My Road to Baptism (Part 8): A Christmas Baptism

Christmas was now only a month away.

There was just one thing I still needed to prepare.

A white veil.

I had been told that after baptism it would be placed over my head as a sign of receiving the white garment of new life.

The sister kindly gave me one as a gift.

I folded it carefully and waited for Christmas.

Waiting for the day

In the early Church, baptisms were usually celebrated at Easter, and those who were baptised wore white garments to show that they had become new in Christ.

Today, in my parish, women preparing for baptism wore a white veil instead.

I rarely wear a chapel veil at ordinary Mass now.

But I still find myself quietly admiring other women's veils.

"That's a beautiful colour."

"What lovely lace."

Sometimes I even think,

"Perhaps I should wear mine more often."

The Litany of the Saints

On the day of my baptism, we arrived early for one last rehearsal.

At my parish, the baptism took place just before the Christmas Mass.

Even though Mass had not yet begun, the church was already filling with people.

Christmas always brings a full church.

Soon, we were standing before the altar.

Then the Litany of the Saints began.

The cantor invoked the names of the saints, and the congregation answered each petition.

The litany asks for the prayers of all the saints for those about to receive baptism and for the blessing of the baptismal water.

I had sung the Litany of the Saints before—in Gregorian chant.

But this was the first time I had heard it in Japanese.

I remember thinking how beautifully the same melody lived in both languages.

Water

Before the baptism itself, the bishop asked us whether we rejected sin and everything opposed to God's will.

We answered,

"I do."

Then came the profession of faith.

Finally, it was time.

Long ago, baptisms often took place by full immersion.

In my parish, the bishop poured water over each person's head three times.

Before the ceremony, the priest had given us one final piece of practical advice.

"Tilt your head like this," he said.

"Otherwise the water will run straight down your neck."

Apparently, the angle of your head is surprisingly important.

My godmother stood beside me with one hand on my shoulder and a towel ready for the water.

The bishop poured the water three times as he baptised me in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.

I have to confess something.

The water was freezing.

Perhaps it was because it was Christmas.

When I remember the very moment of my baptism, the first thing that comes back to me is not a profound spiritual experience.

It is simply how cold the water was.

Oil, light, and a new name

After the baptism came the anointing with holy oil.

Then my godmother gently placed the white veil over my head as the bishop spoke of the white garment of new life.

Next came the candle.

Its flame had been taken from the Paschal Candle, symbolising the light of Christ.

As each newly baptised person received that light, the bishop said,

"Walk always as a child of the light."

Of all the words spoken that day, those were the ones that touched me most deeply.

Finally, the bishop spoke each of our baptismal names.

Mine was:

Francisca.

Looking back

The ceremony ended.

The Christmas Mass began.

And I realised that something I had hoped for over so many years had quietly become reality.

I was happy.

Very happy.

Perhaps because I had been so nervous all morning, I also remember another rather ordinary detail.

By the time everything was over...

my shoulders were surprisingly stiff.

Even now, whenever Christmas comes, I think not only of the day I was baptised, but also of the long road that led me there.

Looking back, I realise that the journey itself was already part of the gift.