A COVID baptism helped me see the beauty of the Church

One of my sons was born in the autumn of 2020. Remember that strange and uncomfortable time? A couple of days after his birth, a woman showed up on our porch, shoeless, wet and shivering, asking for warmth. She came in and ate and chatted for a bit. Turns out she had recently left the COVID wing of the hospital without alerting her caretakers and had just started walking aimlessly.

She talked a lot, but not much of what she said was coherent or helpful for us to understand her situation. Eventually we found out that she did have a home in an apartment complex downtown and were able to take her back there safely. But in the meantime, we were all exposed to COVID — which meant we had to cancel the baptism for our new son we had scheduled for the coming weekend.

I was very fragile mentally and spiritually (and let's be honest in all other ways — hello postpartum!) and could not fathom waiting weeks (or longer if another COVID setback happened) to baptize our son. We had lost the last three babies we had been pregnant with through miscarriage, and I wanted the grace of baptism for our new son very badly.

My husband asked one of our parish priests if we could baptize our son at home, as we did not know how long the wait would be to reschedule the sacrament, considering the uncertainties of disease in the winter. Our parish priests handled our concern and request remarkably. They were pastoral, flexible and courageous in a time when fear ruled many hearts — and I think back on their response gratefully to this day.

Our pastor authorized his associate to come to our house and baptize our son the very next day. My first trip downstairs in our house from my postpartum recovery nest in our room was to the dining room for the baptism of our son. Everyone was in masks, the house was a disaster, and in the midst of this strange situation, Father entered our house and all was well. The mix of the sacred and the ordinary in our home baptism exuded the grace and stability I had been desperately seeking without knowing it.

The beauty of the intricate gold embroidery work on Father’s stole contrasted with the simplicity of our makeshift silver mixing bowl fount. My oldest son exhibited his excitement and joy by bringing images of Jesus’ baptism in the Jordan River from books we had around the house and basically shoving them as close to Father as possible — be that directly in his line of vision or next to the toe of his shoe.

I remember wiping crumbs of day-old food off the table to make room for the baptismal candle, with Father’s hands extended over us in blessing. Incarnational love — God entering our world in the chaos of a huge census and the trappings of an animal dwelling — never hit home more for me than it did that day. I felt utterly loved and taken care of.

Nothing dramatic changed about our home after Father left — the crumbs were still there, the baby cried, and I needed to go get some more ibuprofen and sleep. But those moments had illuminated my world and graced our son in a life-changing way. And that’s exactly the way God works every time. Quietly, gently, He gives us exactly what we need despite outward appearances remaining unremarkably ordinary.

And He works through His Church and priests, using the sacramental channels of grace regardless of the occasionally unusual backdrop.

Kimberly was the name of the woman who showed up on our porch that chilly autumn evening. Her presence in our home created the opportunity for so many responses of grace — from my family’s welcoming of her to our priests’ care for us during a difficult time.

Thank you, Kimberly, for being a portal of grace for our family as we saw the beauty of Christ and His Church in a whole new way.