The Hmong family baptism, Part I

Several years ago at Central Lutheran Church, there was a growing ministry with Hmong people. A refugee people from Laos, many Hmong have made their homes in Anchorage, with large Hmong communities also in Minneapolis/St Paul.

The ministry at Central has slowed, partly because many Hmong want a Hmong-speaking pastor or prefer to worship where they are not in the minority. This is understandable. However, we still have a couple Hmong families connected with Central.

I went to visit one of them, along with Marilyn Martinson, who has maintained a good relationship with this family for many years. Marilyn helps with English lessons, transportation and just general support. Her husband Ron built a shoe rack and a major addition onto the family's mobile home in Mt. View.

I joined Marilyn last week because there was a new baby in the house and the mother was interested in baptism.

Mai is a 17-year-old new mother, married within the last year to Tommy, who is about 22. Tommy's parents, Bau and Cher Tong, are regular worshippers at Central. When Tommy married Mai, Mai came to live with Tommy's parents as is the custom in that culture. Mai reminded me that at 17, she's old compared to some newly-married Hmong, who wed as early as age 12.

A polite, well-spoken young woman, Mai told me that she was interested in having her 4-week-old son Prince baptized. I asked if she knew what it meant. She thought it had something to do with being Christian but she wasn't sure. Her family, she explained, was Buddhist and not interested in Christianity.

So I spoke of baptism as the entry into God's family (even though God already loves you right now, Mai!) and a public ritual that you believe that God loves you. We talked about the use of water in the font, which reminds us that our old self is washed away and we become God's child. It's a way of hearing and knowing God's "yes" to us with a visible sign (water.) After my (I thought) quite simple but effective explanation, I asked Mai if she had any questions.

"Do you have to pay for it?" she asked. My heart nearly skipped a beat; she was so intense and serious. "Of course not," I replied. "It's a free gift from God."

We chatted more about other things. Bau served us coffee and cookies. Bau's two small grandchildren Vanity and Adam wandred in and out of the living room, cuddling next to Marilyn and showing her various books and catalogs. We all laughed and told stories. Bau showed us some money from Laos, and of her hope to return someday.

As we prepared to leave (after promising we'd return soon and I'd bring Mai a Bible), I remembered how tired I was when I arrived. I had wished I'd picked a different day to visit. Then I thought about how sometimes I'm tired and put off visits to our Sudanese family.

It's interesting: as certain as sun and snow in icy Alaska winters and the spring that stubbornly comes after breakup, is this: even when I'm weary, the kindness, thankfulness and hospitality of those from other cultures leaves me energized and grateful.