My Baptismal Robe: A Twisted Tale

On the night before Easter, following an ancient Christian tradition, unbaptized converts to Catholicism receive the waters of baptism in a dignified service known as the Easter Vigil. Last year, it was my turn. At the tiny Church of the Epiphany in Georgetown, Washington D.C., I was the sole convert. With dozens of friends and acquaintances looking on, I approached the altar to receive the baptismal waters in an age-old re-enactment of Christ's death and resurrection to new life.

Swoosh! Away went 34 years of accumulated iniquity, cleansed in a moment by the priest's sacramental gesture. I was trying hard to concentrate on the momentousness of what had just happened, but I'm sorry to say that it just felt as though someone had spilled water on my head.

That was until the ceremony took an unanticipated turn, and I made a dreadful fool of myself. Like all freshly baptized Catholics, I was to be swathed in a white robe, symbolizing the grace and purity of my newly washed soul. "You have become a new creation and have clothed yourself in Christ," said the Rev. Winthrop Brainerd, as he majestically raised a length of heavy white fabric over my head.

As soon as he dropped the robe down, I knew something was amiss. My torso was quickly engulfed in cloth, and my face emerged slightly desperately at the top, but that robe wasn't going to slip down over my shoulders. I do not know exactly what happened, but I believe that Fr. Brainerd had inadvertently put my head into an armhole.

Now, Fr. Brainerd was not about to let a bit of recalcitrant cloth get in the way of the magnificent ceremony at hand. He began tugging at the robe, then yanking with some force, in an effort to get the armhole over my shoulders. Then my godmother, Cait Murphy, who was standing next to me, decided to pitch in. She and Fr. Brainerd began sawing back and forth with the uncooperative robe, rubbing it uncomfortably against my neck. This silent struggle went on for long, agonizing minutes. I was aware of the white faces of the two other priests in front of me, and of a packed and aghast church behind me. Sweat beaded on Fr. Brainerd's brow. The robe would not submit. I heard a distant snort of exasperation from someone in the congregation, and I began to panic.

"What an idiot I must look!" I wailed inwardly, remembering all the friends and acquaintances in the pews behind me. Some, I knew, were evangelical Protestants, who had come in Christian solidarity but with deep suspicion of Catholicism and its priests. Others were agnostics, and one a deist, whose skepticism of "organized religion" wouldonly be reinforced by this farcical display.

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