Well, no definite date for our chrismations and baptisms has yet been set, though we are moving closer to one. We have discussed the Sunday of Pentecost, but we’ll see.
We have only just begun, however, to discuss the many odds and ends of the final stages of the journey. For example, the way the girls will be baptized and the need to “practice” that ahead of time, since Sofie is three and a half and Delaina nearly two–a little bit older than the usual infant–and they will both be much more conscious and anticipatory of what is to come. No screaming fits and jumping out of the baptistry. Then there’s saints’ names, and godparents. And confession.
Oh, confession. Something I haven’t done now for seven years. I had practiced regular confession as an Anglican, until my last two experiences in which one priest tried to turn the confessional into a fishing expedition for any “issues” I had with him personally, and the other simply waved away my confessed sins as though they were figments of my imagination, more mental perspectives that I should give up than distortions of soul. So, with those two experiences in back-to-back succession, the latter during Holy Week, I just stopped going to confession. And then I left the Episcopal Church, and have been apart from any sacramental realities. But prior to those last two experiences, I did have some very healing confessions with my father confessor in Lincoln, who encouraged me toward frequent confession–and I have no doubt Father Pat will prove to be a most able father confessor.
Seven years without the sacraments. (I won’t here get into whether Anglican sacraments are sacraments. I believed then they were, and I know existentially what it is to be without any sacraments. In a word: hell.) I don’t wish a sacramental-less life on anyone. It is a most severe experience. I do not know how the saints and martyrs, such as those in the deserts and Soviet gulags, did without them for decades and died apart from them. How terribly soul-dessicating. So, what a comfort it is, then, to think that the day is, it seems, coming nearer when the sacraments will once again wash over my soul.
Lord, haste the day, when the faith shall be sight.