Baptism day, adoption day
Due to our extended family living out of town, we decided to have my son Peter’s baptism over Labor Day weekend. He was due August 15, so it seemed like no problem. Until days went by after the due date, and then a whole week. I started to worry that he would miss his own big day! Finally, we induced at Due Date +9, and he was baptized just over a week after being born. This worked out very well for me, as everyone took pity and handled all of the party details.
Two and a half months later I had much more to be grateful for than being excused from cooking and cleaning for my guests. As Peter lay in a pediatric ICU crib, I was profoundly thankful that he had already been baptized. Not to say we could not have performed the simple ritual ourselves, or had one of the priests who visited us do the honors — we had plenty of warning that things were serious in the days before his death. What we were happy for was that if his life was to be very short, he had lived almost all of it as a child of God, full of sanctifying grace.
Baptism matters. It today’s culture it is tempting to view it only as a simple rite of passage, like sending birth announcements or having 3 month photos taken. Baptism, like all sacraments, would blow our minds if we could see past the visible symbols to the spiritual realities. The fact is that baptism makes us God’s children.
Consider this analogy. We are in the process of adopting our youngest daughter. This experience has made me think a lot about our relationship to God, since we are all his adopted sons and daughters through baptism. Take for example my little girl, born in some maternity care unit to some woman whom I have never met. Do I have any claim to her at that point? No. Am I responsible to pay her medical bills, or to wake up at 3 a.m. to feed her or to raid the clearance rack at Carter’s for an adorable pink sleeper for her? No. At that point she is not my child. In justice, I owe her none of those things.
Once my daughter was placed in my care, however, what would have previously been gratuitous generosity instantly became a duty. I now owe this stranger’s baby those late night feedings, burping and diaper changes. I owe her this because she is no longer a stranger’s baby. She is now my daughter.
This is the heart of baptism. Due to the unfortunate entry of sin into the world, we are now born strangers to God. He does not owe us anything. Of course he showers us with all kinds of blessings anyway, like an earth that supports our needs and the very fact that we still exist. He even provides actual graces to the unbaptized that can lead to conversion. Once we are baptized, God the philanthropist does the unimaginable — he binds himself to us as our Father. He takes us into his very family and cares for us tenderly as his own children. The graces are now permanent parts of our souls (provided we don’t drive them out through mortal sin), and extra helpings are promised through the sacraments.
On hearing of our new baby, many have commented that she is so lucky to have us as parents. This is a very well-intentioned sentiment, designed to complement our parenting. But a quick and sincere rebuttal always rises swiftly in my heart: No, we are the lucky ones! There is not a day that goes by when I do not return my baby’s adorable smiles when I do not feel like I won the lottery. Granted, given the ratio of waiting couples to babies placed in domestic adoption, we really did win a sort of lottery.
I think this is insight into the heart of God the Father. He has sacrificed everything for us, down to the life of his only Son. He has patiently offered us everything, even when we coldly reject him. And yet, he does not hold those things over our heads. He just loves being our Dad. As we are raised out of the waters of baptism, he smiles on us as we do over our own kids — he delights in our every coo and smile. If he didn’t have a perfect timeless memory, he’d take a ton of pictures. He is crazy in love with us. We are his kids.