Sunday, June 29, 2008, John Patrick was baptized by Fr. Eric Fowlkes at St. Patrick's, the Catholic Church on 2nd Avenue that Jude and I attend. It was Father Eric's last service at St. Patrick's, as he has been reassigned by the Bishop, David Choby, to Our Lady of the Lake, a Catholic Church in Hendersonville, Tennessee. Hence, an ending and a beginning.
I've waited a couple of days to post about the day's events, mostly in an effort to gain a sense of perspective. Simply put, it was one of the five most significant days of my life.
Saturday evening, after Jude and John Patrick went to bed, I stayed up late straightening up the dining room and, generally, hiding all of the stuff I continually set on our dining room table every evening when I get home from work (mail, magazines, newspapers, etc.). Jude and I had arranged to have our families over for lunch after church, so I wanted to at least make an effort to put things in some semblance of order.
Sunday morning, we got up about 7 a.m. and Jude fed John Patrick, while I showered and got dressed for church. Later, we tagged out and I took over for her, so she could take a shower and get dressed. A little after 10 a.m., she fed him again and I left for St. Patrick's, where I was to check in with Father Eric to make sure we were squared away for the christening. As I left, I asked Jude what time she thought she would arrive at church with John Patrick. I cringed and bit my tongue when she said she'd probably be there about the time church started, 11 a.m.
I tend to arrive early for scheduled events, believe it or not, especially if I'm not real sure of what is to transpire. Jude, on the other hand, tends to arrive at the very last minute (or even a few minutes late). Her parents can vouch for this, actually, as I believe her father grounded her at one point, in her teenage years, for refusing to be ready for church on time. Likewise, whenever we take a trip out of town, I like to be at the airport, at our gate, at least two hours before we're scheduled to depart. Jude, on the other hand, prefers to arrive at the gate a minute or two before they shut the door of the airplane and prepare to taxi down the runway.
I digress, I know. Anyway, I left the house and arrived at St. Patrick's at 10:10 a.m. Literally, I was the first one in the building. Of course, I couldn't find Father Eric, so I really wasn't sure what I should be doing, other than scoping out the church to determine where our families would be best suited to sit. Having seen one other baptism during one of our church services, I surmised they would have the best view if they sat in the back of the church, on the left hand side.
I conferred with Ann Kulkinski, a wonderful woman who often helps coordinate events for Father Eric, during and after church services. When she told me Father Eric would want the godparents, Jude, John Patrick and me to enter the church with him and walk down the aisle at the beginning of the service, I panicked. In my mind, I could picture Father Eric waiting out in front of the church, tapping his foot impatiently, while James White, Tracy Hearn and I stood with him, waiting on Jude and John Patrick to arrive, so the service could begin. I stepped outside and called Jude's cellular telephone and our home telephone, leaving frantic messages on each, advising her she would need to be at church before the service started.
I calmed down, slightly, as our families began to arrive. Actually, my mother and Tracy, her husband, Gary, and their children, Kaitlyn and Matthew, got to St. Patrick's just before I did. This, of course, is not surprising, since my mother is the only person I know who arrives at scheduled events earlier than I do. I took some photographs of Kaitlyn and Matthew on the steps in front of the church, then greeted Jude's family, as they arrived. I was so pleased to see her grandmother and grandfather, Rita and James White. It meant so much to us that we were able to share the day's events with them.
I breathed a sigh of relief, as I waited outside, when Jude pulled up in her Honda Pilot. As I lifted John Patrick's car seat out of her truck, she told me she had gotten the voice mail messages I left for her. James, Tracy, Jude, John Patrick and I waited for Father Eric in a room off the front of the church and he walked in a couple of minutes before 11 a.m. He immediately put us all at ease, as he smiled and explained to us the order of the day's events, where we were supposed to stand, etc.
We followed him outside, first, to the front of the church. My heart was filled with pride as he opened the front doors of St. Patrick's and we followed him down the aisle. The congregation turned to look at us, as they sang the opening hymn. I felt like I was floating down the aisle, carrying John Patrick in his car seat as he slept peacefully. It was reminiscent of the February evening Jude and I got married, more than five years ago, when I followed Father Ed Alberts down the aisle at Cathedral of the Incarnation, my heart pounding with anticipation. Then and Sunday morning, I felt like God had bestowed upon me blessings I didn't deserve, but for which I was eternally thankful nonetheless.
At the beginning of the service, we stood up front, to the right, with Father Eric. After we pledged to follow the teachings of the church in raising our son, and the godparents, James and Tracy, did the same, we sat down in the first row, which had been reserved for us. There, we had a bird's eye view, as Father Eric performed Mass for the last time at St. Patrick's.
I wish I had the ability to communicate the palpable sense of sadness that hovered over the entire congregation, as Father Eric began his final homily. As is his way, he walked up the aisle, then back, as he spoke. I turned to watch him, because he was slightly behind our row. I had an opportunity to observe familiar faces, faces I see in church every Sunday, uplifted, watching him intently, many with tears in their eyes. It was very emotional, for him and for us, his parishioners.
He spoke eloquently, as he always does, and described the triumphs and travails of two of the apostles, Peter and Paul. He talked about how they had no idea the paths they would travel, when they chose to follow Jesus. Tying it all together, Father Eric described his personal journey, how he had grown up in Waverly, Tennessee, and been ordained as a Catholic priest nineteen years ago. He talked about how, at a difficult time in his life, he had been assigned to St. Patrick's, four and half years ago. He assured those of us fortunate enough to be listening to him that the parishioners at St. Patrick's had meant more to him than he could ever adequately express. And, now, though his path had taken him to Our Lady of the Lakes in Hendersonville, Tennessee, St. Patrick's would always be in his heart.
As he finished his homily, the entire congregation stood and applauded. There were tears in my eyes, in Jude's eyes and in the eyes of many, many others. It was such a poignant moment.
A minute or two later, Father Eric led us to the back of the church, for the baptism. John Patrick had begun to stir a bit, so Jude had removed him from his car seat. She carried him to up the aisle, smiling, as we followed Father Eric. John Patrick was wearing a christening robe that Jude's grandmother had made, more than sixty years ago. Her mother and both of her mother's sisters wore it for their christenings, as did all of her cousins. Their names were embroidered into the fabric of the gown and, shortly, John Patrick's name will be, as well.
Throughout the ceremony, John Patrick was quiet and peaceful. He never cried or whimpered, not a bit. Even when Father Eric poured the holy water over his head, John Patrick didn't make a sound. Jude and I were so proud. Father Eric anointed his head with oil, made the sign of the cross and the entire congregation joined us in welcoming him into the Catholic faith. As the ceremony concluded and we walked back to the front of the church, many in the congregation beamed and smiled at us as we walked by them. Later, Father Eric again told us how pleased he was to have been able to perform our son's baptism during his last service at St. Patrick's, because it gave everyone present something to be happy about.
Next, we took communion. The hymn we sang was "Only This I Want." It's one of my favorites and, on a normal Sunday, it can bring me to tears. Sunday, though, with all that had happened, I couldn't even get through the first verse. Then, Jude and I saw something that almost broke our hearts. As communion concluded and Father Eric prepared to take his seat, we saw tears in his eyes. It seemed as if he realized, at that precise point, that he would never give communion at St. Patrick's again. It was a powerful, emotional moment.
After church was over, we took some photographs of the entire family. Father Eric also posed for a couple of photographs, which was nice. We returned home for a wonderful lunch, catered by Fred Askew and Barker's Mill Catering. It was great to have so many from our families together for a meal at our house.
As Jude and I decompressed Sunday evening, we agreed the day couldn't have gone any better.
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