Metaphors are vital they compare what we trust with what we want to trust.
We imagine God. We wrap the old stories in new language…for a kind of
courageous knowing and language that calls forth a new way of being
with our children.
I love to teach first communion classes, and there are those who question
why I teach it to little ones, only 3 years old. Parents and
grandparents say those little ones don’t understand what communion is
about. To which I answer that we don’t really
understand it all either…We don’t! because, we are always discovering
new things about it every week. So I invite everyone and anyone to
First Communion class as soon as they begin to realize that they have
been excluded from the table over which we proclaim “For you” every
week. This little story I’m about to tell you (and hundreds like it)
are my instruction manual/apologetic for seemingly irreverent things we do that are in fact a means of grace.
One day a baby doll came to First Communion class. That baby doll’s
owner asked if the baby doll could take Communion.
And what else
could I say but,
could I say but,
Has she been baptized?
There was a tiny moment for
grieving and hoping, simultaneously, as the seven 3 year olds sat
quietly munching popcorn, wondering what to do about a baby doll that
hasn’t been baptized. So we tucked our napkins into paper cups,
recycled the whole lot, and marched in true baptismal style down to
the baptismal font. They climbed up into the pews all around the
bowl, wavering as they carefully stood on the seats to get a better view, and I took that tiny baby, the size of a premature hope, born about a month too soon, held her body over the waters and cupped in my hand holy water to drench
her little head thrice. In the name of the Creator, in the name of
the Son, and in the name of the Holy Spirit. And we all breathed
again, not realizing we had held our breath.
grieving and hoping, simultaneously, as the seven 3 year olds sat
quietly munching popcorn, wondering what to do about a baby doll that
hasn’t been baptized. So we tucked our napkins into paper cups,
recycled the whole lot, and marched in true baptismal style down to
the baptismal font. They climbed up into the pews all around the
bowl, wavering as they carefully stood on the seats to get a better view, and I took that tiny baby, the size of a premature hope, born about a month too soon, held her body over the waters and cupped in my hand holy water to drench
her little head thrice. In the name of the Creator, in the name of
the Son, and in the name of the Holy Spirit. And we all breathed
again, not realizing we had held our breath.
She had been such a good baby! She didn’t even wince at the cold of the April weather outside! Then we took her, all of us bumbling our way to the altar, and sat around it on red carpet, and we all cupped our hands. We looked into
the little boats we had made, palm-edge to palm-edge, the same boats
that hold water, that hold wine, that hold babies hovering over the
waters of covenant and creation. The same boats that hold the Christ as he sleeps through the storm.
the little boats we had made, palm-edge to palm-edge, the same boats
that hold water, that hold wine, that hold babies hovering over the
waters of covenant and creation. The same boats that hold the Christ as he sleeps through the storm.
Made from the same hands that hit and scold.
The very same that pat heads and grab at candy that hold too
tight and sweat and slip and wave hello sometimes but goodbye most of
the time.
The very same that pat heads and grab at candy that hold too
tight and sweat and slip and wave hello sometimes but goodbye most of
the time.
And the newly baptized baby must have been sleeping,
because she didn’t make a peep where she lay, beside the lap of her
little Momma. The little Momma looked at me and asked me, “Now?
Can she have Communion now?” And I thought of the way that Cookie
Monster eats cookies. So that unless you’re really paying attention,
you just see cookies flying- And you don’t realize that he is more of
a real person- a genuine honest friend- than most humans.
because she didn’t make a peep where she lay, beside the lap of her
little Momma. The little Momma looked at me and asked me, “Now?
Can she have Communion now?” And I thought of the way that Cookie
Monster eats cookies. So that unless you’re really paying attention,
you just see cookies flying- And you don’t realize that he is more of
a real person- a genuine honest friend- than most humans.
And yet he doesn’t actually swallow those cookies. I asked her, can she put
her hands together and show me that she is ready all by herself, the
way that you can? Sadly, but not too sadly, the answer was a small
and wondrous “No, not yet.”
her hands together and show me that she is ready all by herself, the
way that you can? Sadly, but not too sadly, the answer was a small
and wondrous “No, not yet.”
And me, from my perspective peering out from my infinite abyss of adulthood thought of the phrase ready as I’ll ever be. And the planet may have stopped turning for a moment because all I really know for sure was my heart spinning out of control as I thought of days when there were
"Not yets" about baby dolls, and flower buds, and I thought of the days before baby fat was lost, and cheeks and eyes were wide and hopeful and unafraid of a certain type of reality that allows for hope larger than life itself.
So I taught them that day:
This is how I will know you are ready, when you show me a place to put
the bread of life and I will see it and then I will look into your eyes and
tell you that this is given for you. And you will say, ...well what will
you say? And they all said, quietly, because they were still feeling
shyly, but reverently sure of themselves, “Amen.”
the bread of life and I will see it and then I will look into your eyes and
tell you that this is given for you. And you will say, ...well what will
you say? And they all said, quietly, because they were still feeling
shyly, but reverently sure of themselves, “Amen.”
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