On a beautiful autumn afternoon, I was at home, having just collected a friend from the airport in Cranbrook. We were discussing what we wanted to do with the rest of the day, a few days before Thanksgiving. In the midst of this conversation, my mobile phone rang and it was the local hospital. A patient had requested baptism, “it didn’t matter what flavour.”
After asking a few questions, I got changed and asked my friend if she wanted to come along. We met at Huron College Seminary in London, Ontario, about 20 years ago. She was delighted to come along and assist with the baptism.
Stopping at the Church I collected a stole, oil stock and vestry book as well as a baptism certificate. I had asked the hospital to please prepare a bowl, towel and some water.
We arrived and entered a sick room. The air was close, it felt dark and gloomy. I went into the room and spoke with one of the daughters and she introduced me to her mother. Her name is Bonnie. “Hello Bonnie, I’m Andrea,” I said. “I understand you want to be baptised.”
Weakly she replied, “I do.” Gently, I asked, “Why do you want to be baptised?”
“Because I’m afraid if I’m not, God won’t know who I am when I die.”
My heart broke.
We had some conversation about how beautiful and wide God’s love is. About how she has been loved into being from the very beginning and that God remains with her now. I told her I was honoured to baptise her and we would be following the ritual of the Anglican Church of Canada.
I then told her that the baptism wasn’t her introduction to God, but rather it was a public declaration of God’s love for her.
I invited the other people in the room, none of whom were religious, to please participate as they felt comfortable and if they wished only to listen, that was also appropriate. Then, I ignored everyone else in that room but Bonnie.
We moved through the presentation and examination of the candidates. When we got to the section of questions, Bonnie held my hand and earnestly repeated what I asked. The Prayers for the Candidates were said for her, and her only.
We used the first prayer of thanksgiving over the water. My friend held the bowl on the bed, as Bonnie was moved to a near seated position. My hand moved through the water, “through the waters of the Red Sea…” My hand made the sign of the cross “Now sanctify this water…” and together Bonnie, my friend and I prayed.
I then put the towel behind her and gently poured three handfuls of cool water onto her fevered head. “I baptise you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.” Her forehead anointed with oil I prayed, “I sign you with the cross, and mark you as Christ’s own forever. Amen”
“Amen” she responded, smiling brightly.
I did not bring a candle as I was unsure if there would be oxygen in the room and didn’t want to chance starting any fires in the hospital.
After the liturgical ritual was complete, I was invited to sit on the edge of
Bonnie’s bed. Her eyes shone greatly and her smile filled the room. “Thank you.” she said, “Thank you so much.”
We sat in contemplative silence, then I asked her, “Bonnie, are you afraid to die?”
“Not anymore” was her answer.
We spoke of life, of death, of coming to the end of one’s life. She has been battling cancer for a few years, and soon, it will take her life. I greeted her family, each in turn with hugs and murmured words of support.
My friend and I left, feeling that we had witnessed something extraordinary.
When we entered Bonnie’s room, it was dark and filled with fear. When we left it was bright and filled with love.
I left my mobile number with Bonnie’s daughter’s and headed home.
The following day my friend and I went back to the hospital to see how things were going. The atmosphere was incredibly bright. Bonnie was in bed, still weak, but had been outside in the sun.
An Indigenous friend had visited and took her outside to be smudged. She made an offering of tobacco on a tree that could be seen from Bonnie’s hospital room. While she was outside, she fashioned a small cross and taped it to Bonnie’s window. The cross was framed in the shadow of the Three Sisters mountain range.
Noticing my flat chest, Bonnie asked if I had cancer. I nodded that I did, and that it was found after the bilateral mastectomy in July. She asked if I was taking Tamoxifen and said she had taken it as well. She gave me some most excellent advice on how to manage the tiredness and other side effects.
She took my hands in hers and looked deep into my eyes. “You have to fight this, as hard as you can. Promise me.” Through tears I nodded and smiled. “I will fight, I promise.” Like Bonnie, I am not afraid.
“I’m so glad you came by, today,” she said. “I was hoping to see you again.”
I told her I’m out of town Saturday and Sunday, presiding at worship in Kimberley, and that I will check in again when I get home.
Bonnie is not going to live for much longer. And as she comes to the end of her earthly life, she has been resurrected as a child of God. A beloved child who, in the midst of darkness, chose light.
I expect I will be asked to preside at her funeral.
Bonnie is one year older than I am. She is battling breast cancer, as I am. And as I held her hand, looking into her eyes, I recognised a fellow warrior. Her previously fevered body was cool. Her dulled eyes had brightened. She was no longer afraid.
A chance phone call from the Elk Valley Hospital made it possible for me to meet Bonnie. A woman of incredibly strong faith, who, in front of her non-religious family, chose to be baptised into God’s one, holy, catholic and apostolic church.
I spoke with her daughter before I left, and told her I’d be away, ensuring she has my phone number. “You know, none of us are religious and we were all kind of scared with Mum being close to dying. But after you came in and held her hand… after you poured water on her and said those prayers, something changed.
“Mum wasn’t afraid anymore, and neither were any of us. I don’t know what you did, and I thank you.” I gave her a hug and replied, “God is great. We are all connected and whether you believe in this or not, God was present with us all.
Not because of me, but because of God.”
She nodded, smiled, hugged me goodbye and I said “I’ll see you on Sunday.”
God is great!
