Scribbler

By scribbler

Font of New Life

Floor of the baptistery,
St. Mary's Cathedral of the Immaculate Conception.
Venetian tesserae mosaic.


I was baptized thirty-five years ago this month by Kelly, a Methodist minister, in a nondenominational church using the rite in the Episcopal Book of Common Prayer. Now I'm Catholic.

Interestingly, despite its insistence on exclusivity in many areas of religion the Catholic Church accepts any Christian baptism as valid. The water of baptism represents the Holy Spirit, and the flow of that water, that spirit, has continued to pour forth its blessings and mysteries in my life.

Every year on the anniversary of my baptism I remember the church, the commitment, the wonderful sense of a new beginning, and the minister who baptized me. I haven't seen him in many years. I learned a few months ago that he was now living in my city, but had been unable to contact him.

Yesterday Kelly entered new life. In the morning I was asked to pray for him in the aftermath of a massive stroke, and by last night he had died. I'm suddenly aware of many gifts he gave me that I have taken for granted. He led the first Bible study I ever attended. He taught me to think theologically. He introduced me to the communion of saints. He provided an atmosphere of ecumenism. He believed in miracles. I was instructed by his preaching and drawn to the daily Eucharist over which he presided. He sent me forth to minister, and I've been doing that in every way I can ever since.

I have learned over the years that relationships do not end with death. Sometimes they take on surprising new turns. I no longer have the chance to chat or laugh or debate with Kelly, but my life includes his life, and the new life he gave me through baptism continues to unfold.

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Father of all, we pray to you for all those whom we love but see no longer. Grant to them eternal rest. Let light perpetual shine upon them. May the souls of all the departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace. Amen.

All of us go down to the dust; yet even at the grave we make our song:
Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia.

Give rest to your servants with your saints,
where sorrow and pain are no more,
neither sighing, but life everlasting.


- Book of Common Prayer

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