Explainer
Creed
Weirdness
3 min read

When christenings happened in secret

Modern day christenings might appear fairly benign on the surface, says Julie Canlis, but they still bear vestiges of an older, more perilous, rite of baptism.

Julie connects Christian spirituality with ordinary life in Wenatchee, Washington State, where she teaches and writes.

A father wearing a suit carries his child who is dressed for a christening in white.
A Mexican father carries his son to a christening.
Photo by Marco Antonio Casique Reyes on Unsplash.

Christians today are baptized – often christened as babies – as part of an ancient entry rite into the church. Some of you reading this were probably christened, or have attended christenings, as a conventional rite of passage. But eighteen centuries ago, joining a church was not for the faint of heart. Baptisms happened at Easter, often in secret, and only after a semi-Olympic training of three years in order to be allowed into its secret membership. Every aspect of preparation was vital – almost brutal – aimed at the spiritual survival (certainly not bodily survival) of the church and its members. This was no pinky handshake. Why would people want to join at all? This was an ordeal which, if one passed, meant public shame at best and lions if the wrong emperor reigned.  

First there was the obstacle of finding one. Churches were secret, often hidden in remote underground catacombs, and undetected by officials. Those who risked their lives to bring ‘candidates’ for membership into their secret fellowship had to vouch for character because betrayal could mean death for all gathered. (Enter the first 'godparents' into the rites of the church).  

Second, one’s profession could mean disqualification: if a gladiator, prostitute, or actor was seeking admission, they would be given three years to stop their vocation – and begin caring for the poor, the orphans, and the widows of the city. Within these years, they were only allowed to hover on the outer threshold of the church, increasing desire for the more classified rite of the eucharist. Stock items such as the Lord’s Prayer and the Creed were kept strictly confidential until the week prior to baptism (never written – only memorized), lest they be handed out too early to those who would later fall away. 

All this was leading up to the clandestine rite of initiation – baptism – which occurred in the middle of the night, Easter eve. After fasting until sunset for 40 days (enter the modern practice of Lent), these candidates would undergo final questions during Holy Week. They took part in daily exorcisms, rejecting all darkness in their life, and culminating in the final renunciation: “I renounce you Satan, and all your works and all your empty promises.” An ancient description of bling. 

They were also examined by the local bishop for whether their lives were characterized by social justice: were they caring for the sick? were they living according to an obsolescent class system or into their new reality as equals? were they treating their bodies as temples of God? As one fourth-century bishop exhorted in the middle of Easter night, “why do you stand there, different in race, age, sex, and rank, who will soon be one?” Baptism was the great leveler, like death.  

And die they did. Earliest baptisms were held in secret, but as Christianity was sporadically tolerated, people were baptized in mausoleums – Roman funerary buildings, to communicate very loudly: you are coming here to die. These primitive structures continue to be unearthed all over Europe, every time a new underground route is being laid, or a skyscraper is being dug. And the foundations tell all: large fonts to walk down into, shaped like crosses, octagons, or even wombs. Here you go down to die, and be reborn. Archaeology reveals hooks on walls for cast off clothing, for the candidates were to become like newborn infants again. Plunged into the waters three times, they emerged naked and were clothed in white – a symbol of overcoming suffering and of primal innocence. In this upside-down society, one went into the water having been classes as a Competent One (competentes) but was upgraded after baptism to the nickname of Infant (infantes) – even higher praise. And the reward? Finally, being admitted past the gate (origination of the church ‘narthex’) into the sanctuary itself, to take part in its contraband banquet: the bread and wine.  

Modern day christenings might appear fairly benign on the surface, but they still bear vestiges of this older, more perilous rite. We have godparents, white garments, and a triple splash of water. The Book of Common Prayer still requires parents and godparents to renounce Satan on behalf of the baby, that supposed figment of our imagination. And although we have lost much of the symbolism of death and rebirth, one thing hasn’t changed: this adorable baby will still die. For the ancients, one’s death was merely the completion of baptism, in which one had already begun the art and process of learning to die. Baptism didn’t keep one from death, but baptism “baptized” death and allowed one to get on with living. 

Explainer
Creed
Psychology
Trauma
4 min read

Thoughts and prayers: why such words can really count

Cop-out phrase or the key to articulating something more powerful, Henna Cundill dissects the neurological power of a platitude.
A Coast Guard officer gives a press conference while looking grim-faced. Others look on.
A Coast Guard office gives the news of the loss of the Titan submersible crew.

