Confirmation

The fifteen year-olds stood before the congregation to confirm the baptismal vows made by others long ago. With blazers drooped on their emerging frames, dresses neat and tidy, and shoes, like the faith they were professing, designed for older souls, parents smiled as the tradition continued. Like their fathers and mothers before, and the children yet to come, this rite of passage provides the comfort of tradition and hope that life is more meaningful than it often appears.

All that I remember of my confirmation is breathing helium and entertaining the others in my class with my munchkin-like rendition of the Apostles’ Creed. There were relatives and presents assembled, but only the slighted hint of faith. How could it have been otherwise? God was only a rumor, a hopeful wish draped in beard and sitting on a cloud. It wasn’t for some years later that I wished to stand before others and profess my faith. Waves had crashed upon the shore, winds had howled, and I had witnessed enough sunsets and heard enough birds to believe in something more.

Rather than judge those quaking before me church, rather than long for a different path, I celebrate those who have faith and the courage to stand and profess it.