walking around

Ambulatory: the space behind

(A place for walking, esp. an aisle around the apse or a cloister in a church or monastery)

What do you do with extra space? You store stuff there. In your house or office, or even church. A living church has stuff and since we share our sanctuary with a school, there is even more stuff. There are chairs, old wedding candelabra, Mustard Seed banners and canned goods. Stuff needs to be put away where you can get to it and it won’t be in people’s way. I know this because we pass this stuff all of the time, getting to and from the choir stalls. We float by in our surplices and hope not to get caught on any stray edges. The lights turn on automatically and all is well, unless you are the church curmudgeon. The church curmudgeon is a good musician, a lovely man and an complete formalist. His church is so high I can’t see it. As such, the c. c. objects to the condition of the Ambulatory. “It is sacred space,” he says, and he is right.

In big old churches like York and Durham, the Ambulatory is a wide aisle that surrounds or cushions the high altar. In these great spaces there is room for shrines and altars and memorial windows. These are places of awe and contemplation. Tour groups address the shrine to St. Cuthbert at Durham or the various chapels, windows and gorgeous tapestries behind the high altar at York. These are Ambulatory with a capital A. We, at little bitty St. Paul’s, don’t have the beautiful space. There are no shrines or important windows. We have a hallway. Joshua and I walk sideways to get where we are going. When Philip is walking, just wait. But as small and plain as it is, our Ambulatory is blessed with functionality. It’s a place to put stuff.

Chairs, candelabra and canned goods all serve individually. The children sit on the chairs for Friday Chapel (listen, you little nits, that’s Carol Luther talking to you, sit up straight and pay attention). Orchestras also sit on those chairs; they can’t play if they can’t sit. The old chandeliers are messy but so dear. If I’d been married at St. Paul’s I would have wanted them. The food on the shelves of the ambulatory is a gift from those who have to those who don’t, manifesting “all that we have is Thine alone, a trust, dear Lord, from thee.”

Chalices and communion plates are obviously sacred, and have their own special cabinets. But we also need to store food, clothes and toiletries, things that are sacred because they serve Christ’s people. These gifts, on plain metal shelves, make the space sacred. It could not be more so even if it were perfectly empty, wet with holy water and reeking of incense.

I love my church curmudgeon. He’s a terrific musician and a dear friend and he keeps me thinking on higher things. But I think he is wrong about our Ambulatory. It is a sacred space because it is properly used.

infant baptism

At St. Paul’s we love the liturgy. From the glory of the Mass to the quietude of Compline, we enjoy worshiping together. We mourn together, and the service of the last rites gives the hearts ease. Weddings make us love-drunk and

lead us so often to dreams of babies. Squeaking and interrupting and looking like angels at the communion rail, the small ones are the life of our church. But they are also individuals and some things just can’t be decided for them. We can tell them when to go to bed and what to wear but we can’t tell them who they will love. We can’t make them love Jesus.

There are two sacraments in the Protestant Church: Baptism and Communion. They were instituted or participated in by Jesus. He participated in the baptisms His cousin was performing in the Jordan. For Jesus, baptism was the first manifestation of His godhead. For us, it is the first public statement of our faith. When we take baptism, we proclaim our faith before the entire congregation of the faithful. It is both intimate and communal; I know this because I was baptized when I was 21 years old. Baptism is the first statement of faith. How can we ask that of a baby?

St. Paul, in first Corinthians, describes love pretty comprehensively and it is dependent on free will. Some great marriages can be compelled, but they are the exception and they finally turn on the choice to love. The individual soul chooses between Christ and not-Christ. Because the name of our god is Love, that choice must be free. Love cannot be imposed or forced or compelled. No one, not even an adoring parent, can choose love for us and it cannot be confessed unless it is known. The soul either responds to the call of Christ or it does not. Choice cannot be impelled, or it is not choice.

Now here comes Matteo, Sarah’s great work. He is perfect, with a full head of black hair and long eyes, just like his daddy’s . On Easter Vigil this year, he will be baptized into the Episcopal Church. I can only ask, why? He, and all other babies so treated, are perfect. They cannot renounce Satan—they do not know him. They have no sinful desires, and they do not know Christ as separate from the love that surrounds them. That is the point: baptism is for those us us who must confess Christ as Lord and Savior; a perfect little baby cannot do that.

Let us celebrate these new lives. We can name them publicly (why isn’t christening still in the prayer book?). Mauricio can hold them up before the congregation, and ask us to help their parents in loving and raising them in our faith. These tiny ones are the future of our church. But my darlings , baptism is that first, hard, statement of the interior truth of faith in Jesus. This work is for adults only.