A few years ago, I met up with my parents in our hometown. We spent a few days visiting various relatives. One day, I asked my mom if we could stop by the Roman Catholic church where I was baptized  as a 16-day-old infant. I’d always wanted to see the font where, like Archbishop Michael Ramsey said “my Christian life began.”

We went up to the church, and, not surprisingly, found it locked. After hunting around, we found the secretary who graciously let us in to look around. We wandered around for a while, trying to find the illusive baptismal font. Finally, I said to my mother, “Look at that! I know I wasn’t baptized in that!”

My baptism took place in early 1965, long before the liturgical revolution that changed the way we look at baptism. An explanation of that liturgical movement would be a whole other blog in and of itself, but suffice it to say that many traditional catholic churches made a move in the seventies to go back to the practices of the early church – baptism at the Easter Vigil and full immersion among them.  The current baptismal font really looked a lot like a spa tub.

“Well, the old font has to be around here somewhere,” I told my mom. We looked and looked and finally went back to find the secretary. She was outside talking with a parishioner. When we asked our question they looked at each other with one of those “uh-oh” kind of looks.

“Is it in the garage?” asked the parishioner.


“Yes, I think so,” replied the secretary.


“Garage?” I asked.


“A while back, one of the priests had the old altar taken down and the marble turned into that “jacuzzi” in the church. He wasn’t very popular.”

Clearly these two ladies were long-time, maybe even life-long members who’d seen lots of priest come and go. So I asked, cautiously, if it would be possible to go to the garage to “where my Christian life began.”
Oh sure, they said, and took us back into the building. On the parking lot side, there was a large 4-car garage. The secretary opened the doors for light and then pointed to a dark corner, behind a lot of debris. My heart sank. There, in a corner, behind a lot of junk, covered with dust and cobwebs, was the font were it all started for me. I managed to swallow the comments that came to mind, and exchanging a few glances with my mother, asked the secretary if she thought the priest would want to sell it. I left my name and phone number, but haven’t heard anything. That might be a good thing, because when I got back into the car, it began to dawn on me that it would be awfully hard to move a big hunk of marble and I didn’t have the slightest idea of what I would do with it if I had it.

When this quest started I had planned to take a picture of the font and hang it in my office above my ordination certificates as an object lesson that baptism is more important than ordination. I hope you have heard that before. If not, let me say it again: baptism is more important that ordination. We are born as creatures. Baptism is what makes us Daughters and Sons of God. Baptism is what seals us as Christ’s own forever. Baptism is our fishing license in the Kingdom of God.
Baptism is, as appropriate to this time of year, what makes us saints. A saint isn’t a person who was better at being a Christian than anyone else. A saint is a person who has been justified by Christ, whose sins have been forgiven in the waters of baptism and who has been adopted into the family of God. Sure, there are people we call Saint with a capital S: St. Margaret, St. Stephen, St. Andrew, to name a few. But contrary to what you may have been taught, All Saint’s Day isn’t about just the capital S Saints. It’s “For all the Saints.” Have you ever noticed the tune name at the bottom of the page of that great hymn? Ralph Vaughn Williams titled the tune Sine Nomine: without name. Or, witness my other favorite All Saints’ Day hymn:

They lived not only in ages past,

there are hundreds of thousands still,

the world is bright with the joyous saints

who love to do Jesus’ will.

you can meet them in school

 or in lanes or at sea,

in church or in trains,

or in shops, or at tea,

for the saints of God are just folk like me,

and I mean to be one too.

Although I’m still disappointed about my baptismal font, I know I need to get over it. Being married isn’t about just that moment of standing in front of the altar. It’s about living in what author Gail Godwin calls “the grace of daily obligation.” It’s about shooting for the mark of being faithful to another to the best of one’s ability, and seeking the good of the other above one’s one. Likewise being baptized, i.e. being a saint, means living in the “grace of daily obligation” to God. We are called to try, to the best of our ability to love God with our whole heart and to try to do God’s will in the world. That’s what being a saint is all about. And I mean to be one too!