For Wilshire Baptist Church
Last Saturday morning we attended the baptism of the baby daughter of a young woman we know. We don’t know the family well, but we were invited and we went to express our support. We were out of our element in every possible way except the one that matters most.
The baptism was at a predominantly Spanish-language Catholic church in old East Dallas. We arrived at the time given and before the family we knew arrived, but we quickly discovered it was the gathering time and not the start time. As we sat and waited, we also realized this was not a baptism for just the child we knew, but for five. We watched as different groups of people came in carrying a child dressed in white and settled in different quadrants toward the front of the sanctuary. They were joined by growing groups of family and friends, and I think we both exhaled with relief when the mother and child we knew arrived, confirming we were in the right place.
I’d been to a Catholic baptism once before, so I knew at least a little about what would happen. But because this baptism was in the Spanish language, we were somewhat adrift. Occasionally we heard words we understood — Jesús, Señor, María, niña, niño— but we didn’t know the exact context as the ritual moved along. Still, we saw actions we understood: the application of oil on the forehead of each child by the priest, the baptism with water gently poured on their heads, the blessing of the parents and godparents, and the family photographs around the baptized child afterward.
Along with the language difference, there were subtle cultural differences mostly evident in the way some participants dressed and interacted with each other. And, of course, there was a theological difference — the Catholic belief in the saving and sealing of the soul through the sacrament of baptism in contrast to our understanding of baptism as an expression of one’s commitment to a life focused on Christ. But, in the absence of a familiar language that might constrain and even prejudice our thoughts about what we were seeing, our spirits were free to simply witness a community loving each other and pledging to walk alongside these five children in their spiritual formation and growth.
Love is not owned by any one culture or religion; love speaks all languages. Love is universal, whether we’re witnessing the love of God for His children, the love of families for each other, or the love of believers for their God as they dedicate their children to a life baptized in love.