Sealed and Marked

Last week while driving down Palm Blvd on the Isle of Palms, I saw a young couple putting masking tape on their shoulders--it looked like initials of some sort. I giggled as I remembered years ago one summer a local radio station in Atlanta had a contest to see who could get the best tan with the most prominent tan lines that advertised their station--Z93. 

That summer I was part of a middle school posse hanging out at Brittany pool and oh how we wanted to participate. Our mothers, however, would have none of it. So instead we hung around the life guards, playing hearts, and begging them to take us to the magic market (Do they even exist anymore?) on their breaks. (You may be wondering why our mothers objected so strongly to taped tan lines but had no problem with us getting in the car with college boys...a very good question indeed.)

After my first giggle, I remembered one summer day before my junior year of high school a group of friends (different group, different city) were at the lake. My boyfriend was sitting next to me and had his hand on my leg (get your minds out of the gutter--this was very innocent--barely a PG rating). Late that afternoon as we were all leaving someone noticed the imprint of his fingers created by tan lines. We were teased mercilessly. But I must admit that my insecure, new to the community self was also a little comforted by it. It was, in my mind, proof I belonged--proof I fit in--proof I was accepted.(and no I did not show my parents).

Fast forward a few more years to the first summer we were married. (Should clarify--not high school boyfriend...) I loved seeing the white spot on my ring finger when I took my rings off every night to clean them--it was the first married summer--now I can't remember the last time I cleaned them. This summer I have quite a few tan lines which make me smile--my left wrist that is covered with friendship bracelets given to me over the years by campers, my wedding rings on my left hand, and my mother rings on my right given to me by Chris for my 50th this year. All of these markings remind me of love and belonging, and every time I look at them I get a warm feeling of comfort and peace. In a sense they remind me of who I am--a wife, mother and priest.

I don't have any tattoos, but I imagine that is why some people choose to get them. They can signify membership--teams, fraternities/sororities--even gangs--and membership feels good because you know you belong. Or perhaps they remind you of a special person, a special place, a special memory and each time you look at it you remember and feel love or security or belonging or comfort or all of the above. These are visible reminders of an inner feeling.

As I've thought about this for the past week I keep hearing in my mind, "outward and visible signs of an inward and spiritual grace"--the definition of a sacrament. I do understand, and all my seminary professors as well as my Bishop can now breathe a huge sigh of relief, these markings are not sacraments. BUT, they are outward and visible signs that remind me and possibly others of who we are and that we belong. That belonging, that membership helps to form us--to shape our behaviors, our actions--our lives.

And now I am thinking about sacraments--specifically the sacrament of Holy Baptism when the Bishop or Priest makes a sign of the cross with or without Chrism on the forehead of the person and says, "N. you are sealed by the Holy Spirit in Baptism and marked as Christ's own forever." I remember when our children were baptized all day smelling their foreheads--it's not creepy--Chrism smells wonderful. Eventually, however, the smell fades (I don't clean my rings every day, but I did bathe my children--well most days), and the sign of the cross on our foreheads is no longer visible.

There is no marking that announces to the world we are marked as Christ's own forever, but shouldn't our behavior? Shouldn't our lives?

(and I just cleaned my rings while writing this....)