We've had enough snow which is now covering frozen icy-snow left over from our earlier storm that we have decided we are not going anywhere today or tomorrow. It will be "St. Peter's on YouTube" tomorrow at 10 AM.
Over at the Lectionary Page, I am reminded that the first scriptural manifestation of the glory of God in this Epiphany Season is the Baptism of Jesus. That will be followed by the Wedding Feast at Cana, the first sermon of Jesus in the Temple, and then The Feast of the Presentation in the Temple.
Yes, the time sequence of his lifeline is way off, but it is in keeping with the organizing principle of The Church Fathers: Truth by Blatant Assertion.
My meditation and prayer time this morning was filled with the memories of a woman I baptized in 1998, 27 years ago when I was Canon Missioner to The Oasis in the esteemed Diocese of Newark (New Jersey).
She announced herself a transwoman within seconds after entering my office but she needn't have. She was dressed like an old, dowdy librarian, complete with a pleated skirt, cardigan sweater over a blouse with a Peter Pan collar, wearing argyle socks and penny loafers. Black. With an actual penny in them.
She had that "librian's edge," you know? I felt like any minute she would raise her eyebrow, put a finger over her lips, and silently tell me to hush.
It was only a matter of seconds after we exchanged pleasantries that she came abruptly to the point. She was a transwoman. She had undergone both medical and surgical treatment. Her birth certificate and driver's license now reflected her true identity. Now, she wanted her baptismal record to do the same.
"I want, I need, I must," she said, with a tinge of anger that anticipated rejection, "be re-baptized."
I can only imagine her anxiety. Taking on the medical establishment, the town hall and the DMV were small potatoes compared with taking on the institutional church.
I tried to win her confidence by explaining that I thought I had a small inkling about why this was important to her. I told her the story of the time, in 1980, when I wanted to legally change my name - not back to the name I had before I was married (quaintly referred to as a "maiden name"), but to a family name.
We were living in Maine. I went to the husband of a coworker who was an attorney. He handed me some forms and told me to fill them out and then have my husband sign his . . . ready for this? . .. **permission** for me to change my name.
I won't go into all the details here, but it provided me enough credibility with this transwoman to help her understand that I at least had some empathy for her request.
She honored that by trusting me with the story of her journey which, 27 years ago, was a fairly horrific tale.
I then carefully and gently explained the theology of "one baptism" but also assured her that I understood her request. I promised that I would talk with the bishop, Jack Spong at the time, and call her as soon as I had an answer.
I met with Jack the next day and apprised him of the situation. Just as I thought, he loved the challenge. One of the best parts of the job was being present in those moments when I could see his theological mind working things through.
He said, "Well, Elizabeth, to my understanding, we don't baptize bodies, we baptize souls. God knew who she was even before she or anyone else understood her complete identity."
"We baptized her soul, not her gender," he said. "What she is looking for is some recognition of that fact from the church."
"So, it seems to me that the challenge before us is to develop some ritual, some liturgy, which acknowledges her identity as a child of God, her status as a fully baptized member of the church, and welcomes the wholeness and holiness of her body and soul into the church."
Jack was nothing if not a pragmatist so I was mildly surprised when he called me a few hours later to insist that this liturgy must include all the symbolic elements of the baptism: Water. Alit candle. A white robe. The Lord's Prayer in its traditional form. Of course, the renewal of Baptismal Vows. Instead of "I baptize you," we should say, "I name you . . . in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit."
When I called her to tell her all this, there was a long silence at the other end of the phone. Just as my anxiety caused me to squirm in my seat, I heard a huge sob and realized that she was crying.
When she was able she said, "Oh, this is so much more than I thought would be possible. I was convinced it wouldn't happen. That's because I had listened to all the haters who told me that who I am is against the will of God. That's not true, is it?"
No, it's not, I told her. The only things left to do are to find a rector and a church you can join, pick out your sponsors and a date, and get ready to say, in honesty and integrity and all truth, "The Episcopal Church Welcomes You."
I think the most important sentence in Luke's telling of the baptism of Jesus is: "You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased."
We all need that recognition. We all need that affirmation. With recognition and affirmation, we can find the confidence to be the whole person God has created us to be, body, mind, and soul.
I remember saying with great confidence the prayer just before we "named" her. I especially love this part: "Sustain her, O Lord, in your Holy Spirit. Give her an inquiring and discerning heart, the courage to will and to persevere, a spirit to know and to love you, and the gift of joy and wonder in all your works. Amen."
" ... the courage to will and to persevere..." Amen. Amen. Amen.
Now, of course, we have several "Naming Liturgies" in the approved liturgical resource Enriching Our Worship. Back then, however, we were pretty much on our own.
Looking back, all in all, I think we did okay. As a brother activist once said to me, "We didn't know we were on 'the cutting edge' of theology. We only knew that, when we tried to do new things, it hurt and it drew blood."
I know she went on, in the words of the Confirmation Prayer, to "daily increase in your Holy Spirit more and more," eventually becoming Head Librarian in her town, where she was loved and cherished by children and adults, the elderly and infirmed, the rich and the poor, of all races, ethnicities and genders, for being the frumpy, quirky, unique, intelligent, caring, compassionate person God intended when she was created.
I hope something good happens to you today.
Bom dia.
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