This past Sunday, while in worship, Psalm 139 was read aloud and the woman preaching asked for people to share reflections. I am not very familiar with the Psalms, so their words do not come to mind readily. However, when I read through the 139th, I was deeply moved by the verses. They are beautiful words in their own right, but they hold particular significance for me because of an intense experience I had this summer past.
During my last shift of being on-call at the UCLA Ronald Reagan Medical Center, I received a page from a social worker. A patient was undergoing an operation to evacuate her fetus. And the patient and her family wanted the child to be baptized after the procedure was completed. I could have passed the task off to one of the Catholic priests who were present for Mass that day, but I decided that there was no need to do so. I was just as capable as they to perform this ritual and since I was the on-call chaplain, it was my job. It was an awkward service to arrange. None of the staff had ever had this done before. This was my first baptism ever, let alone in a hospital, so I certainly had no protocol suggestions. Finally we figured everything out, I got the child’s name from the mother in the recovery room and then entered the staff-only area to perform the baptism. The family would not be present. Although I made room for the staff to join me, they opted to not be present either. Understandable. A nurse placed the child on an instrument table in an operating room. She asked if I needed anything else and I requested some water for the baptism, which she quickly retrieved. Due to the type of abortion performed, there was no discernible human form. I never opened the translucent container. The nurse took her leave, and closed the door behind her.
I was very anxious up to this point. I felt that I could perform the ritual, but my anxiety was nearly tangible. I had to start by praying that the Holy Spirit fill me with peace and courage. I prayed this most earnestly for a time. I cannot describe to you how each moment seemed to stretch to infinity, yet melted away instantaneously. Indeed, even now I am tearing up as the stretches of time between now and then vanish. After feeling sufficiently emboldened, I finally truly beheld the child before me. My entire being became focused and I felt a terrible loneliness well-up inside me. It was not I who felt lonely; but inexplicably I felt the child of God before me was. I broke down and wept. After a time I collected myself and reached for the sterilized water that stood silently by, though more water seemed redundant at this point:
“Angel, I baptize you in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.”
At this moment, despite my rational eyes telling me that there is nothing human before me, I experienced the most profound humanity. It was a tragic beauty that the very core of my being recognized. In response to being so grievously touched, from the deepest parts of everything I am, manifested words that I cannot claim as my own because I did not think of them nor realize what I said until after the fact:
“You will never be forgotten, Angel.”
I was transported to the most authentic parts of myself, while also transcending every aspect of myself. I felt that I was absolutely nothing and yet positively everything. Time telescoped and took me back years to when I was on the brink of self-destruction because of how far into the utter abyss that is Doubt I had fallen. At that time, I was being swallowed up by the Infinite and felt there was no way out. As I hurtled deeper into that darkness and was dashed upon the conclusion that there was nothing left, I felt a voice assure me:
“David, you are not alone.”
And my life was saved. I was brought back from that precipice only by an ontological, experiential truth that I cannot deny, but also cannot adequately explain. And as I stood before Angel, that irrefutable Presence that kept me alive years ago was palpably present once more. I addressed that Presence, that Being, when I commended Angel’s spirit unto God for safekeeping. And though my tears before were due to the tragedy of our fallen existence as frail creatures, the tears I shed now were due to the beauty of our redeemed existence as beloved children. I did not feel any judgment. I did not feel any redemption of the tragedy to which I was bearing witness. There is no redemption or silver lining to be found. The loss of human life is terribly absurd. It is the work of the living to remember and honor that loss. And Angel, I assure you I will never forget.
For it was you who formed my inward parts;
you knit me together in my mother’s womb.
I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.
Wonderful are your works; that I know very well.
My frame was not hidden from you,
when I was being made in secret,
intricately woven in the depths of the earth.
Your eyes beheld my unformed substance.
In your book were written
all the days that were formed for me,
when none of them as yet existed.
How weighty to me are your thoughts, O God!
How vast is the sum of them!
I try to count them—they are more than the sand;
I come to the end—I am still with you.
Psalm 139: 13-28
