Stretch of Faith

I came to church and, as usual,

reached to bless myself,

but the holy water bowls were gone.

It was Lent,

and all around the back part of the church

was filmy plastic where work could be done,

so sanding dust wouldn’t cover the pews,

and prying eyes wouldn’t interfere.

Forty days later, the plastic was gone

the holy candle was lit,

statues stood out in the open

and the water -

the new water of baptism -

was blessed in the baptismal spa.

It was something new -

a step-in-step-out baptismal spa -

at least it was new for me.

So, with the teaching of the pastor,

I tried to train myself to go to the baptismal font

and bless myself.

The first time on a Sunday the water was to the brim.

I put my whole hand in,

not realizing the height of the water,

and covered myself and my clothing, with holy water.

Excess drops splashed on my blouse and slacks.

The next church visit

the water was half way down,

and as older parishioners bent to bless themselves

one asked what I thought of the font.

I gave the best liturgical answer one could want.

Was I used to it?

No.

Another visit had plaster in my baptismal water.

The “spa/font” was being fixed,

but flecks in the water – no way.

Would I bless myself in holy water or plaster?

As an added feature,

the pastor decided that for special services

the incense thuringer could hang

where the old holy water font had been.

The prayers of the incense rose to heaven

up both the back and the front side of the choir loft.

The cantor coughed and the accompanist coughed

long after the congregation’s coughs were quieted.

Incense should tell of prayers rising.

It rose, but were not the prayers we needed.

The last baptismal spa/font encounter came recently.

There wasn’t any water in the “spa.”

Now I ask how can one develop a blessing habit

when they tamper with the water?

The new spa is subject to overflowing,

to children playing in the water,