The Sunday She Disappeared

A memory of baptism, silence, and what we never said out loud. Based on a post from its original post date of 10/19/2013.

NOTE: I wrote this piece on Medium.com over a decade ago, recalling the day my sister was baptized. At that time, I didn’t fully grasp what was happening. I still don’t, not entirely. However, I’ve learned that what we refer to as salvation can sometimes resemble drowning.

The multipurpose room of the Chinese for Christ Church in Berkeley, California, had all the elements of what a non-denominational Chinese church should have, I guess: gray short-thread carpet, metal cross on a wall, next to a framed poster of the Chinese translation of Psalms 23—Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want—hung above the double doors that led to the church’s kitchen areas.

I forgot what the church looked like until I saw a photo of it on Google Street View. There it was, just as I remembered it—it’s where our entire family went every Sunday: my grandmother, my pa…