I’m wasting yet another Monday night Instead of doing the housework or nursing the baby, I’m in a baptism class. If I had my choice, I would be in neither place. I’m not that welcome at home. I already know what’s being taught here.
I’m the Catholic in the family, I received the religious education. First at infants, primary then high school. Every Sunday I listened to the sermons. I even read the relevant texts.
And it’s not me being baptised. It’s his Lordship, my first son. And attending class is necessary for both parents to understand the ceremony.
Now I’m currently sitting in a primary school classroom. On a plastic chair behind a flat desk. And our teacher is a nun.
I’m now back in school being taught what I have already learnt in advance. Again I’m half-slumped in a semi-listening stupor.
Until I’m woken by the teacher’s voice.
Someone has asked a question. The one never asked in baptism class.
“What happens if the baby dies beforehand?”
“A loving God wouldn’t let that happen,” she replies.
That was when I found all the religion I’ll ever need.