Hi readers,
Yesterday I went to a baptism. It was in Aylesbury, England for a particularly adorable little British baby named Willoughby James (which I happen to think adds to his particular adorability). The church of St. Mary the Virgin in Aylesbury happens to have a 12 Century baptismal font, which was pretty remarkable. The vicar (another adorable, British-type of a word) said there is actually a whole class of fonts named after the one little Willoughby was baptized in. I didn't even know there were classes of fonts. To be honest, I didn't even know it was called a font. So that was a wonderful learning opportunity.
I hadn't been to a baptism in 13 years (the last one was for my oldest nephew). I paid more attention this time. The ceremony hinges on making various promises about protecting the child's welfare. The congregation states "I do" and "We do" and takes witness on all various sorts of things. I left feeling accountable for little Willoughby. So did everyone else. As I wobbled back through the snow in the countryside cobble-stoned graveyard, there was a greater sense of family and familiarity among the group. (I think. It's possible I was confused by their endlessly friendly-sounding British accents.)
There is a power in the ritual of making promises. It feels sacred. It brings people closer together. It provides strength. Promise-making ceremonies are found through society from religion to therapy, from weddings to marriage counseling. I make promises to myself often, but am always shy about making them public and saying them out loud (I'm quite good at typing them though. Clearly). I was happy to bring my promises to a more public forum. I found it quite powerful.
Yesterday I went to a baptism. It was in Aylesbury, England for a particularly adorable little British baby named Willoughby James (which I happen to think adds to his particular adorability). The church of St. Mary the Virgin in Aylesbury happens to have a 12 Century baptismal font, which was pretty remarkable. The vicar (another adorable, British-type of a word) said there is actually a whole class of fonts named after the one little Willoughby was baptized in. I didn't even know there were classes of fonts. To be honest, I didn't even know it was called a font. So that was a wonderful learning opportunity.
I hadn't been to a baptism in 13 years (the last one was for my oldest nephew). I paid more attention this time. The ceremony hinges on making various promises about protecting the child's welfare. The congregation states "I do" and "We do" and takes witness on all various sorts of things. I left feeling accountable for little Willoughby. So did everyone else. As I wobbled back through the snow in the countryside cobble-stoned graveyard, there was a greater sense of family and familiarity among the group. (I think. It's possible I was confused by their endlessly friendly-sounding British accents.)
There is a power in the ritual of making promises. It feels sacred. It brings people closer together. It provides strength. Promise-making ceremonies are found through society from religion to therapy, from weddings to marriage counseling. I make promises to myself often, but am always shy about making them public and saying them out loud (I'm quite good at typing them though. Clearly). I was happy to bring my promises to a more public forum. I found it quite powerful.
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