The Adult Baptism And A Rebirth Of Faith
Without Prejudice
I went to a ceremony today. A tradition. A Church.
I haven't been inside a church for a long time. I was raised a Presbyterian, a very solemn remembrance of hymns and interminable sermons which as a child I hated. I thought at times they would never end, so dry and forgettable. My Dad was an Elder of the Church, both parents regular church goers until my brother Jamie died. We were all baptised as babies of a few months my Siblings and I. In the U.K.
I loved Sunday School however. My sister and I wore dresses, gloves, boleros and hats. We carried little precious plastic handbags in which we placed our " stamps ". Paper stamps of pictures of the scriptures in glorious gold, blues, reds. They were highly prized and when we arrived home for Sunday lunch we would sing all the hymns we had learned.
Jackie was 5 years older than I with a powerful voice and I was so jealous of her, learning new songs all the time like Calvary while I was still stuck back at Yes Jesus Loves Me. But we sang when we are at home, all of us, product of a musician Dad, we were like our own little Glee club. My older brother Ian was a Sunday a School Teacher, a big honour at the church. And Mum and a Dad, of course, were members of the Church Social Club.
We were English and Scottish kids, ten pound Poms, very polite with immaculate manners, never spoke at the table, swore, cussed, blasphemed or spat. We never heard our parents swear either although Mum blasphemed a lot after Jamie died. We were always shocked and told her off but she was uncaring. As little nerds we were bullied a lot. So we started fighting back, after all we were from a a Superior race to the low class Aussies and that caused further clouts around the ears.
So the Church I went to today I viewed with a healthy trepidation. I am not a fan of Happy Clappy
And yelling out in Church, forget it! I have been to one or two of those type of Churches and always felt it was " Too American " and as a British Subject tend to disdain anything American, French, other foreigners, other cultures, and other countries, my Brother would say I'm a nationalist I prefer to call it Snob.
I became lost, of course, I always get lost it's a rotten quirk of mine. But I pulled up to an older man and delightfully he knew where the Church was and was going there too. I walked into a cafe ??
And was greeted with open arms, open handshakes, smiles. My youngest daughter being baptised in her thirties. Everyone seemed to know me and I was happy as I tend to be quite a shy person in public.
Through the cafe was a conference room, large, luxurious, beautifully decorated, rows of chairs flanked like little soldiers of God. I was as ever, awed. I had been to the largest Catholic Cathedral in Dublin, my old Irish Fiancé an un devout Catholic. But there was a special service held there when we arrived, for his Father who had died suddenly at 55. He never cried one tear for his Dad, not when he first found out, not at The Special Mass. He said he was a bastard as only an Irish uneducated man could be. Pious. Banging on the floor upstairs to the Mother,
"Chris, tea "
So this new Church was not the stone walled, cold, pious place of my childhood, but a warm cocoon. No pulpit, no altar, just a big tank of water, a stage, musical instruments. I felt the temperature of the water, beautifully warm. Four people were being baptised. My daughter went first. Bathers and a tee shirt. A ceremony and a backward immersion of the head and all done. A rebirth.
Then songs, prayers, a short thought provoking sermon and more baptisms. This time three teenage sisters. Their Mother was so happy. They had only discovered the Church six weeks before. I thought that was fabulous given all the things teens have to " get through " these days. So many distractions that I didn't have as a kid or teen, thank God.
My daughter was beaming. I never christened the girls as babies, stating that I wanted them to make their own decisions.
I went to a ceremony today. A tradition. A Church.
I haven't been inside a church for a long time. I was raised a Presbyterian, a very solemn remembrance of hymns and interminable sermons which as a child I hated. I thought at times they would never end, so dry and forgettable. My Dad was an Elder of the Church, both parents regular church goers until my brother Jamie died. We were all baptised as babies of a few months my Siblings and I. In the U.K.
I loved Sunday School however. My sister and I wore dresses, gloves, boleros and hats. We carried little precious plastic handbags in which we placed our " stamps ". Paper stamps of pictures of the scriptures in glorious gold, blues, reds. They were highly prized and when we arrived home for Sunday lunch we would sing all the hymns we had learned.
Jackie was 5 years older than I with a powerful voice and I was so jealous of her, learning new songs all the time like Calvary while I was still stuck back at Yes Jesus Loves Me. But we sang when we are at home, all of us, product of a musician Dad, we were like our own little Glee club. My older brother Ian was a Sunday a School Teacher, a big honour at the church. And Mum and a Dad, of course, were members of the Church Social Club.
We were English and Scottish kids, ten pound Poms, very polite with immaculate manners, never spoke at the table, swore, cussed, blasphemed or spat. We never heard our parents swear either although Mum blasphemed a lot after Jamie died. We were always shocked and told her off but she was uncaring. As little nerds we were bullied a lot. So we started fighting back, after all we were from a a Superior race to the low class Aussies and that caused further clouts around the ears.
So the Church I went to today I viewed with a healthy trepidation. I am not a fan of Happy Clappy
And yelling out in Church, forget it! I have been to one or two of those type of Churches and always felt it was " Too American " and as a British Subject tend to disdain anything American, French, other foreigners, other cultures, and other countries, my Brother would say I'm a nationalist I prefer to call it Snob.
I became lost, of course, I always get lost it's a rotten quirk of mine. But I pulled up to an older man and delightfully he knew where the Church was and was going there too. I walked into a cafe ??
And was greeted with open arms, open handshakes, smiles. My youngest daughter being baptised in her thirties. Everyone seemed to know me and I was happy as I tend to be quite a shy person in public.
Through the cafe was a conference room, large, luxurious, beautifully decorated, rows of chairs flanked like little soldiers of God. I was as ever, awed. I had been to the largest Catholic Cathedral in Dublin, my old Irish Fiancé an un devout Catholic. But there was a special service held there when we arrived, for his Father who had died suddenly at 55. He never cried one tear for his Dad, not when he first found out, not at The Special Mass. He said he was a bastard as only an Irish uneducated man could be. Pious. Banging on the floor upstairs to the Mother,
"Chris, tea "
So this new Church was not the stone walled, cold, pious place of my childhood, but a warm cocoon. No pulpit, no altar, just a big tank of water, a stage, musical instruments. I felt the temperature of the water, beautifully warm. Four people were being baptised. My daughter went first. Bathers and a tee shirt. A ceremony and a backward immersion of the head and all done. A rebirth.
Then songs, prayers, a short thought provoking sermon and more baptisms. This time three teenage sisters. Their Mother was so happy. They had only discovered the Church six weeks before. I thought that was fabulous given all the things teens have to " get through " these days. So many distractions that I didn't have as a kid or teen, thank God.
My daughter was beaming. I never christened the girls as babies, stating that I wanted them to make their own decisions.
