Baby’s Baptism and Daddy’s Faith

We’re preparing for the babtism of Oliver this Sunday morning, and as we get closer, I find myself lost in thought about my faith.

I grew up going to church. I went to Sunday School. I was baptised and confirmed in the United Church of Canada. I went to church summer camp one year. I was the youngest member of our church’s Steward’s committee. I have favourite hymns. I can recite John chapter 1, verses 1 through 5 by heart. The Lord’s Prayer feels imprinted on my brain.

I also haven’t gone to church regularly since I was 18.

I’ve been in the pews on random Sundays. I’ve been to Easter sunrise services. I’ve been to Christmas Eve services. But I haven’t been a regular member of any congregation for a long time.

I haven’t stopped believing though.

I haven’t stopped praying.

And while I don’t often talk about my faith in public forums, it’s always with me.

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For most of my life, my prayers have been of thanks.

Thanks for the people who support me. Thanks for the opporunities that have been placed in front of me. Thanks for the charmed life that I often feel like I’m living.

On the day that Ollie was born I prayed for his health and happiness and the health and safety of his mama.

I’ve also prayed for help and guidence. I’ve prayed for the health and wellbeing of people I love. And I prayed through tears in the pews at St. Michael’s in Toronto as my dad was dying and a team of doctors didn’t know how to stop it.

But most of my prayers, those prayers of thanks, have come when I’ve been walking outside. Usually at night. In a soft voice of humility while I talk to God.

It is in those moments when I feel like I can commune with God directly. There’s comfort there. It is my time. Our time.

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One of the greatest things about the upcoming baptism of Ollie and his cousin, is that my mom will be the one conducting the service and ceremony.

In preparation for the baptism, we sat down with my mom in her role as minister to talk about the service and ceremony, and also about faith and the promises that we are making.

As we spoke, I started thinking about the church, the current Christian conservative movement, and where I actually see myself fitting in.

It feels tricky.

As a liberally minded dude, I have a lot of issues with the way Christianity and the Bible have been weaponized by the right. It hurts me and angers me and saddens me to see God’s name used as a reason not to help someone. Or to see verses cherry picked, twisted, and held up as The Word, disregarding the full message or leaving any room for compassion and love.

The faux-theology involved in using God to attack or hold down any person with the underlying purpose of making oneself more powerful, richer, or influential fills me with the kind of anger and frustration that feels like there are tears in my eyes.

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I have been blessed to always feel like my faith is my own. Like my journey is in my control. My mom (long before she was a minister) was responsible for that.

She has been patient and kind in allowing me to spout half-assed theories about God, the Bible, parables, Disney movies, faith, spirituality, and more.

She has supported my reading of books like The Gospel According to Disney, The Celestine Prophecy, and pulling themes of faith out of texts like Harry Potter and other popular content.

What she’s never done is try to tell me what my relationship with God should be.

That freedom to find my own way has resulted in my affinity for the messages of love, inclusion, fairness, justice, redemption, etc. that come largely from the life and teachings of Jesus.

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One of the questions we were asked was about our plans to raise Ollie with religion.

And while I don’t know if we’ll ever be regulars at church the way I was when I was young, I am committed to passing on the lessons I’ve learned from faith.

He will know love and sacrifice and unselfishness and loyalty and what it means to have faith when it seems like all faith is lost.

He will learn that we are meant to love and respect and support all people, regardless of their skin colour, their place of birth, their citizenship, their faith, their sexuality, etc.

Jesus fought for the poor, he healed the sick, the welcomed non-believers, he was a teacher and a friend.

And he was a brown, Jewish, rebel that respected women and was a refugee and the son of refugees.

He will know these things. He will be guided to use those stories and lessons to find compassion, love, and respect. And I will use them to remind myself of these things as I raise him.

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As this post rambles on and I think more about my faith and how I’m hoping to pass it on, I am also reminded that at some point, it will all be on him.

He will have to choose his path. And I have to be okay with that.

I will be here to listen to his theories and stories and his interpretations of the text and the word.

I will try to answer his questions.

And when I don’t have an answer, we’ll work together to find one.

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In the words of Alan Jackson, “Faith, hope and love are some good things he gave us. And the greatest is love.”

And love is the lesson that I’ll lean on the most.