Sunday, December 26, 2021, I baptized Kabir, my second grandson, in a home baptism. It took place in the living room of his parents' house with members of the families of both parents present and with extended family and friends from around the world participating on zoom. I had baptized Dhruv eight years back. During my priestly tenure, I have had the blessing of baptizing many children. But baptizing my grandchildren was quite special, especially knowing that my grandfather, a priest, baptized me many years ago. I thank God for my grandsons and the blessing I had in baptizing them.
One of the readings at Kabir's baptism made me think of baptism in a new way. Baptism is probably the most practiced and misunderstood sacrament of the church. Very few parents who bring their infants to church for baptism properly understand the meaning or purpose of this sacrament. For many, it is a cultural or a traditional thing to do. For some, it is out of concern that the infant may not make it to heaven if not baptized before God forbid the child dies. Many who bring their children for baptism are not church regulars, and after baptism, we don't see them ever again. It is hard for parents not to have such notions when religion is thought of only in cultural terms. Though I am not convinced that my pre-baptism sessions with many parents make any dent in their understanding, I baptize their infants anyway.
Understood or not, Baptism is the sacrament of initiation into the larger family of God, the church. Once baptized, you are no longer just a member of your family, related by blood; you are now also a member of a larger family, linked by the water of Baptism. Now the church has a claim on you, the baptized. Your child is no longer just yours.
For those possessive of their children, letting go is a complex concept. The notion that your child now belongs to the world is thoughtfully sculpted in a statue of Mary and Child at a monastery in England. The observer sees Mary holding the infant in her hands in a way that she wants you, the observer, to have and hold if you desire. There is no possessiveness in Mary. Such an attitude of surrender is beautifully expressed in Kahlil Gibran's poem, "Your children are not yours." It was one of the readings at Kabir's Baptism. The poem reads,
Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet, they belong not to you.
You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.
You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.
The Archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, and bends you with might that the arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the Archer's hand be for gladness;
For even as the Archer loves the arrow that flies,
so the Archer also loves the bow that is stable.
As I look back at my life, I recall the times I have been an arrow as my parents' son and a bow as the father of my children. Have I struggled to become an independent person and developed a separate identity from my parents? Yes, indeed, but that struggle itself served me to grow to be a stronger person. Have Susan, and I also struggled to let go of our children to be independent of us and the cultural, societal, and religious moorings of both the transplanted South Asian Community and the host community-at-large. Yes, I am sure. Yet, those struggles we went through and the resets we made along the way helped us grow to be better parents, 'stable bows and yet bending in the archer's hand.'
Today, I am blessed to serve DRPA (Desi Rainbow Parents and Allies) as a peer volunteer to help fellow South Asian parents of LGBTQ+ children become more open and accepting of their children when they come out. In the South Asian community, any deviation from culturally and religiously accepted norms would be devastating for parents who consider children their extensions, possessions, or prized trophies. Some South Asian immigrant parents of LGBTQ+ children think of themselves as a failure and are ashamed to be in a community with other parents of 'normal kids.' It is also equally hard for LGBTQ+ children. Not wanting to let down parents, these children suffer alone, hiding their sexuality and true identity from their parents. They become victims of their internal oppression. It is where the services provided by the DRPA become crucial. It offers opportunities for parents and children to understand each other and accept their proper roles as parents and children. As Kahlil Gibran's poem infers, both bow and arrow in the hands of an archer have essential but separate functions to accomplish. The Archer determines the arrow's path, not the bow. For the arrow to perform its role, the bow needs to bend while being stable in the hands of the Archer.
Baptizing my Dhruv and Kabir into the larger family of God was a blessing for me as a priest and their grandfather. By bringing them for baptism, Ranjit and Johanna acknowledge that their children are not theirs but, as Kahlil Gibran says, 'life's longing for itself' (God). Mary's stretched-out hands, holding the baby facing us, the onlookers, is her acknowledgment that she was just a means to make incarnation possible. She was the bow in the hands of the Archer. When children come out as they are to us, it is a call for us to grow, to mature by staying in dialogue with them, and be willing to be pleasantly surprised by new perspectives and by whatever comes our way. Ultimately, we need to be seized by the knowledge that we are caretakers of children who are God's gifts to the world.
