This weekend, I have the joy of baptizing a new Christian. And while the moment is beautiful—the white garment, the photos, the celebration—what moves me most is something quieter. Something deeper.
It’s this:
God is moving first. We simply respond.
Since that child was born, the parents have been coming to Mass. The godparents too. I convalidated the marriage of the godmother and her husband. I’ve watched this family grow—not just in name, but in presence. That’s grace. That’s what happens when baptism isn’t treated like a one-time event, but a doorway into belonging.
Because baptism isn’t the finish line.
It’s the beginning of a walk.
A walk with God.
And at the heart of that walk is a truth we often forget:
“You are my inheritance, O Lord.”
Not land.
Not success.
Not approval.
But relationship.
The psalmist says, “I keep the Lord always before me.”
Even in the night.
Even in the ache.
Even when the promises made at the font feel forgotten.
That’s what baptism invites us into.
Not just a ritual.
But a covenant.
A life where God is our portion.
Our path.
Our companion.
Every time I stand at the font, I feel it.
The water flows.
The words are spoken.
And heaven leans in.
“I baptize you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.”
It’s not just a ceremony.
It’s a moment where grace breaks in.
Where God acts.
And we are changed.
But here’s the ache.
Sometimes parents say the right words, make the promises—but their hearts aren’t in it.
The baptism is still real—because God is always faithful.
But the home doesn’t reflect the covenant.
The font is full, but the household feels empty.
Joshua’s words speak into that:
“As for me and my household, we will serve the Lord.”
That’s not just a nice phrase.
It’s a decision.
A commitment.
Joshua tells the people to choose—today.
Not someday.
Not when it’s convenient.
And he’s honest:
“You may not be able to serve the Lord, for He is a holy God.”
God isn’t something we add to our lives when it suits us.
He’s holy.
He’s jealous for our hearts.
Serving Him means letting go of our idols—our distractions, our attachments—and giving Him everything.
Because He is our inheritance.
Not a reward we earn.
But a gift we receive.
A presence we walk with.
When parents bring their children to be baptized, they promise to raise them in the faith.
To teach them to pray.
To bring them to Mass.
To help them know Jesus.
These promises matter.
They’re not just part of the ceremony.
They’re the beginning of a covenant.
A walk.
A daily surrender.
And then we look to Jesus.
In Matthew’s Gospel, children are brought to Him.
The disciples try to push them away—maybe thinking they’re too loud or too small.
But Jesus says, “Let the children come to me… for the Kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.”
He lays His hands on them.
He blesses them.
And then He walks away—trusting that the blessing will take root.
That’s the heart of faith.
That’s the heart of Ignatian spirituality.
Trusting that God is at work, even when we can’t see it.
Trusting that every child baptized is held by Jesus—even if their parents don’t follow through.
Trusting that grace is real.
And that God never gives up.
Joshua set a stone under an oak tree as a witness to the covenant.
Maybe baptism is like that—a quiet stone waiting to be remembered.
A sign that God was present.
That the covenant was real.
Even if the household forgot.
So we say it again:
“As for me and my household—we will serve the Lord.”
Not because it’s easy.
Not because it’s popular.
But because He is our inheritance.
And because every child deserves to know the One who welcomes them, blesses them, and never walks away.
Let’s walk with Him.
Let’s remember the stone.
Let’s keep the Lord before us—always.
Because He is our portion.
He is our path.
He is our inheritance.
🙏 A Prayer for Our Households: You Are Our Inheritance
Lord,
Draw near to every household—
especially those who feel far from You.
Walk with us in the quiet places.
Whisper grace into the corners we’ve forgotten.
Teach us to pray with honesty,
to trust with courage,
to surrender with love.
Let our homes become altars—
not perfect, but present.
Not loud, but listening.
As for me and my household,
we will walk with You.
We will serve You—faithfully,
because You are our inheritance.
Our portion.
Our path.
Amen.
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