I'm not a religious person. As a child, my Presbyterian parents took me and my sisters to church every Sunday. As a child, I enjoyed the structure. As a teenager, I became wary of people telling me what I should an shouldn't think. The organization of the church began to creep me out, so I stopped going. Side note: I was never baptized.
Fast forward to after marrying my husband. When he was born, his Greek Mother had him baptized in the Greek Orthodox Church. According to my husband, it's very important to the Greeks that they are baptized. After that, their connection to the church is totally up to them. They can go to church, not go to church, whatever. Greek Orthodox God is totally cool with you. You will never see a Greek showing up at your door telling you how to worship. They'll give you unsolicited advice on EVERYTHING else, but God is a given (remember, my only source on this is my husband). So my husband wasn't a church-goer either.
Anyway, A few years ago, our life got OMG CRAZY. My husband's education and career became this downward spiral of betrayal, hostility, loss, and debt. Our marriage suffered. We had a new baby. He experienced a literal crisis of faith. He took this opportunity to reconnect to the Greek Orthodox Church. Ultimately, the effect of that connection has been very positive for him, and by association, me. So when he came to me and said he's like to have our 2-yo son baptized, I consented. It's only a few minutes right? Wrong.
I met with Father M. He's probably one of the sweetest people I've ever met. He explained to me what would be involved in this rather lengthy ritual. It would be about an hour from beginning to end. So I explained to him that Stefan is autistic and nonverbal. He will only understand a little of what's happening, and he won't be able to use any words to tell us what he needs. There will be some screaming, wriggling, and probably a LOT of running around the church. So the bargaining began. We came up with these ground rules:
-The ceremony will be on a Saturday, not a Sunday
-There will be no parishioners.
-Attendees will be: my father and stepmother, my husband's parents, my brother-in-law (we need him to be the godfather because he's the only other person we know who's a baptized in the church, and the godfather is the one who answers for the baby during the ritual because babies can't talk), his wife and son. And the priest. That's it. (There was a subsequent fight with my Mother-in-law who wanted to invite the WORLD.)
-We will take as many breaks as my son needs. If he melts down, we will retire to another room, regroup and try again.
-There will be no dunking in the font. Just pour a little water over his head.
-The anointing with oil has be fast fast fast.
-Same with the hair-clipping.
-The Eucharist will consist of a crumb of bread and a drop of wine - no promises on where this lands.
-Our son will not be traumatized by this in any way.
Father M. was more than happy to meet our requirements, but he was also really pushing for more passages read, icons blessed, etc. I guess the more ritual you have, the more baptized you are.
When the actual baptism day rolled around, I had some anxiety. While Father M.'s goal was to protect my son's afterlife, my goal was to protect his today. The whole ceremony went about as I expected: Father M. read his lengthy passages with great alacrity. While we stood in our appointed positions, facing this way and that, according to the ritual, my son squirmed in my arms, trying to get away. My husband read something. My brother in law read something. Father M. read more things. While all the reading was happening, I let my son walk around the church, while I followed, exercising maternal damage control. Luckily, he stopped at the pew where my Dad sat, and crawled up into his lap to sit there for a while (this made my Dad's whole day).
Then he got anointed. Off went the shirt, pants and shoes (diaper stayed on). I held him while Father M. applied olive oil to forehead, hands, feet, ears, and chest THREE TIMES. I tried my best not to giggle because my kid was laughing. That laughing stopped when I had to lean him over the font and Father M. quickly doused his noggin with warm water. I'll hand it to my kid. He wasn't that upset. He was more taken aback. He likes water, as rule. I also had to hand it to Father M. He was reciting scripture this whole time. Nice multi-tasking. Especially for a young priest. After that, he sent us back to the room to dry off (with his baptismal towel - I bought it at Target, but I guess it's all special and holy now) and regroup. Father M. would stay with the others and (you guessed it) recite more passages.
My boy had the most fun in the back room playing with his cousin. His cousin, who's still 1-yo, couldn't handle the church at all, so he stayed back there with his mom for most of the baptism. After a rousing game of beach ball toss with his cousin, we were called back to the church where we (mother/son/godfather) had to walk 3 times around the font while Father M. shook an incense burner. Did I mention Greek Orthodox is really big on 3rd time's the charm?
After that? The Eucharist! I grew up calling it "communion." When I was a little girl in the Presbyterian church, the Elders would hand out pieces of white bread dipped in grape juice from plates. This was not like that. This church is super-serious about their bread and wine. This is the part I was afraid of. My son has a sensory processing disorder and it's centered around food. He doesn't chew. He's really skeptical about food entering his mouth. It wouldn't be a big deal, except in this religion, if even a crumb gets spilled, the priest MUST eat it. There's a holy hand-towel that catches the crumbs so that they don't fall on the floor. So. My husband held the hand-towel. Father M. held the tiny spoon. I held the squirming, 45-pound autistic boy. This was not going to work. I turned around, and said out loud, "Dad? I need you." My Dad came running up. I handed him the boy, then held both his hands (so he wouldn't knock the spoon away), made a crazy face, and while my son mimicked me, I said, "Now!" Father M. popped in the spoon, and my kid ate the blood and body of Christ.
Phew. Achievement UNLOCKED.
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