“Our thoughts and prayers are with all those affected...”

We hear that repeated often enough, don’t we? Some public figure is quoted as saying this phrase in the body text (usually about paragraph five) beneath nearly every gut-wrenching news headline. “Thoughts and prayers” are the panacea, the platitude, the words to say when there is nothing that can be said.  

It's easy to deride and dismiss these words, and many do. There is an understandable frustration when public figures serve suffering people with vapidity instead of vim. But perhaps I can make a case for “thoughts and prayers” being more than just a political cop-out? To be sure, these words are not everything, but they are something.  

I love words, that’s why I try to write for living. (Try to, anyway.) I love languages too; I’m one of those annoying people who finds learning new languages pretty easy. Lots of people think they are rubbish at this, but they have missed the secret weapon: repetition. If you’ve the willingness to dig in and repeat vocab lists and word tables over and over again, and then over and over again, and then all over again. And then again. And then again, again… then learning a new language is easy. Repetition is the key, because repetition forges and reinforces new neural pathways in the brain.  

You see, that’s the exciting thing about learning a new language: you can actually feel the incredible plasticity of the human brain in action. It doesn’t have to be a new language, you can mess with the language you already know – I promise that if you look at a car and say the word “bicycle” to yourself 100 times, the next time you see a car, you will likely have to consciously will yourself not to call it a “bicycle”. Go ahead, try it. (Car) bicycle, (car) bicycle, (car) bicycle … and repeat.  

The human brain is constantly linking words and phrases to objects, emotions and perceptions, grouping things together by association. One study showed that participants were quicker to verbalise the word “priest” in response to a photo of a man in a dog collar when they had been shown a picture of the Pope immediately before. This is because the brain stores words in categories of related things, and this language storage system then has the power to shape what we perceive. Due to the association with the Pope, the participants perceived a “priest” and not a “vicar” or a “minister” or even just a “man.” 

Think again about the word ‘bicycle’ – in your mind’s eye do you now also see a car? See, I’ve played a trick on you! If you saw the car, then I’ve gifted you a new (and, sorry, totally useless) neural connection between the word bicycle and the object car. You’ll probably unlearn this one pretty quickly – neural pathways can fade as well as develop. But philosophers have long pondered this strange power of language to create our sense of reality – we develop our perception of what exists based on what we can communicate. Put more simply: people generally pay attention to the objects and perceptions that they have words for, and often ignore the things for which they have no words at all.  

Having something to say about suffering that gives us the ability to pay attention to it, to perceive and acknowledge it.

Of course, there are no words at all for that feeling one gets when reading about a school shooting, or a natural disaster, a mass murder or an accident. Horror is a screaming silence. “Our thoughts and prayers…” are typically the words to say that we have no words, that we are powerless to articulate what’s going on inside when we look upon the dust and ashes. But, if we take the philosophers seriously, and if we acknowledge the plasticity of the human brain, then putting these words around an event creates certain neural links and associations. It is having something to say about suffering that gives us the ability to pay attention to it, to perceive and acknowledge it, even when we would rather ignore and turn away.       

And if you or I actually do think, and if you or I actually do pray for all those affected – especially if we are willing to do so again and again, and then all over again, well then, we have not only created a neural pathway, but we have also reinforced it. We have gifted those suffering people a little place in our minds – perhaps even a permanent corner of existence. They are perceived, seen, and if you have ever been in a place of suffering, you’ll know how much it matters that someone, anyone, pays attention.

Far from helping us to avoid reality, having something to say gives us the means to engage.

Perhaps this is why the Bible repeatedly emphasises the importance of praying for one another, and for the world, and even for one’s enemies? It’s not only that prayer works on God, but that prayer works on us – developing our plastic brains and increasing our capacity to pay attention, to perceive the suffering of others and to allow horror to birth compassion. Far from helping us to avoid reality, having something to say gives us the means to engage.  

I am by no means arguing for platitudes instead of political power. Words are no substitute for tighter gun-control, better public safety, standards in public office and/or an open-hearted, open-walleted, boots-on-the-ground humanitarian response. Words are not a panacea, but neither are they powerless. Philosophers and prophets alike have long pondered the mystery that thoughts and prayers create realities – advances in neuroscience have only served to confirm the wisdom that was already in the room. To think and to pray is to create, to speak words that will bring life and breath out of dust and ashes.