People of the Cloud

by Rod G. Boriack

I can picture it as if it were yesterday. I was being held over a big white baptismal font in front of the standing congregation. Surrounding me in a half-circle were people dressed in dark suits and nice dresses: my parents, godparents, and older sister leaning in ever so slightly to see what was going on. Cool water was dribbled on my head, not just once but three times. I squirmed in discomfort but my mother held me closer, reassuring me.

The pastor’s finger traced a cross on my forehead. His touch was gentle yet sure. The pastor looked up and asked something and the congregation answered. He asked another question and my parents and godparents said something, each in turn. Their "amen" is the last thing I remember before drifting off to sleep in my mother’s arms. I remember it well...

Okay, here’s my confession. You knew it was coming, right? My memory of my baptism is a work of historical fiction. It is true that I was baptized soon after my birth, and what I imagine probably bears some semblance to what actually happened at St. Peter’s Lutheran Church in Lodi, California, that day. My sister, parents, pastor, and godparents were gathered with me at the font. That’s all true. Oh yeah, and I’m pretty sure that I was a squirmy baby.

This is also true: Try as I might, I have no memory or knowledge of who my godparents were or what our relationship has been over the years. I’ve lived with a vague notion of who they were, but I had to ask my mother to provide the facts and dispel any visions of my own making. She was embarrassed to admit that her memories were a little vague too, but together we figured out who stood with me as my godparents.

My godparents were the aunt and uncle I had imagined all those years. Were they poor godparents because I couldn’t remember with vivid certainty that they were my godparents? Quite the contrary — they were both among the cloud of witnesses of loving and faith-filled adults who surrounded me from birth and baptism into adulthood. And now I find myself among the cloud of the faithful surrounding six children of God, ages two through 30-something. I am godparent to six by their parents’ invitation, and godparent to a host of others by virtue of what is asked of me as part of the larger gathered community of faith — people of the cloud (Hebrews 12:1–2).

Cloud of witnesses
People of the cloud. That’s the image I see when I read the letter to the Hebrews. That letter’s writer encouraged and strengthened the early Christians by reminding them of the people of faith who came before them and who served as their foundation and example. The prophets and leaders of the Old Testament were as a cloud stretching across history in preparation for the reality of a new life made possible by Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection. And if that wasn’t enough, the writer reminded those who read the letter not to forget each other in the present. They, too, were now part of the cloud of witnesses surrounding each other.

I’m still learning what all of this means. My godchildren have been shaping my faith and teaching me things about life that I hadn’t anticipated. They are a cloud of witnesses surrounding me. It’s funny how that works. One moment you think you are the teacher, mentor, role model, passer of faith, and rabbi, and the next you discover that you are the student, learner, receiver, and seeker. And back and forth it goes. This is the marvelous and surprising reality of being the Body of Christ, the community of all believers, children of God, the church.

Ashley’s wedding
On a chilly morning in the Columbia River Gorge of Oregon, a crowd of people gathered outdoors in preparation for my goddaughter Ashley’s wedding. We poured oil into tiki torches, we set tables, arranged flowers, greeted the slow and steady trickle of people coming to celebrate, completed tasks, and volunteered for more. Mostly we filled the air with laughter and talk among friends, family, and strangers. When it came time for the wedding ceremony to begin, we walked along the edge of a lake and joined the bride and groom in a grassy clearing on the shore. There we gathered, young and old, standing and sitting, some in suits and dresses, some barefooted, some tattooed, carrying sleeping babies, keeping an eye on wandering children. This was an occasion for my goddaughter to remind her godfather of what the kingdom of God must look like, what healing joy there is in love, and how good it feels to gather as the children of God with all our beauty and imperfections.

