just been ordained a priest in the Carmelite order five days before. He was the reason for the delay in the baptism because Prisa wanted him to be Sarah’s baptizing priest as well as godfather. Dave had met Sarah as a 6-week old infant on Christmas Eve, but no one really expected her to remember him. They met again in the sacristy, the room adjacent to the altar where the sacred vessels and garments are stored for the different services that take place in the church. As Dave searched the drawers and cupboards for the linens and material he needed, Prisa and Kathy dressed Sarah in the flowing white gown she would wear during the ceremony. It was there that Sarah spied the one person she didn’t recognize, and her eyes never lost sight of him. When Kathy noticed this fascination with the man in black, she lifted Sarah up to smooth and straighten her dress, and whispered into her ear.
“Sarah,” she said with a smile, “this is your godfather, Father Dave.”
I watched as Sarah turned her head sideways to study this man in the roman collar. Her steel blue eyes locked on Dave’s open face, his half-moon grin, and his dancing, bright brown eyes. Listening to Kathy’s cooing reassurances without betraying an immediate reaction, I watched a series of expressions materialize on her pink face: first, open-mouthed wonder, followed by frowning concentration, and culminating with a beautific smile and an accepting kiss on the lips.

My concerns about Sarah’s reaction to the baptism and behavior in church proved groundless – she was great during the entire ceremony. The only time she was noticeably antsy was during Dave’s homily, when she was more interested in bouncing on Lisa’s lap, fiddling with the myriad folds of her gown, and sticking different parts of her dress into her mouth. Alternately grimacing, smiling, and looking around the church, Sarah alternated her attention on the flowers, the decorations, and the lights of the church, occasionally giving off an exultant yelp of glee. When the parents and godparents finally moved to the baptismal fountain, Sarah entertained herself by playing with the strings of her bonnet. During this part of the rite, she alternated her attention on Dave, who was talking, reading, and moving about, and inspecting the large, glass container that looked like an open aquarium, with water flowing out into a tiled basin below. The interplay of the lights and sounds of cascading water, glazed glass, and colorful tile captured her attention, until Dave brought out the oversized, transparent jars containing the amber hued oils that would anoint her head, eyes, and mouth. Finally, she stayed calm and serene as Lisa carefully turned her on her back with her head hovering over the fountain of water. Keeping her eyes on Dave’s face, she didn’t seem to notice when he reached out and cupped a handful of water, pouring it gently over her head, and reciting the invocation: “Sarah Kathleen, I baptize you in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit”. He did this two more times, without a peep from the little girl in Lisa’s arms. After the water, there came another anointing of oil and more prayers. It was then that Sarah noticed the oversized Rite of Baptism book from which Dave was reading. She leaned forward, extended her hand, and grasped the side of the book. She pulled it toward her, and then brought the other hand down on the pages, as if to get a closer look at the words. Then she looked up at Father Dave as if to say, “What does it all mean?” That was a Kodak moment for sure, but the biggest hit was the lighting of the baptismal candle. Lisa had to climb a ladder to light it from the flame of the towering Paschal candle on the altar. Bringing the lit candle back to be held by the adults, as Dave recited an invocation, Sarah’s eyes never wavered from the dancing flame. She was great and everyone knew it. At the end of the ceremony, when Dave presented her to the audience as the newest child of God, Sarah looked up in surprise as the applause rose up and echoed off the walls. She even joined in.

Later that afternoon, near the end of the reception, when Prisa and Joe were opening Sarah’s baptismal gifts, they found and read my letter to her:

"My dearest Sarah Kathleen:

First of all let me tell you some things I’ve learned about you in the last six months: You are the best and most loveable Nena Chula in the whole world, and you were born to the best mother and father a child could have. Their love for you could hug the entire universe and hold it tight for as long as the image of your face and smile was in their minds to inspire them. You are a wondrous child whose wispy, golden hair glows a rosy orange when I carry you outdoors into the sunlight. There, in the freshness of morning, you stare intently through fathomless, steel blue eyes, and study the shapes, colors, and movements of the objects and people around you. What you think about them is still a mystery to us, because although you have already developed a wide spectrum of yelping, gurgling, and whirring sounds, you don’t speak yet. Instead you communicate through movements and actions. You flip over ceaselessly, from back to stomach, and stomach to back. You can leap skyward in your bouncy chair and grab, hold, and pull objects that excite your curiosity. You can spin 360° on your back and explore the length and breadth of any floor and carpet. Since the second day of your life you’ve been practicing the smile that you have today – a smile that illuminates a room and gladdens the hearts of the people who see it. Sarah, you have been learning and developing from the moment you took your first breath and opened your eyes in your mother’s arms, and today you were promised to God.

Today you were baptized into the Catholic Church and the faith of your parents, their parents, and the long line of parents before them. You participated in a rite in which you, besides already being a member of a large family that loves you, chose to be God’s Child, and a member of Christ’s Church. However, since you were too young to talk and choose for yourself, certain people were picked to speak for you. Those people were your mother and father, and two people they chose to help them and you in your quest for God – your Aunt Lisa and Father Dave, your godparents. They answered “yes” for you, to the questions Father Dave asked them before you were anointed with water. They promised that you would seek God and keep his commandments all of your life, as Christ taught us: by loving God and our neighbors.

Sarah, you are still a baby and this life-long journey can’t be taken alone. Just as you will need the help of your mom and dad to walk, talk, and act, all of the friends and family members who surrounded you today, also promised to help you learn about God. But even better, there is a miracle that comes with this sacrament. By becoming a Child of God, God also made a promise to you – that God’s love will never fail you. As water was poured over your head today, God will always shower you with the grace, love, and faith that you need. You will never be alone, my love, I promise you.

I know all of these words and ideas sound a little strange and hard to understand right now, but don’t worry. Just continue growing, learning, and smiling, the way you are. You see, saying “yes” to God is as easy and as natural as staring in wonderment at the beautiful world God created for us. You are already with God when I see the things you do each day; all you have to do is be Sarah Kathleen, my Nena Chula! For Jesus told us: “Let the children come to me. Don’t stop them, for the Kingdom of Heaven belongs to those who are like these children”(Mat. 19:14).

I love you, Nena Chula,

Poppy"

If you are interested in seeing my Flickr album of Sarah Kathleen’s Baptism, or a video of Father Dave’s Baptism Homily, click on the links below:

2011-5-19 Sarah Kathleen’s Baptism

Father Dave’s Message