It was a lovely ceremony—except for all the screaming babies. I’d been invited to a christening, and, as a godless Jew, had very little idea what to expect. I anticipated only my friends’ child taking the Nestea plunge, but no, there were seven local infants making an especially holy racket.
And what was a christening, anyway? Would we be slapping a bottle of champagne against the side of an ocean liner? Christening. The word was meaningless to me. Sounded like something I’d find touted on a Stouffer’s microwaveable product: “New! Revolutionary christening sleeve!” Christianity, Christmas, christening—ok, ok, we get it, you like Christ. There are other prefixes, you know. You don’t see my people calling the circumcision ceremony a “jewsnip,” do you?
Entering the church, I was once again taken aback by the step-by-step images of the crucifixion on the walls. I’ve been to the John F. Kennedy House in Massachusetts, and the place isn’t all adorned with blown-up stills from the Zapruder film.
I scanned the crowd, and felt slightly underdressed in my trademark v-neck sweater. It was bad enough that I had to shower and shave on a Saturday; I was absolutely not putting on a jacket and tie. But I hoped I didn’t stand out too much–I kept imagining that a spotlight would beam down on me and the priest would bellow out, “Juden!!”
Actually, Father Frank seemed like a pretty groovy dude. He wore a white junior-Pope get-up (talk about standing out) and was rocking one of those wireless, Time-Life operator microphone headsets. It was one of those “flesh-colored” models that, instead of blending in with the skin, end up just looking like an unfortunate growth.
Father Frank kicked things off by asking each set of parents what name they had chosen for the child, and what they were asking of the church. “Baptism” was the answer to the second question. They all said baptism. Was there any other possible answer? “Martinizing”?
The children were anointed with oil, from a container that looked suspiciously like a salad-dressing decanter. Then a rejecting of Satan, the baptism itself, something with a candle, and then the babies were given a special bib. There were three images on the bib: A cross with a looped “eyebolt” top (for easy hanging?), a candle, and some waves. I have no idea how these items are connected, and imagine I would suck at Christian Pictionary.
Afterwards, my friends had a reception at a nearby restaurant called, no lie, “Trinity.” So I was pretty christianed out by the end of the day. However, I’m left thinking that it’s not such a bad idea, stating for the record that a kid is free of sin, and on a path toward righteousness. Evil will certainly rear its head soon enough, so why not take a stand on the side of good.
Plus, hey, free bib.
Jack Silbert, curator