Baptism by fire

How not to dress for a christening

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This was at a Syrian church in Wollongong. Big, white building. Impressive interior — iconography, candles, the usual Orthodox deal.

Different religions have different baptism rituals. Serbian is the most brutal — the whole baby goes into a metal basin. But with Syrian Orthodox, it’s more a case of the water coming out than the baby going in, and this church had a nice stone font for the purpose in a corner next to the altar.

When it’s time to film that part of the ceremony, I head up there (my shot would have been blocked by columns otherwise), and I compete for space with the priest, the photographer and the family. We’re all squished in.

Next thing I know, the photographer urgently taps me on the shoulder. “Sorry,” I whisper, reflexively changing position. I think that I’m in his way. Whenever there’s more than one camera, they fight for the best angle.

He taps again. I look up at him. He points (because he can’t talk, for fear of interrupting the priest).

What he’s pointing to is my arm. And my arm is on fire. Or, more precisely, the sleeve of my cotton shirt is on fire. I’d gotten too close to the candles.

This is the arm holding the camera, so I still have my other hand free to quickly smother it.

I end up with a little hole in the sleeve, and a little blister under that hole, and a shirt that’s not going to attend any more events.

But the footage was steady the whole time.