The Faith That Was There Before I Knew It

Today is my name day!

September 30 marks the feast of Saint Sophia (Σοφία) and her three daughters, Saints Pistis (Πίστις), Elpis (Ἐλπίς), and Agape (Ἀγάπη), according to the Old Calendar (September 17). My patron saint is Saint Elpis, and this year, her feast has me reflecting on something rather unexpected. Something I only recently discovered about myself.

Apparently, I was baptized as a baby into the Orthodox Church!

Now, that might not sound particularly surprising, especially considering that I was born in Ukraine. I grew up Protestant and was baptized in a Baptist church, so it never occurred to me that I might have been baptized before that. My adoptive parents had also been helping care for me from a very early age, long before they officially adopted me, so much of my early childhood was spent with them. As our family began exploring Orthodoxy, however, the question of whether I'd been baptized as a baby became increasingly important.

It all started toward the end of November last year, during our very first one-on-one meeting with our priest. At the time, we were still relatively new to the Orthodox Church, having started attending only about three months earlier. We had begun learning more about the faith, and our priest was gradually introducing us to some of the Church's practices. I remember that this was also when we were first given the option of beginning to fast, starting simply by abstaining from meat one day a week. During our conversation, we discussed my family background and what I knew about my early childhood. Since I was born in Ukraine, our priest suggested that I try asking my birth mother whether I had been baptized as an infant. It was a simple enough question. The difficult part was actually asking it.

I hadn't been in regular contact with my birth mother, and reaching out wasn't something I could do without giving it some thought. So, for the next month, the question remained in the back of my mind as I tried to work up the courage to contact her. Finally, on New Year's Eve, I decided to write.

I started with a simple Happy New Year message. It was still about nine hours before 2026 would arrive here, but she was already just an hour away from welcoming the new year in Ukraine. I figured it was time to make an effort. We had recently had a class about showing respect to our parents, and it had gotten me thinking. Although she hadn't raised me, she was still my mother, and I knew she loved me. So I decided to reach out.

From there, our conversation turned to what had been happening in our lives. I casually mentioned that our family had started attending an Orthodox church and explained a little about what had led us there. Then, somewhere in the conversation, I asked whether I'd happened to be baptized when I was little. And she said yes!

I have to say, I wasn't quite expecting that answer. Not only had I been baptized, but apparently, it was my grandmother who had taken me to the church. I also learned that I'd been baptized earlier than was customary, although I still don't know why. Suddenly, there was a part of my childhood I hadn't known about. Something that had happened long before I was old enough to remember, and something that had never really been part of the story I knew about myself. Of course, learning that I'd been baptized brought up another question.

Where?

Unfortunately, that's where things became a little more complicated. At the time of my birth, the city where my family lived was still relatively new, and there weren't any churches established there yet. My grandmother had apparently taken me to a neighboring district, where there were a few churches that might have been possibilities. But nobody seems to remember exactly which one. My birth mother wasn't there when it happened, and my grandmother passed away in the 1990s, so I can't exactly ask her. All we know is that it was a small church. And without knowing the church's name, finding baptismal records from all those years ago is proving rather difficult.

I've reached out to several patriarchates in hopes of finding someone who might be able to point me in the right direction. One did respond and kindly suggested another direction to investigate, based on which churches might have been operating in that area at the time. So I followed that lead, but unfortunately, I haven't heard anything further.

Of course, I completely understand. With everything happening in Ukraine right now, searching for someone's baptismal records from decades ago is hardly a priority. There are far more urgent matters demanding people's attention. And sometimes I wonder whether I'll ever find those records at all. After all, we don't even know for certain which church my grandmother took me to. What if the records were kept in a church that has since been damaged or destroyed? Or perhaps they're still sitting safely in an archive somewhere, waiting to be discovered. At this point, there's simply no way of knowing.

What makes the situation especially interesting is that this discovery has also become part of our journey into the Orthodox Church. When I shared what I'd learned with our priest, it raised the possibility that I had already been baptized into the Orthodox Church as an infant. During our catechumen process, we even received some encouraging news that suggested I might already be considered Orthodox. However, without knowing exactly where my baptism took place or having the records to confirm it, there are still questions that need to be answered. Our priest has been seeking further guidance, and for now, we're waiting to see what comes of it. It's a rather unusual position to be in.

Here I am, learning about Orthodoxy alongside my family, preparing to enter the Church, and discovering that I may have already been connected to it from the very beginning of my life. In a way, it feels as though God has been leading me back home through this entire journey. And all because of a question I almost didn't have the courage to ask.

As I celebrate my name day this year, I find myself thinking about that little piece of my history. About my grandmother taking me to church as a baby, about a baptism I had no idea of, and about the many details that remain a mystery. I don't know whether I'll ever find the records. I don't know exactly how everything will unfold as we continue preparing to enter the Church. And perhaps some of those questions will remain unanswered. But I'm grateful to have learned what I have. It's strange to think that while I've spent the past year discovering the Orthodox faith, I've also been uncovering a part of my own past that I never knew existed. And in the process, I've even managed to reconnect with someone I've struggled to maintain a connection with for decades.

There's also something rather funny about celebrating my name day this year. My older (adoptive) sister, who happens to be Baptist, has been congratulating me on my name day for years! But despite those yearly congratulations, I never really understood what a name day meant until we began learning about Orthodoxy. And now, here I am, celebrating it with a completely different understanding of its significance.

Perhaps that's what makes this name day feel a little different. It's not simply about celebrating my patron saint, but also about reflecting on a part of my life that I never knew existed. Sometimes I even wonder whether Saint Elpis has been praying for me all along, and here I am now, finding my way back to the Church. I certainly don't have all the answers, and there's still so much of my own story left to learn. But as I look back on everything that has brought us to this point, I can't help feeling that perhaps this journey into Orthodoxy isn't simply about discovering something new.

Perhaps, in some ways, it's also about coming home.