My Road to Baptism (Part 6): Baptism Came Without Warning

For a while, my weekly lessons were just between the priest and me.

Then another person joined us.

She was slightly older than I was and had been baptised Catholic many years before, but had spent a long time away from the Church. I’ll call her Satomi here.

When Satomi heard that I was studying in preparation for baptism, she said that she wanted to begin again from the beginning.

And so there were two of us.

Meanwhile, after several months of attending Sunday Mass, I was slowly beginning to know people at church. Some of them invited me to talks and study meetings at religious houses.

Without really noticing it, my life was becoming increasingly connected with the Church.

The form appeared without warning

About eight months after I had begun attending Mass and my weekly lessons, the priest suddenly handed me a sheet of paper at the end of one of our sessions.

“Oh, fill this in.”

Homework?

No.

It was an application for baptism.

…

Once again, there had been absolutely no warning.

I had assumed baptism was still much further away, so I was genuinely surprised.

I was baptised at Christmas, and I think this happened sometime in October.

At my parish, adults who began their preparation in spring were often baptised at Christmas, unless there was a particular reason to wait longer or the person wished to do so.

Apparently, the priest had been planning my lessons with that timetable in mind.

I, however, had no idea.

Part of me thought:

“I still don’t think I’ve learnt enough. Is this really all right?”

But I was also very happy.

So I filled in the form.

A godmother, chosen rather quickly

There were still a few things to decide before my baptism.

One was my sponsor — in my case, a godmother.

A baptismal sponsor stands with the person being baptised and is traditionally expected to support them in their life of faith afterwards.

The problem for many adult converts in Japan is rather simple.

When you are new to the Church, you may not yet know many Catholics well enough to ask.

That was certainly true for me.

The priest considered the matter.

Then he said:

“Well, why not Satomi?”

A was the woman who had been studying with me.

And just like that, my godmother was decided.

Apparently, this priest had a gift for making important decisions sound remarkably casual.

And then there was my baptismal name

I also needed to choose a baptismal name.

Catholics often take the name of a saint or an angel, sometimes because they feel a particular connection with that figure.

I imagined this might involve some thoughtful discussion.

Perhaps the priest would consider my personality.

My work.
My life.
My faith.

Perhaps he would tell me about several saints and say:

“I think this saint might suit you.”

That is not what happened.

The priest said:

“Satomi's baptismal name is Clare. Wouldn’t it be amusing if you chose Francisca?”

…

That was his suggestion.

Saint Clare of Assisi was a follower and close spiritual companion of Saint Francis of Assisi, and later founded the Order of Poor Ladies, now known as the Poor Clares.

So, apparently, if my godmother was Clare, I could be Francisca.

I have to admit, I found the idea rather funny.

I already loved the Prayer of Saint Francis and the landscapes of Assisi.

And I liked the priest’s unexpected suggestion.

So I simply said yes.

The name that stayed with me

That was how Francisca became my baptismal name.

At the time, Pope Francis had also chosen the name Francis, and somehow it felt like a good name to have.

Looking back now, I am slightly amused by how casually the decision was made.

These days, with my growing fondness for Latin and Gregorian chant, I might have become far more particular about the name — perhaps even insisting on a Latin form.

But perhaps it is just as well that I chose it before I became quite so obsessive.

The name stayed with me.

And years later, its Italian form, Francesca, became part of the name of my rosary work:

Rosary Francesca.

At the time, of course, I had no idea.

I was simply sitting in a priest’s room, agreeing rather cheerfully to a name suggested because my future godmother was called Clare.

Some decisions begin very quietly.

And only much later do we realise how far they have travelled with us.

A small note about the name

There is one more small detail about the name.

The saint is Saint Francis of Assisi.
In Italian, his name is Francesco.
In Latin, it is Franciscus.

My baptismal name became Francisca.

Years later, when I began making rosaries, I chose the Italian form, Francesca, for my work.

Perhaps, if I had chosen the name now, with my current fondness for Latin and Gregorian chant, I might have insisted on something more Latin.

But I rather like the way it happened.

A name suggested almost casually became part of my prayer, my work, and my small rosary brand.

That feels very fitting now.