(Note: I want to thank my son Vincent for giving me permission to share this personal story provided I could weave it into the larger narrative for spiritual growth…He has more faith in me than I deserve.)
Due to circumstances beyond my control, my youngest son was not circumcised in the hospital when he was born in December of 1996. Our doctor had an out-of-town gathering planned for the holidays and was eager to see his family. He asked if I would mind holding off the procedure until he returned and assured me that it could be completed in his office during our first well-child visit. I felt badly that I’d messed up his vacation by going into labor and agreed to the delayed bris.
Ordinarily, a secular circumcision is performed in the hospital nursery within a day or two of delivery while the mother lays in a bed down the hall. It is a cut-and-dry (no pun intended) event that receives little fanfare beyond some education on how to care for the “end result.” So you can imagine my surprise when my mother volunteered to drive us to the appointment a week later in order to support her new grandson.
“We’re not Jewish, you know,” I informed her. “It’s not like this is a major occasion.”
“I know that,” she insisted. “But he’s just so little to go through something like this.”
“Really?” I shot back. “And how old was my brother when he went through it?”
My mom laughed. “Well, two days old come to think of it.”
A few minutes after checking in, my son and I were called back to the nurse’s station where he was weighed, measured and his vital stats were recorded. We were shown into the office and when my doctor arrived, he examined the boy and pronounced him fit for “surgery.”
“You’re welcome to stay if you like,” he offered.
I took one look at the board my son would soon be velcroed to and shook my head. “No thank you,” I told him, gathering my things and heading for the door. “I’m no sadist.”
I returned to the waiting room in order to suffer through the longest 10 minutes of my life. I don’t know what it was about the more casual setting, but it caused me to think about the Biblical history of what is essentially a cosmetic procedure and how it connected him to generations of religious figures such as Abraham, Jacob, Joseph and even Jesus himself. Had it occurred in the hospital, I wouldn’t have given it a second thought. But sitting beside my mother, I realized it was his first rite of passage and I was kind of sorry that I did not stay to witness it.
When it was all over, I was called back to the nurse’s station where I found my doctor parading my son around as if he was the greatest thing on earth. The nurses took turns holding him and pronounced him the cutest baby they’d ever seen. Other doctors who I’d seen over the course of my pregnancy came out to say hello and fuss over the little guy. Even the passers-by offered their congratulations and unsolicited childcare advice. There is something about a newborn baby that puts everyone in a good mood. A new life is a child of God and something worthy of celebration by the whole community, not just the immediate family.
It’s not until 22 years later that I realize I experienced something similar to what the Holy Family encountered when they brought the baby Jesus to the temple for His presentation. They were still recovering from the delivery, adjusting to the new life in their lives and understandably nervous about the ceremony their baby was to take part in. But when it was all over, it was time for a little celebration – one that is shared by the whole community. You may not get to choose who attends the gathering, or what they say, but it feels good to know that their prayers and good wishes are with you.
It really is that “cut and dry.”
Today’s readings for Mass: 1 JN 2:3-11; PS 96:1-2A, 2B-3, 5B-6; LK 2: 22-35
