Little Ones To Him Belong

The reception was in full, boisterous swing, and having done my duty as the newly-weds' officiant, I was quietly making my way to the parking lot. Standing near my car was a young couple with whom I had chatted during the cake-cutting. Now, she was almost hysterical and he, clearly unsuccessful in comforting her, had settled for trying to shut her up. Perhaps it was the tone of my voice, or the robe and stole I still had on my arm, or just their desperation, but they took me up on my offer of help, and we headed back into the church to find a room where we could talk.

What had gotten Jan (not her real name) going was an unexpected encounter in a corner of the hall with a smiling bridesmaid who was breast-feeding her baby. For a few excruciating minutes, Jan held herself together, and then ran for the door. Confronted by her tears and near screaming, her husband, whom I will call Jim, substituted embarrassment and anger for acknowledging and respecting the source of Jan's melt-down: a sudden reminder of their two-month-old in her crib, not breathing. At the time of their baby's death, they had not arranged for her baptism, and for this failure Jan could not forgive herself. She described herself as having abandoned her baby to hell. Jim chastised her for holding on to "superstitious nonsense."

For more Christians than Jim could have known, the belief that unbaptized infants are consigned to hell is anything but nonsense. And far from being a superstition, it is rooted in what is supposed to be the most terrible "fact" of all, the primordial disobedience of Adam and Eve, whose sinfulness infected the whole human race from that time forward, pre-determining actions and character in a sinful direction, and dooming everyone to eternal damnation. The only cure for this disease is a single act of atonement alone deemed acceptable by and to God, the self-sacrifice of Jesus Christ on the cross. And to Jan and the church in which she was raised, the only way to that cure is baptism. For the unbaptized --- even babies victimized by their parents' indifference, unbelief, or sloth --- only everlasting punishment awaits.

If it were possible to rescind elevations to sainthood, and I am not sure that even Popes can undo this process, I would do my best to be the first signer of a petition to reconsider the status of "Saint" Augustine. Actually, for a lot of reasons, but most assuredly for this particularly vile concoction of outrageous deductions from mis-read biblical texts. Even his own church found it hard to accept the rigorism of his teaching on infant baptism, choosing instead to temper it with the image of an intermediate state, "limbo," between eternal blessedness and eternal damnation, to which unbaptized infants are consigned.

It is encouraging to read and hear that in the highest Roman Catholic circles, limbo is undergoing serious re-consideration. Now, some teachers of the church, the Pope included, are at least wondering whether a loving God would deny infants access to highest heaven before they can commit even their first sins themselves. I know we are supposed to be more charitable in our ecumenical conversations than I am about this one, but having stared into Jan's eyes and soul for as long as I did, about all I can muster by way of further reaction to this news from Rome is that it's about time. Once the idea of limbo goes, maybe that of the eternal damnation of infants will go, too. To hell with both of them.

That anguished afternoon, I did not add to Jan's pain or to Jim's need for reassurance by imposing on them my own ideas on this subject. What they needed was simply to be listened to and heard by a fellow Christian struggling to understand their loss and conflicting theologies and to convey respect and love to both of them in the process. Toward the end of our conversation, both Jan and Jim expressed a willingness to talk more with a priest acquaintance of mine, whom I knew would be able to help them to experience a new vision and hope beyond what their church had provided them to this point in their lives.

In the early days of television, Christians of all varieties were well served by a weekly broadcast of a magnificent orator, Fulton J. Sheen. For 30 minutes each time, Bishop Sheen expounded the Roman Catholic vision of life clearly and captivatingly, and ended each broadcast with a hale and hearty, "See you in heaven!" Especially the little ones.