One year ago today Ivey was baptized. As with all baptisms, it was a sacred day for her - for us. Her baptism like many events that unfolded in the first few days of Ivey's life, is like a flash of light. One year ago today, Ivey was just shy of being one month old.
I remember more from that one day than I do from all of the rest of the days of her first month. It is funny what the mind chooses to remember - what it chooses to forget. May 22nd was a wonderful day.
I picked out a sweet dress given to Ivey at a shower before she was born. The nurses in the NICU had her all bathed, bow and all for the big day. It was to be Ivey's first day out of the NICU. Arrangements were made for her to be transported to the hospital's chapel. Not the way I would have planned it, but God didn't give that choice.
Ivey was given several gifts that day. Sacred gifts. One was a cross molded to fit into my hand, eventually it will fit Ivey's hand. That cross has traveled to many doctors appointments and stayed many long nights in hospitals. A clinging cross that says Faith on it. It sits above her bed now. The other, a pearl bracelet. I imagine Ivey is much like those pearls.
Ivey was baptized under circumstances that are hard to admit. She was baptized in haste, uncertain of her future, uncertain of her time here on this Earth. Konda, Troyce and Traci surrounded Ivey. Her nurses. Her lifeline. Father Ard presided. We were all happy to take part in the day, yet the unspoken reason we were all in that chapel in a hospital loomed.
I am glad you are here and I need to tell you: you may see something today you have never seen before. I guess I also need to tell you that lifelong members of St. Peter's may see something today they never have seen before.
We do not often present someone who has been previously baptized. In ordinary circumstances, this would be Ivey's baptism. But Ivey is a very special little girl and when in the hospital after birth her health quite fragile state, we baptized her there in the chapel with clergy, family and nurses.
The Prayer Book directs that baptisms be done as quickly as possible in Ivey's circumstances. The Prayer Book directs that should the child's condition becomes more stable, at a convenient time she be presented to the church, her larger family in God.
In twenty-six years as a priest of the church I have attended only one other presentation like this, of my own daughter in 1985. This is a rare event. We all are blessed to be here.
After I finish speaking, the service will continue as it does at baptisms -except Ivey already has been baptized in the Name of the Father, and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Ivey already has been anointed - sealed and marked as Christ's own forever.
So we will not do those things a second time. Baptism is a once in a lifetime sacrament and we do not repeat it. But we will do something else: the asperges.
Funny word that means that we will sprinkle Ivey, family, clergy, congregations with holy water as a reminder that we are baptized, and are grateful to be in the household of God, Christ's own forever.
What is holy water? Holy just means set aside for a special, sacred purpose. It is not magic. It will work like it does in From Dusk Until Dawn when the Preacher fills super soakers with holy water and consigns vampires to oblivion. Nope. Won't work.
What it will do is serve as a reminder to us that, in St Paul's words, we once were buried with Christ in baptism and raised to walk in newness of life; that if we are baptized into a death like his, we will rise to share in a life like his.
Holy water. Water set apart in prayer - to be for us a call to consciousness of who we are, of whose we are.
Some Episcopal Churches do this after every baptism. Many Roman Catholic churches do the asperges every Sunday. Many Episcopal Churches have the font at the door, always containing water set aside, so people as they enter or leave dip a finger into the water and make the sign of the cross upon themselves.
Martin Luther, arguably the most Protestant of Protestants, recommended making the sign of the cross at least twice a day: once upon waking, again before sleeping - as a reminder to ourselves that we are baptized; as a reminder to ourselves to be thankful.
Most of you have not ever seen this before. At St. Peter's we do it every year at the Easter Vigil - this is the first time we have done it on a Sunday morning. Perhaps we will do it more often. Who knows?If it seems a little odd, that's okay. The kids will always get it. For the rest of us? As they say - go with the flow!
In today's gospel Jesus says, I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep.
In some ways, Matt and Gwen and Walker and Knox are living in the image of Jesus. They are walking a path they'd rather have had differently. They are laying down their lives for Ivey.
Oh, not completely. But they are laying down the routine of their lives, some of the normalcy of their lives, some of the hopes and dreams of their lives, just about all of their assumptions about their lives.
They have been brought into very deep water. They will be feeling that when water pours into the font.
Deep water.
As Ivey was taking shape, the language of the genetic code got skewed a bit - some words, as it were, got lost from the instructions - and Ivey was made differently than the rest of us.
Still, in God's mysterious grace, beauty came into the world, and even with all the changed realities of their lives, for her family and for her, Joy happens.
