BaptizMmmmm

(An idea I played with, but finally put together for my creative writing class. Please PLEASE COMMENT! Love you :D)

The parents leave their infant child behind in the chapel’s makeshift crib in front of the altar as they approach me, smiling. “Thank you, Father,” they tell me. I smile, nod and proceed with the ceremonial preparations. They tell me they want the ceremony to be traditional and without godparents. I agree. They’ve bestowed great power unto me. “We’re all sinners,” I tell them, “but God is ready to forgive this one.” Their smiles fade from joy, yet remain for the sake of being polite. Fifteen years and I can still tell the difference.
The family fills the pews, making the chapel seem smaller than it already is. The holy water fills the basin and is ready to receive the child. They all smile. They disgust me. They’re sinners who have yet to repent. But let the routine commence.

“In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit,” I perform the sign of the cross and they follow my lead. “We are gathered here today to wash this boy of the sins he carries from Adam and Eve.”

This child will become like the rest of these people: a sinner.

“Jesus said:
‘If anyone would come after me, let that person disregard themselves, take up their responsibility daily, and follow me.’”

Every single one of these disgusting beings have indulged in sins of many and categorically refused to follow Our Lord. I’ll be damned if this one follows them instead of Jesus.

“ For whosoever world save his life selfishly shall lose it, but whosoever loses their life for My sake shall save it.’”

I look down at the child in the crib of the altar.

In the name of the Lord, I bless you, young Christopher, for you will be your family’s saviour.

“Jesus further said:
‘Let the little children come unto me and forbid them not; for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these.’”

You are going home, Christopher. You will be the only one worthy of receiving Christ.

“Our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ instructs us that all should come to faith with the eyes and heart of a child.”

I look to Christopher again. He looks like every other child: pudgy limbs, bright eyes that open and close in confusion. Then, I look to the family. They gleam with pride. Sinners!

These old hands have blessed sinners time and time again, but this day will change that. I will bless one of true worth. You will be blessed forever.

I turn my back to the family to retrieve the basin. I stare Jesus’ statue in the face and bow to Him. I will do you right, My Lord. The gold of the altar shines brightly, reflecting into my eyes. I am sure of my deed. The necessity of a pure child these days is dire. You will forgive me, Lord. This much I have grown to understand, for I do all in your name.

“Today, we dedicate Christopher to Our God in this Baptism.” I speak slowly.

Cradling the child in my arms, our eyes connect and he releases a shrill squeal, the likes of which I had never heard. I lay him to rest in the crib again. Demon child! You will be exorcised of your sins and brought before your Lord and saviour, Jesus Christ, Son of Our God!

“Blessed is he,” I recite, tracing a cross of holy oil on Christopher’s forehead, “before Our Lord, Our God.”

The family watches anxiously. They believe in the purity that will come of this child and they will leech at it. They will suck at your purity if you live, Christopher. They are undeserving.

The basin, ready in front of the altar, glistens with the holy water. He’s coming, Lord.
I hover Christopher above the water.

“Christopher James MacKenzie, I baptise you in the name of the Father,” I will ease you into the water.

I lower the child into the water. He is approaching purity.

“The Son,” You belong to Our Lord, now, my son.

I raise him from the water. I lower him again, holding him beneath the water a little while longer this time.

“And in the Holy Spirit!”

The child emerges from the water a final time before I send him to the Lord. He unleashes the shrillest of squeals. My godson is holy now. Go to God!

I force his head under water, my hands being the bricks that form his path to the Lord and construct his abode in Heaven.

Shouts from the pews looking my way. Protest all you want, this child is sacred now.

A blow to the face by a fist whose hand I shook. The cross is missing from the altar. I look up to see the platform glued to the bottom of the cross is pummelled into my forehead. Lord, I’m not ready.

“You monster!” a woman’s voice cries out. The rest of the children in the chapel are led out as the men beat me mercilessly. Lord, I’m not worthy.

The mother weeps over Christopher’s corpse. The father beats me with bare fists.

“In the name of the Father!” he bellows as he lands a blow to my face.

“In the name of the Son!” he screams as his knuckles connect with my cheek.

“And in the name of the Holy Spirit!” he screeches as the platform of the cross is forced into my forehead.

Lord, I am ready.