The Nativity of St. John the Baptist

The Nativity of St. John the Baptist

“He was not the light but came to bear witness to the light that would enlighten all men,” Father Thomas said from the pulpit. I lifted my head and looked at the sunlight streaming through the stained-glass window. The light hit the window just as the priest finished the final words of his sermon. It depicted John the Baptist pouring water over the head of Jesus while a dove descended from heaven. Suddenly, the scripture from the gospel of St. John echoed in my head. “This is my beloved Son in whom I am well pleased.”

Today was June 24th, the feast day of John the Baptist. It was a big day of celebration, not just for our parish, but for me as well. After a year of being a part of this community, I was going to be baptized and confirmed as a full member of the Roman Catholic Church. I fingered the rosary that had been given to me by my godparents. The beads were aquamarine, the color of my birthstone. Today was another birthday, I guess. A birth into this spiritual community.

The church had been decorated with red poinsettias. Two small trees were decorated with white lights, one on each side of the altar. It reminded me of a Christmas celebration. Christmas in June. Jesus and John had been cousins, born six months apart. It was fitting that we would celebrate John’s birth near the longest day of the year and Jesus’ birth near the shortest. “He must increase, but I must decrease,” declared the baptizer on the banks of the Jordan.

Father Thomas called me forward. He reached out his hand with a smile and led me around to the baptistry. The baptistry was at the back of the church, and above the water was a skylight, which illuminated the waters into which I would enter.

Our parish had opted to have a smaller baptistry for infants and a larger one for adults. After Thomas led me through the profession of faith, he took my hand and helped me step into the pool. The water felt cool and refreshing. I knelt, the water rising to the level of my chest. I could smell the incense rising from the censor that the altar boy was holding, not far from where I was kneeling.

“Jacob, I baptize thee in the name of the Father…”, the water poured over my head as he said these words, “and of the Son,” more water over the head, “and of the Holy Spirit”, and water a third time. The moisture continued to drip down, because it had formed droplets on the dark curls that were on the top of my head. I felt the priests’ hands gently touch me as he prayed a quick prayer and rubbed holy oil into the skin of my forehead.

The deacon, who assisted the priest at mass, stepped forward and took my hand to lead me out of the water. I could hear the congregation burst into applause at the new neophyte who was now in their midst. I blushed slightly, not used to this kind of attention.

After changing clothes in the bathroom, I re-entered the sanctuary and sat next to my godparents, James and Marissa. Marissa gave me a smile and took my hand, giving it a small squeeze. As she took her hand away, the choir began to chant in Latin:

Ut queant laxis

resonare fibris

mira gestorum

famuli tuorum

solve pollute

labi reatum

Sancte Johannes

Which, translated to English means So that your servants may, with loosened voices, resound the wonders of your deeds, clean the guilt from our stained lips, O Saint John. The words of the piece sank into my bones. Since I had been a central part of this liturgy with my baptism, it gave me the feeling of being an actor in a mystery play that would have been popular in the Middle Ages. One of the many good things about the Roman mass was that it activated the imagination. In one setting, it could make you feel as if you were one of the early Christians in the catacombs. Each member would paint fishes on their chests to show their loyalty to Jesus Christ. In another, like today, it could make you feel like you were royalty.

Later that afternoon, my family and friends had a party at the beach to celebrate St. John’s holiday. We were playing volleyball on the beach, listening to the waves breaking on the shore.

“Alright Jacob, this one’s for you”, my dad said, giving me a smile.

He served the ball hard and I dove into the sand to try and hit it back over the net. I missed.

“Point for our team,” Mom said from the other side of the net.

My skin was red and burning from the sun. The sand scraping against it didn’t do anything to help it feel better, either. I walked away in frustration. I needed a minute to recover from the pain of the dive.

My brother Mark ran to catch up with me.

“Oh, Jacob come on, what’s wrong?”, he asked.

“Sorry,” I said. “I just needed a minute. Dad served the ball too hard,” I whined.

“Well, I’d come back if I were you. We kind of threw this party for you. If you don’t want to play volleyball, at least you can celebrate with the other guests,” he added.

“Yeah, you’re right,” I said.

I put my arm around Mark’s shoulder, and we walked back together.

“Sorry, everyone,” I said, giving a wave to the people sitting around in a circle. “I appreciate all of you coming. I bet the food will be coming soon.”

They all smiled and waved, acknowledging my apology. I reached behind my shoulders to try and get all the sand that was on my back. It was irritating. The ocean was just a few feet away, so I decided to take a quick dip to clean off.

A cloud passed over the sun as I went down into the water. I took my time, listening to the low murmur of the breaking waves as they passed over my head. As I came up out of the ocean, the sun broke through the clouds, shining on the water in front of me. My mind went back to my baptism earlier that morning. I shielded my eyes as I stepped into the light, tilting my head upward to look at the sun, shining in all its glory. Words from the scripture read at Mass this morning came back to my mind. This is my beloved son in whom I am well pleased. I smiled, comforted. Maybe the baptizer was looking down from heaven to send me a message. I waded back to shore, getting knocked down by the waves closet to shore. After I recovered my composure, I ran to join my family, who were waiting to share in my joy.