My daughter had special needs for a different reason, very different conditions. Brain injuries in a car crash before she was born. She was born 23 years ago, died 19 years ago. Parents are shocked at the pictures that come to us, in our heads.
I woke up one night a couple of years ago, realizing she'd have been graduating from college. I realize today she'd be in a first job, perhaps planning a wedding this summer or next. I don't ask for these images, these thoughts. They come. For a moment, you weep.
Holy water.
Never underestimate the impact of a life. Nineteen years after Mary Ann's death my brother a priest where once I was priest, sent me a Lenten devotional his church member wrote.
On the 25th, Ivey and her family celebrated her first birthday. Today we still are celebrating her birth, her baptism, our own baptism - our place in God's family.
During Lent, Gwen spoke one day to a group of youth meditating on the Stations of the Cross. It is not possible for any of us to walk the stations and not think of Mary, watching her Son on the way to the cross.
Certainly there's no way to be Gwen and not feel to the core the vocation of Mary. I know a lot of you keep up with Ivey on her website. In these last days, Gwen wrote this:
This past week I relived every moment of one year ago. It started with what I was doing the days before she was born, what I did the night before she was born, the start of labor, the trip to the hospital, the delivery room and her birth. Then at five thirty in the morning, it all stopped. There were no more memories to relive. At that moment all I had was right then - that moment - no past and no future - there was only pure happiness and relief. A burden instantly lifted. The hard year ended.
God's moment, that was. There have been lots of them. This moment.
This moment always is God's moment. Be mindful. Remember. Be thankful.
We live in a realm of grace. This is the meaning of our baptism. We do not always see it. But sometimes we do.
A child, against all odds, smiling.
I remember more from that one day than I do from all of the rest of the days of her first month. It is funny what the mind chooses to remember - what it chooses to forget. May 22nd was a wonderful day.
I picked out a sweet dress given to Ivey at a shower before she was born. The nurses in the NICU had her all bathed, bow and all for the big day. It was to be Ivey's first day out of the NICU. Arrangements were made for her to be transported to the hospital's chapel. Not the way I would have planned it, but God didn't give that choice.
Ivey was given several gifts that day. Sacred gifts. One was a cross molded to fit into my hand, eventually it will fit Ivey's hand. That cross has traveled to many doctors appointments and stayed many long nights in hospitals. A clinging cross that says Faith on it. It sits above her bed now. The other, a pearl bracelet. I imagine Ivey is much like those pearls.
Ivey was baptized under circumstances that are hard to admit. She was baptized in haste, uncertain of her future, uncertain of her time here on this Earth. Konda, Troyce and Traci surrounded Ivey. Her nurses. Her lifeline. Father Ard presided. We were all happy to take part in the day, yet the unspoken reason we were all in that chapel in a hospital loomed.
Father Ard also lead the sermon during Ivey's presentation to the church. His presence alone was sacred to us. Over the past year he has been somewhat of a mentor, a preacher, a punching bag and some one to tell good news. He understands Ivey.
With his permission, I am posting the sermon from Ivey's presentation at Saint Peter's.
Father Roger Ard:
I especially want to welcome three groups of people: you who are here for Ivey's presentation; you who are here because it is Visitors' Sunday; and you who are visiting today without any knowledge of the other two groups.
I am glad you are here and I need to tell you: you may see something today you have never seen before. I guess I also need to tell you that lifelong members of St. Peter's may see something today they never have seen before.
We do not often present someone who has been previously baptized. In ordinary circumstances, this would be Ivey's baptism. But Ivey is a very special little girl and when in the hospital after birth her health quite fragile state, we baptized her there in the chapel with clergy, family and nurses.
The Prayer Book directs that baptisms be done as quickly as possible in Ivey's circumstances. The Prayer Book directs that should the child's condition becomes more stable, at a convenient time she be presented to the church, her larger family in God.
In twenty-six years as a priest of the church I have attended only one other presentation like this, of my own daughter in 1985. This is a rare event. We all are blessed to be here.
After I finish speaking, the service will continue as it does at baptisms -except Ivey already has been baptized in the Name of the Father, and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Ivey already has been anointed - sealed and marked as Christ's own forever.
So we will not do those things a second time. Baptism is a once in a lifetime sacrament and we do not repeat it. But we will do something else: the asperges.
Funny word that means that we will sprinkle Ivey, family, clergy, congregations with holy water as a reminder that we are baptized, and are grateful to be in the household of God, Christ's own forever.
What is holy water? Holy just means set aside for a special, sacred purpose. It is not magic. It will work like it does in From Dusk Until Dawn when the Preacher fills super soakers with holy water and consigns vampires to oblivion. Nope. Won't work.
