Had an
interesting Sunday. I went to a baptism, where I served as the godmother.
I am not a
fervent church visitor, and cannot remember the last time I attended a baptism, although both sides of my family come from catholic stock. My mother still remembers
they’d have to walk a few kilometers to buy their meat from a catholic butcher,
because the butcher shop next door was run by a protestant. Needless to say, things have
drastically changed since then in Holland. I don’t even know the exact religion
of any of my Dutch friends.
Family and
friends in Holland don't seem to baptize their children as much as they do here, religion
being an after-thought, rather than an indication of your (political) identity.
I am the godmother of one of my brother’s daughters, but don’t think I even
attended that ceremony as I was on assignment somewhere.
But in Lebanon, religion is still a big thing. Sunday’s
baptism was an unusual baptism for Lebanese standards as well; the baptized
child was not a baby, but rather an eight-year old boy that had chosen to
switch religion. The priest had to translate the entire service into French, as the child did not understand the classic Arabic very well. Luckily, the godfather
did not seem too sure of the procedure either, and so we were all amateurs at
the altar.
“uhhhhhh,”
said the child.
“When Jesus resurrected?” tried the godfather.
“No, that’s Easter,” replied the priest.
I was of no help either. Pentecost? I don’t think we celebrate that in Holland, I am thinking.
“When Jesus resurrected?” tried the godfather.
“No, that’s Easter,” replied the priest.
I was of no help either. Pentecost? I don’t think we celebrate that in Holland, I am thinking.
‘With the kind of
clients these days,’ you could see the priest thinking, ‘we’re all going to end
up in hell.”
When we
had to sign the register, godmother and godfather, the priest joked, “Don’t worry too much about your signature. When Daash comes to
town, you don’t want them to be able to trace you assisting the baptism of a
muslim.”
I thought
that was pretty funny; ‘When Daash comes to
town.’ It seems pretty real
these days, now that they’ve taken over Palmyra. My son learned how to ride a bike in
Palmyra, right in between the Roman columns.
When I talked to hubbie about it, he dismissed it with a “No, they’re not coming to town,” leaving me somehow
reassured, followed by a “Not now. That needs
another two years.” Comforting.
My son at the ruins of Palmyra, in 2003. I think he's sporting some type of toy machine gun. Seems quite in place. |
When I had my
oldest child, my husband, a sunni muslim, suggested we had him baptized by a
couple of his friends.
By law,
children in Lebanon follow the religion of their father. This was not an issue
for us, as we’re not into the organized religion things, as you can see. I think he may have suggested the baptism
because he tried to appease my parents; I was the only girl in a Frisian
catholic family (quite a minority, most Frisians are protestant), and the
only one who married outside the religion, which - in the eyes of my parents at the time – was a
bit of a worrisome matter.
His friends
were a couple of monks in the mountains.
One winter,
while driving to his pig farm in the mountains (long story, that pig farm), he
was behind a little Renault when it suddenly disappeared from view. It was
foggy, and early in the morning, and the road was empty. For a moment he
wondered if maybe they had taken another road. Until he hit a patch of ice. He
was able to stop just in time, but when he looked to his right, he saw that the little car,
and its occupants, had slid off the road and down the mountain.
Without
transportation now, he gave them a ride home, where they insisted he come in
and taste some of their home-made ‘medicinal’ drink. A deep friendship was
struck that early morning in an unheated monastery over absinthe.
“They’d
love to baptize him,” he said, “we can do it up in their place.”
Nothing ever
came of it though. I am not into the rules of religion, and, after some
inquiry, found out that – after a enormous amount of paper work and visits to
various officials - we’d end up with 3
different religions under one roof; a roman catholic, a sunni muslim and a
Greek orthodox. That’d be three too
many.
However, one
of her sons, after observing the highly mystical ceremony of his nephew’s
communion in a church last year, decided that this is what he wanted as well.
He wanted to do his holy communion.
At first they
ignored the request. They believe in the goodness of people, and in sharing
this Earth with people of all colors and faith. They celebrate Easter with
colored eggs, and Christmas with a decorated tree, but that’s as far as it
goes. All traditions that have pagan
origins, by the way. But church visits are not really her thing.
The child
however, was pretty persistent. He started crossing himself at every
neighborhood shrine they passed, and asked everything there was to know about
Jesus. They decided to put him, twice weekly, in catechism school.
Faithfully
(as he should) he’s been attending classes for a year now, and the time had
come that he was ready and prepared for his holy communion.
But there was
a little problem, her husband understood one day, as he picked up his son from
catechism.
“He cannot
do his holy communion,” explained the priest to her husband. “He is a
muslim, according to the paperwork you provided. He has to be
christian.”
“No problem,” replied the husband, “we’ll just make him one, if that is what it takes.”
“No problem,” replied the husband, “we’ll just make him one, if that is what it takes.”
But when the
family layer was asked to prepare the paperwork of the child, there was a
problem, it turned out.
“He will
not have the right to inherit anything from his paternal grandparents nor his
parents, as he will be of another faith.“
And that, according to the lawyer, was not a decision you could make on
behalf of an 8 year-old child.
That was a bit
of an issue. Because even if you stipulate in a testament that so-and-so
inherits a certain thing, religious inheritance law can overrule that decision.
They decided to go ahead anyway. If Daash comes to town, there won’t be much left to inherit anyways.
They decided to go ahead anyway. If Daash comes to town, there won’t be much left to inherit anyways.
It has raised
some questions with my youngest who now insists to know her 'identity'.
“What am I?” she wants to know.
“A girl.”
“No, like really.”
“That’s a choice you can make when you're 18,” I reply.
“Oh, like the tattoo and the piercing?”
Good thing her dad and the priest were not within earshot.
“What am I?” she wants to know.
“A girl.”
“No, like really.”
“That’s a choice you can make when you're 18,” I reply.
“Oh, like the tattoo and the piercing?”
Good thing her dad and the priest were not within earshot.
At the end of
the ceremony, his older brothers, still muslims, posed proudly with him and the
priest in front of the statue of Maria and child. I think it incredibly
endearing, three brothers, two faiths. The Daash could learn a thing or two
from these kids.
3 comments:
Wow. Another amazing story by you and cute child photos of your dear parents. Now lets see, as a lapsed maronite , pentecost is the appearance of jesus to his disciplines 40 days after his death and resurrection (easter). Am I right? :)
I've always loved your writing, but for me this post is by far the most moving, inspiring and funniest I've ever read. It really hit a nerve.
Still laughing at "What am I?" "A girl."
Sharing
Wonderful story!
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