Well, it doesn't get much more pagan than that.
A friend was holding a Naming ceremony for her newborn son. With the community gathered around, the presiding priest, a longtime family friend, blessed the child and lifted him in the air three times. Each time, we called out the child's name. This was the first time that he was named in public.
Having received a public identity, the child then got his first taste of beer.
Here's how they did it. The child's mother held him. The priest turned, and held the coven sword back over the crook of his elbow. He trickled a little stream of beer down the blade of the sword so that a few drops dripped into the child's mouth.
Then we all cheered and applauded. Welcome to the community, kid.
(I should add that this manner of positioning the sword held the point quite stable; neither I, nor anyone else present, feared for the child's safety in the least.)
I had never encountered this trope before, and afterward, at the Birth-Ale, asked the priest about it.
He smiled.
“It's to remind him that some of the best things in life come at the point of a sword.”
Sentiments, surely, becoming a pagan. We clink glasses and salute the newborn.
Coda
Thirty-two years later, the baby named that day has grown into a fine young man.
He still likes beer.