Steven’s game
Steven, my nephew and godson, dabbled in sports and all kinds of things in high school. Football was one of those endeavors that surprised us all. His lumbering stature, clumsy feet, and gentle spirit didn’t match up with what most of us envisioned as necessary for doing battle on the field, escaping tackles, or flying through the air to catch a touchdown pass. But if he was going to venture into playing football, the least I could do was to fly out to California for a game and cheer him on with the rest of the family. Besides, I was curious. So I got to a game, cheered for Steven’s team, and cheered extra loud during the last two minutes when he was finally sent out onto the field to play. I don’t know how Steven felt after that game, but I was inspired by his taking the risk to do something unfamiliar and difficult. It was a demonstration of simple boldness that can only come from some measure of faith and trust that God is with us when we run and when we fall.

Witness to the gift
My wife and I now give thanks for Oliver, the most recent godchild to enter our lives. He’s only two years old, but he’s already a blessing and a teacher, as are all the other godchildren that surround us. Oliver, though quiet and calm, already knows how to make me laugh. That’s a great gift to me in itself. Who knows what he will teach us in the years to come?

When I think about it, this all sounds a little simplistic. Football games, weddings, filling tiki torches, chaperoning an all-night party, praying for a young man in seminary, the gift of a baptismal candle, smiles, and hugs. What does any of this have to do with nurturing a young person in the faith and walking with him or her throughout life?

Everything, I suspect. Sometimes I have to let go of the big dream of steering a child into becoming an adult who is an exemplary Christian, a member of a Lutheran congregation, and who can recite the books of the Bible and the Ten Commandments — in correct order. I have to remind myself to let go of wanting to be the kind of godparent that other people will want to write books about. These desires tend to distract me from being present and attentive in another person’s life. What I am led to embrace and follow is the nudging of the Spirit to live each day as a simple, obedient servant of Christ and to accept that one of the most significant things I can do as a godparent is to simply witness the gift of God’s love, forgiveness, and healing in an imperfect, broken world. No greater gift can another person — child or adult — know in his or her life, even if it is received in the simplest of words, actions, prayers, or relationship. The small stuff counts. It’s more meaningful than we imagine.

A work in progress
Godparenting really is work. We are created for it and called to it. Nowhere in Scripture will you find any admonition to stand alone in life or that we only have value if we can tough it out on our own. So in that spirit of mutual love and support, I offer some of the simple lessons I’ve learned along the way as a godparent:

> It’s never too late to reconnect in a relationship with your godchild, hild, no matter how awkward or difficult it may seem. Start in a simple way.

> Speak of your faith openly, not as if you are teaching nuggets of lifesaving wisdom to someone but as a child of God who knows hope, love, imperfection, and forgiveness in your own life and can’t keep it to yourself.

> Listen carefully for your godchild’s questions and wondering. Don’t be afraid to wonder with him or her. Don’t be afraid to speak from your own faith journey.

> Remember and celebrate the milestones throughout your godchild’s life: birthdays, baptismal anniversaries, graduations, marriages, births, accomplishments,

holidays, passing an important test, and whatever seems significant in his or her life.

> Make your presence and support known when life is challenging: the death of a loved one, separation or divorce, illness, hard times at school or work, times of doubt, unemployment, turmoil in a relationship. Knowing that one is not alone in dark or tough times is to know God’s tender, persistent presence.

> Figure out ways to stay in touch that are easy to initiate and sustain over time: a phone call, greeting card, e-card, post card, e-mail, text message, letter, instant message, or personal visit.

> Pray, pray, and pray. Whenever a thought of your godchild pops into your head, pause and pray for your godchild and his or her family.

I know I’ll continue to learn from those who surround me. Godparenting will always be a work in progress.

If you get to the end of this and think to yourself "but I’ve never been asked to be a godparent" or "maybe I’ll never be a godparent," fear not. The simple truth is that you can live as a godparent with the people in your life right now, without ever being asked.

Maybe some day we’ll reconsider our terminology and think of ourselves more as godcompanions. After all, it’s not just about babies and baptism — it’s really about how we behave together as people of God throughout life.

Know that you are among the cloud of witnesses that God has called to strengthen and sustain the faith and lives of others. You are among the cloud of witnesses that surrounds every living thing, stranger and friend alike, with the good news of new life and healing through Jesus Christ. No further invitation is needed. We are all people of the cloud.

Rod G. Boriack is assistant director for youth ministry in the ELCA Vocation and Education unit.