No Bursting into Flames!

Caesar and I crossed the threshhold, and I held my breath, waiting for the righteous flames to engulf my gayness and turn me into a smoldeirng pile at the head of the church aisle.

That didn't happen, thank goodness.

A deacon was speaking to the congregation so we quietly found an empty pew near the back and listened. Caesar sat up as straight as he could to look for his niece and thought he spotted her very close to the front. I stared toward the front of the church, focusing on the deacon and feeling as though everyone knew that two gay men were seated at the back of the church. He spent much of the time talking about the 6 parts of a baptism, what they mean, how we can -- and should -- be following those rules everyday, but he spoke with a bit of hesitation. His sentences ended with "okay?" as if he wasn't sure that what he was saying were correct. Maybe it was nerves: he had to compete for the congregation's attention over crying babies, whispered conversations, and people constantly coming in and out the doors.

Caesar's sister found our pew and joined us, brining her parents, one of her daughters and the grandkids, one of whom promptly feel asleep in Caesar's arms and remained so throughout the event. In all, our little group took up almost two entire pews. It felt nice having so much family around to share in this; my own family is rather small: Mother, Father, Brother and his Wife, Grandmother, Autn, Uncle, and Cousin with his Husband. Most of us live withing 20 miles of one another, but trying to get us all together at the same time takes a Herculean effort.

When the Deacon's speaking ended, the Pastor approached the dais wearing a very heavy white robe with a greenish gold trim. I only mentioned it because the greenish gold matched the seemingly sequined walls that flanked him left and right. (Okay, they probably weren't sequined, but the light shimmered and waved from the tiles, giving that impression.) The Pastor spoke breifly about the baptism, then walked along the center aisle, rubbing drops of oil onto the heads of those to be baptised. Some children fussed rather loudly as he approached, but he continued with his task and returned to the front. He read a few words from The Bible then slowly proceeded to the font, explaining how the children and their Godparents would be called up by rows.

As the first child approached, many family members armed with digital cameras flashed pictures of the Pastor, of the child's head being tilted and lowered toward the font, of the water drizzled onto the head, of the Godparents and family members posing around the font. And repeated for each child. Until finally, toward the end, Caesar's great-niece approached and went through the motions. Neither of us is too sure what happened, but she did not look happy when leaving the font.

Once all the baptisms concluded, the Pastor again slowly walked along the center aisle, this time explaining that he was placing a fragrant oil on each child's head. Candles were lit be the Godparents, and that was it.

We met the rest of the family in the church courtyard then headed for a celebrational feast at Bahooka's in Rosemeade. The newly-baptised great-niece seemed pleasantly surprised when a huge bowl of punch with umbrellas, fruit, two long straws so she wouldn't need to lean forward to drink, and a flaming candle was presented to her. She ate most of the fruit, sipped frequently at the punch, and enjoyed being shown the dozens of fish tanks populting the restaurant. We all had a fine time, and my finger stopped hurting a while ago from the great-niece's baby sister using it as a teething ring.