A baptism...

This morning I went to a baptism.

I grew up Catholic, but I hadn't been to a mass in years.

As I sat there, mildly terrified of the looming audience participation (the part I always loathed in any mass), my mind wandered back to the seemingly endless Sundays I sat in the pews at St. Augustin's Church in lovely Des Moines, Iowa... and I reflected on my family church going coping mechanisms... which, embarrassingly, often focused on the boy-crush of the moment.

However...

my childhood meditation was interrupted by the stirring BIG DRAMA on the other side of the church.

There was a man standing in the doorway. The sun was at his back, and he was illuminated by the sun -- he looked like Jesus. Well, at least the depiction of Jesus on black velvet air brushed paintings. And I should know what Jesus looks like -- when I was 3, I identified a tall bearded random man (very loudly, as I recall) as Jesus as he walked down the aisle of my family's church. The parishoners thought that was hilarious... I didn't get it.

This dude, the sun-illuminated dude in the church, did not have the requisite beard. But he glowed. Like Jesus in all those paintings. Transfixed, I watched him. He did nothing but stand there. But, still, I stared.

AUDIENCE PARTICIPATION

Because I was a little distracted, I missed the priest's audience participation instructions. There was something about telling your neighbor they were beloved?

Oh, crap.

The woman next to me turned to me, took my hand, and with tears in her eyes, recited the line the priest had asked us to tell our neighbors.

I had a little panic attack.

My A.D.D. did not let me listen to the woman. I wanted to give her the same blessing she gave to me, but I had no idea what she said. I stalled. I thanked her. I held her hand. And then I said, "and the same to you."

Good one.

I feel like I denied this lovely woman a holy moment.

Oops.

I glanced at the Jesus man on the other side of the church. A woman standing next to him, post "you are the beloved" business, had put her arm around his and was leaning against him. About five seconds later, he brazenly pulled his arm away from her, turned, and walked out the door.

Gone.

Out of the church.

What the...

But then, yes, I'm paying attention, back to dunking and Jesus and all that. And then they dunk the children. Full on dunking. None of the baptismal sprinkle they did in Iowa. Full on naked baby in a fountain dunking. It was amazing. My friends' child was the most beautiful and holy of them all.

It was a beautiful thing.

Truly beautiful.

As my friends' child was being baptized, I suddenly understood something, despite my ADD, despite my questioning of Catholicism and organized religion.

I understood the power of tradition, and family, and of rituals. It was a beautiful discovery.

I feel truly honored to have been there.

Congratulations, my friends.

And thank you.