The Door to a New Dimension
My Awkward Baptism
After my recent baptism, people asked me, “How do you feel?” Honestly, I didn’t feel any different than I had a moment before. How you feel when you walk through a door depends on what’s on the other side. If there’s a family member or good friend you haven’t seen for a while, maybe you feel excited. If there’s something terrifying on the other side, maybe you feel scared. But if it’s your closet—how do you feel? Going through baptism was uneventful, like moving from one part of the house to another.
Something invisible yet real has shifted.
But what I’ve realized since is that instead of entering a new room, I’ve entered a new dimension. At first glance, this new dimension looks just like the old one. The form of the world hasn’t changed—but its essence, its substance, has been transubstantiated. Something invisible yet real has shifted.
It’s like Neo in The Matrix, when he’s reborn into “the desert of the real.” For him, the Matrix was an illusion, and the true reality was harsh. But for me—and for others who are baptized—both dimensions are real, and both are good. One dimension, which had been corrupted, has now been infused with something new. Or rather, with someone new.
…the whole creation has been groaning in labor pains until now; and not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the first fruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly while we wait for adoption, the redemption of our bodies. Romans 8:22-23
The sacraments use the material world—things like water and oil—as instruments for God to work through. In the Incarnation, God entered creation, fully embracing human nature with all its imperfections. The fact that the physical world isn’t pristine doesn’t prevent God from acting within it. As my friend Jamie McNish joked back in high school, "Jesus farted"—a lighthearted reminder of His full humanity.
In my own baptism, this became real: as water poured over my head and oil was placed on my forehead, I felt wet, oily, and awkward as the priest fumbled through the rarely used rite of conditional baptism. Yet, even in those moments of discomfort and embarrassment, God was still at work through these simple, tangible elements.
baptism is “the door which gives access to the other sacraments.”
No, I didn’t have a vision or fall down in ecstasy. But, as St. Teresa of Avila mentions in her prayer at St. Mary Magdalene Church, I felt “the slightest prompting” of His grace. And now, like her, I pray that He helps me to respond more fully to those promptings, however subtle they may be. Baptism didn’t transform the world around me in an obvious way, but it opened my eyes to the deeper reality that God is present, even in the ordinary. As the Catechism states, baptism is “the door which gives access to the other sacraments.” Perhaps that’s the most profound change of all—the realization that the sacred is intertwined with the everyday, waiting to be encountered.
Lord, grant that I may always allow myself to be guided by You, always follow Your plans, and perfectly accomplish Your Holy Will. Grant that in all things, great and small, today and all the days of my life, I may do whatever You require of me. Help me respond to the slightest prompting of Your Grace, so that I may be Your trustworthy instrument for Your honor. May Your Will be done in time and in eternity by me, in me, and through me. Amen.1