Sunday morning three children were baptized at the end of our church service. The Pastor called all the family members to
come forward and to stand close so they could see their loved ones baptized.
There were Mothers, Fathers, brothers and sisters, a smattering of
grandparents and an Aunt or two from out of town. After
the family members stood close—the congregation was invited to move from their
pews down to the front and get as close to the Baptismal pool as they could. The most moving part of that service was when the Pastor’s
eleven year old daughter stood waist-deep in the water as her Daddy-Pastor
raised his hand and intoned the baptismal formula. His voice broke under the
emotion of the hour.
Looking around, I saw a young man in his forties. My son’s
age. In fact he and my son were buddies. And I suddenly remembered that special
time when they were baptized one evening years ago. After Sunday's service I went
down to see my son’s friend. I hugged him and asked, “Do you remember?” “Oh
yes,” he said, “I do remember.”
I remembered too. The year was 1978. It was a Sunday summer
afternoon. We were scheduled to baptize that evening. But there was a hitch.
When we got to the church we discovered that someone had forgotten to fill the
baptistery. No water. We had planned the service carefully around one
particular young man who was to be baptized. His father was seriously ill with
cancer. We had structured this service between chemotherapy treatments when the
father was not so sick. We had asked the father to have the baptismal prayer
for his son and the other candidates. So, as happens so often in church, we had
to come up with a contingency plan. We called a family in the church with a
swimming pool and asked if we could have our service there.
I was heartsick. My own son was to be baptized. This man
with cancer had come with great pain to participate in his own son’s baptism. I
could just see people standing around snickering. But this was not the case.
Something happened that late afternoon with the sun setting and the birds singing.
The grace of God moved among us and across that water. None of us present will
ever forget that particular baptism. One of the things that made that service
so special was the bald-headed father dying of cancer. He pulled from his
pocket a prayer he had written for his nine-year old son and the other
candidates. This is what he prayed.
“Heavenly Father, at this time we would like to dedicate
these young people to You as they choose to become members of Your intimate
family through the sacrament of Baptism. Remember how you led Your chosen
people out of Egypt by Your show of power at the waters of the Red Sea? Please
show the same power for these boys tonight and protect them as You protect us
all of Your children. Remember how You led Your chosen people through the
waters of the River Jordan to let them enter the Promised Land? Please lead
these boys through the trials and joys of life to the heaven You promise to
those who follow Your way. Remember how You gave salvation to the world by the
blood and water that flowed from your Son’s side on the cross? Please give the
same salvation to these boys as they enter the waters of baptism as Your
adopted sons. Remember how You sent the
Holy Spirit to Your close followers on Pentecost and gave them the courage to
be brave Christians in their words and actions. Please send the same Holy
Spirit into these boys tonight so that they can carry out Your teachings in
their lives. Be with us all. Heavenly Father, so that we can also live out the
power of our baptism in our own lives. Amen.”
It was a holy night standing there by the swimming pool. When the candidates had dried
off, the Father with the bald head did a wonderful thing. He opened his
car doors and the boys piled in and he took them down to McDonald’s for a
baptism celebration.
This was the Father’s last public appearance. He was a
Catholic and I remember when they brought his casket through the doors of the church. There was a quiet pause just before they rolled the coffin down the aisle. The Priest took a tiny vial
of water—flung it on the casket and said: “Bernie Caffrey has been baptized!”
And the water shimmered and glistened on the top of the casket.
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| photo by Fr Lawrence Lew, O.P. / flickr --Roger Lovette / rogerlovette.blogspot.com |
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