Dunkin' Toddlers
What do you call an Orthodox baptism in which the ratio of Jews to non-Jews in attendance is 9 (10 by the time of the party) to 5? A bar mikvah?
Have I mentioned that I've found the best Orthodox priest on the face of the earth? (Bishop Kallistos Ware is pretty cool, too.) I can't believe how lucky I got to have a religious identity forced upon my son through the hands of a women's-ordination-and-gay-marriage-supporting, tree-hugging leftist priest whom I've come to adore. In the end, I felt almost surprisingly comfortable about (most of) the baptism. Bubla bravely struggled through his thwarted nap-time crankiness and actually did very well. Father A. also spared him the properly kosher full-on dunking, since that would be impossible in that water receptacle at any point past 11 months or so. Unless he held him upside down and had him dive in for the second part of each immersion.
I know I should have been submerged in thought on the Mystery of Holy Baptism (and I tried, I really did), but my favorite moment was still when Bubla, mostly dry now and clothed in cotton Christening PJs (let's not kid ourselves) and an even softer vest, lay his angelic head on my shoulder and let me hold him tight as I watched the lone bit of curl peeking out from under his cap.
It's almost disturbing how feeling comfortable in a religious community makes one want to truly believe again, or believe in the first place. It doesn't really "work" even if you go on the premise that faith is a cultural construct. Faith is still faith in (a) God, right? In any case, speaking of communities, I sometimes wonder how much easier it would be to be a believer if I weren't situated in an academic milieu where going to church regularly - with the exception of paid gigs - is about as socially acceptable as taking your husband's name. Because, as scholars, of _course_ we respect and admire and give serious thought to religious traditions, as long as the devotees in question are not from the ranks of our colleagues. And then there's the unspoken hierarchy of religious practices that are more and less neutral in academic circles. Being and acting religiously Jewish, for example, tends to raise the fewest doubts about a person's critical thinking and intellectual activity in general, whereas going to a Hindu temple makes one less clever but worthy of a reverent nod from the ethnomusicologists. And being Mormon is completely out of the question. After all, Jesus coming to America in his lifetime and Joseph Smith conveying the evidence is just LUDICROUS, whereas God sending down his only son through spiritual intercourse with a rather young virgin is highly plausible. It must be, since "our" societies are largley based on that story. I mean, Mormonism is wacky. But wackier than the immaculate conception, the saints, the sacraments, and Jesus coming again to whoop the place into shape?
Yeah, you know it isn't.
Have I mentioned that I've found the best Orthodox priest on the face of the earth? (Bishop Kallistos Ware is pretty cool, too.) I can't believe how lucky I got to have a religious identity forced upon my son through the hands of a women's-ordination-and-gay-marriage-supporting, tree-hugging leftist priest whom I've come to adore. In the end, I felt almost surprisingly comfortable about (most of) the baptism. Bubla bravely struggled through his thwarted nap-time crankiness and actually did very well. Father A. also spared him the properly kosher full-on dunking, since that would be impossible in that water receptacle at any point past 11 months or so. Unless he held him upside down and had him dive in for the second part of each immersion.
I know I should have been submerged in thought on the Mystery of Holy Baptism (and I tried, I really did), but my favorite moment was still when Bubla, mostly dry now and clothed in cotton Christening PJs (let's not kid ourselves) and an even softer vest, lay his angelic head on my shoulder and let me hold him tight as I watched the lone bit of curl peeking out from under his cap.
It's almost disturbing how feeling comfortable in a religious community makes one want to truly believe again, or believe in the first place. It doesn't really "work" even if you go on the premise that faith is a cultural construct. Faith is still faith in (a) God, right? In any case, speaking of communities, I sometimes wonder how much easier it would be to be a believer if I weren't situated in an academic milieu where going to church regularly - with the exception of paid gigs - is about as socially acceptable as taking your husband's name. Because, as scholars, of _course_ we respect and admire and give serious thought to religious traditions, as long as the devotees in question are not from the ranks of our colleagues. And then there's the unspoken hierarchy of religious practices that are more and less neutral in academic circles. Being and acting religiously Jewish, for example, tends to raise the fewest doubts about a person's critical thinking and intellectual activity in general, whereas going to a Hindu temple makes one less clever but worthy of a reverent nod from the ethnomusicologists. And being Mormon is completely out of the question. After all, Jesus coming to America in his lifetime and Joseph Smith conveying the evidence is just LUDICROUS, whereas God sending down his only son through spiritual intercourse with a rather young virgin is highly plausible. It must be, since "our" societies are largley based on that story. I mean, Mormonism is wacky. But wackier than the immaculate conception, the saints, the sacraments, and Jesus coming again to whoop the place into shape?
Yeah, you know it isn't.