What it will do is serve as a reminder to us that, in St Paul's words, we once were buried with Christ in baptism and raised to walk in newness of life; that if we are baptized into a death like his, we will rise to share in a life like his.
Holy water. Water set apart in prayer - to be for us a call to consciousness of who we are, of whose we are.
Some Episcopal Churches do this after every baptism. Many Roman Catholic churches do the asperges every Sunday. Many Episcopal Churches have the font at the door, always containing water set aside, so people as they enter or leave dip a finger into the water and make the sign of the cross upon themselves.
Martin Luther, arguably the most Protestant of Protestants, recommended making the sign of the cross at least twice a day: once upon waking, again before sleeping - as a reminder to ourselves that we are baptized; as a reminder to ourselves to be thankful.
Most of you have not ever seen this before. At St. Peter's we do it every year at the Easter Vigil - this is the first time we have done it on a Sunday morning. Perhaps we will do it more often. Who knows?If it seems a little odd, that's okay. The kids will always get it. For the rest of us? As they say - go with the flow!
In today's gospel Jesus says, I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep.
In some ways, Matt and Gwen and Walker and Knox are living in the image of Jesus. They are walking a path they'd rather have had differently. They are laying down their lives for Ivey.
Oh, not completely. But they are laying down the routine of their lives, some of the normalcy of their lives, some of the hopes and dreams of their lives, just about all of their assumptions about their lives.
They have been brought into very deep water. They will be feeling that when water pours into the font.
Deep water.
As Ivey was taking shape, the language of the genetic code got skewed a bit - some words, as it were, got lost from the instructions - and Ivey was made differently than the rest of us.
Still, in God's mysterious grace, beauty came into the world, and even with all the changed realities of their lives, for her family and for her, Joy happens.
My daughter had special needs for a different reason, very different conditions. Brain injuries in a car crash before she was born. She was born 23 years ago, died 19 years ago. Parents are shocked at the pictures that come to us, in our heads.
I woke up one night a couple of years ago, realizing she'd have been graduating from college. I realize today she'd be in a first job, perhaps planning a wedding this summer or next. I don't ask for these images, these thoughts. They come. For a moment, you weep.
Holy water.
Never underestimate the impact of a life. Nineteen years after Mary Ann's death my brother a priest where once I was priest, sent me a Lenten devotional his church member wrote.
Wylie noted the noisy atmosphere and happy children sounds at St. Anne's - pandemonium would not be too much an exaggeration.And then this:Ponder anew the Saint Anne's 10:30People sometimes apologize for the little noise their children make in church. Others ask me if children in church bother me. The answer is no. They have no idea. No idea.
Sunday-Morning-Service some time back. . Saint Anne's was given the opportunity to love and to cherish the new born Mary Ann Ard. Mary Ann . delivered . shortly before [her mother] was taken off . life support systems. Mary Ann, herself, struggled to survive and struggled throughout her own short lifetime to utter sounds.We at Saint Anne's strained to hear her give voice to any sound; to give voice to any sound at all. We also strained to listen for any sound; any sound coming back from the universe; any sound coming back from the universe and
beyond. Any sound at all.
On the 25th, Ivey and her family celebrated her first birthday. Today we still are celebrating her birth, her baptism, our own baptism - our place in God's family.
During Lent, Gwen spoke one day to a group of youth meditating on the Stations of the Cross. It is not possible for any of us to walk the stations and not think of Mary, watching her Son on the way to the cross.
Certainly there's no way to be Gwen and not feel to the core the vocation of Mary. I know a lot of you keep up with Ivey on her website. In these last days, Gwen wrote this:
This past week I relived every moment of one year ago. It started with what I was doing the days before she was born, what I did the night before she was born, the start of labor, the trip to the hospital, the delivery room and her birth. Then at five thirty in the morning, it all stopped. There were no more memories to relive. At that moment all I had was right then - that moment - no past and no future - there was only pure happiness and relief. A burden instantly lifted. The hard year ended.
God's moment, that was. There have been lots of them. This moment.
This moment always is God's moment. Be mindful. Remember. Be thankful.
We live in a realm of grace. This is the meaning of our baptism. We do not always see it. But sometimes we do.
A child, against all odds, smiling.
Comments
amazing ivey...
xo, diane
This is just a tender moment here on earth...
I am so grateful to be able to experience its beauty through Ivey's window...
thank you again Gwen....
Love ya,
Connie
♥
His words were so beautiful! It is awesome that you have them written down to keep forever!