over two centuries of isolation and persecution in Japan. I imagined them joining hands — martyr to martyr — with Mary’s recusant English ancestors, and seeking for her a double dose of pertinacity. Their intercession was effective. Weighing less than 2 pounds, Mary came through open-heart surgery at three months; and now, in her 38th year, she is thriving. Whenever she hears a Lourdes hymn, she bursts into cheers. After Mary, we had six more children, all healthy. Four sons were born and baptized in Japan, followed by a daughter and son born in England and baptized in Sussex and Oxford respectively. The four Tokyo-born boys were baptized in the Benedictine priory church of St. Anselm by an American monk who had come late to Catholicism and priesthood after serving as a U.S. Marine in the post-war occupation of Japan. The Canadian baptist of our youngest two was the first Catholic priest since the Reformation to be a fellow of All Souls College in Oxford. We always enjoyed making our own idiosyncratic selection of saints for the Litany — patrons and namesakes of the child being baptized, and of all his or her siblings and godparents; our own patrons; saints to whom we are particularly devoted or somehow connected; saints reflecting my wife’s Polish and Lithuanian ancestry; saints whose feasts fell close to the Baptism. All of this helped to build up a palpable sense of the communion into which our new child was being baptized. Death and new life The last rites and the funeral Mass unmistakably echo the Baptismal rite: A crucifix is laid on the coffin just as a cross is traced on the forehead before Baptism; a white pall is the coffin’s white garment; the Paschal candle standing guard over the coffin recalls the flame of the Baptismal candle; the Christian preparing for death, just as the catechumen or infant preparing for Baptism, is anointed with the oil of salvation; the Word of God is an essential part of the Baptismal rite, and a Book of the Gospels lies upon the coffin; the Litany of the Dying is a close relation of the Litany of Saints. These echoes and similarities, of course, underline the bond at the heart of our faith between death and new life, between Baptism and the tomb, between Good Friday and Easter, between Crucifixion and Resurrection, between the death and burial of a grain of wheat and the rich harvest. Immediately following Baptism itself, as the new Christian rises from the water and the tomb, he or she is anointed with chrism — in other words, becomes another Christos, another anointed one. This new Christ is often an infant, but, nonetheless, fully incorporated into Christ; just as the swaddled infant in the Bethlehem manger was already fully Christ and fully our Savior. But the essential sacramental sign of Baptism is flowing water, whether from a natural coursing stream or poured from a shell or an ewer, or squeezed from cotton wool — always, anyway, impelled by the natural binding force of gravity, and symbolizing the continuous actions of creating, cleansing, and sustaining life. Water is not always benign — not always just a stream in dry land — but sometimes a raging torrent, a flood of destruction, a drowning surge. There we see the link between the water of Baptism and the tomb. Saint Peter saw the great Flood, in all its destruction, as a model of Baptism (see 1 Pet 3:20–21). And early fathers like St. Cyprian saw the Ark as a model of the Church — the vehicle of grace enabling its passengers to emerge whole and invigorated from the deluge. Hence the etymology, and often design, of a physical church’s nave as a ship (navis). Extend the invitation It is a pity that the rite of Baptism tends not to be witnessed by large numbers in all its manifold richness as a clear and self-sufficient whole. With the important exception of the Easter Vigil, I feel that the norm should be a stand-alone Baptismal rite with a large congregation: Invite the whole parish, and as many family and friends as the church will hold. The monks at St Anselm’s in Tokyo were thrilled by the evangelical opportunity offered by the throngs at our children’s Baptisms. But, as with our daughter Mary, urgent need sometimes pares us back to the simple and immediate essentials. Patrick O’Donovan, the Observer correspondent, was a powerful recorder of great events. He used to tell of how he walked through a children’s hospital under bombardment from advancing Chinese Communists in 1949, baptizing the children with the names of Celtic saints as death came closer. I wonder whether he met Fr. Jerome Donnelly, who would baptize Mary 37 years later. Philip Parham is the former British Ambassador to the United Arab Emirates, High Commissioner to Tanzania, and Deputy Permanent Representative to the United Nations. A version of this article was first published in The Tablet. Marian Helper • Fall 2024 • Marian.org 29 We were on the other side of the world from our families and almost all of our friends. But through Mary’s welcome into the family of the Church, we felt embraced and supported.
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