It had been three months since the last time I heard Om Sagda’s screams. I marked those empty days on the calendar.

The baby, nameless still in this model of spirituality, and his parents, Sarah and Fabian, catechists at Saint Mary’s parish, sit in the front pew. The baby’s godfather and uncle, who is Uche elsewhere, but not on this day, not in this ritual where he must be Silas, sits behind the baby’s parents. There is …