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25 de Mayo 2009
some grown up things
and some not grown up things
i've been up to:
the Avett Brothers were in Portland and it seemed to me that there wasn't really any way I didn't want to go. I was very nervous about not sleeping, about not eating, not smoking, not knowing what to say, not driving myself. but I was more nervous about not seeing the Avetts so I went.
and it was somewhat miraculous actually. I was a little sickly but I think between oil of oregano, a sudafed and a pbr i was cured like a good ham and the healing process finished off about midnight by Seth singing about love and hate and being so grateful just to be in the room with all of us sweating and singing and hopping on each other.
and then we rented a car, a giant dodge and I drove myself away, past shasta daisies and sweet brush, the same yellow kind I used to lean half my body out of the GMC to sniff on the way to camp around this time all those years ago. It was an adventure and we laughed pretty hard and sang loud and came home happier than when we left it.
in other news of the same vein...
wednesday the question was posed like this: "how do you do this in your ministry...
and i don't even remember the "this". but I answered the question and then, because it has come up twice in two different classes, I was asked to write it down and decided to oblige.
so here you go:
I teach the first communion class and there are those who question why I teach it to little ones, only three years old. parents and grandparents say those little ones don't understand what communion is about to which the pastoral staff answers that we don't really understand it all either, we know we don't because we are always discovering new things about it every week...
so I invite anyone and everyone to first communion class as soon as they begin to realize they have been excluded from the table over which we proclaim, "...for you." every week. but this little story I'm about to tell you, and hundreds of others like it, these stories are the real reason I am willing to teach tinies about holy communion and eucharist.
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, "has she been baptized?"
there was a tiny moment for grieving and hoping, simultaneously as the seven three year olds sat quietly munching popcorn, wondering what to do about a baby doll that hasn't been baptized. so we tucked our popcorn napkins into paper cups, recycled the whole lot and marched in true baptismal procession style down to the baptismal font.
they climbed up onto the pews all around the bowl, levering carefully 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 limp body gently over the waters and cupped in my hand just enough holy water to drench her little bald head thrice, in the name of the Father, 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 was such a good baby, she didn't even wince at the cold of the April weather outside, empty inside Sanctuary temperature of the holy water.
then we took her, all of us bumbling our way toward the altar and sat around it on red carpet and we all cupped our hands and 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 hands that hit and scold. the very same hands 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 mama. but that little mama looked at me and asked me, "now? can she have communion now?" and i thought of the way cookie monster eats cookies, so that unless you are 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...
and i asked her, "can she put her hands together and show me she is ready, all by herself, the way you can?"
sadly but not too sadly, the answer was a small and wondrous, no, not yet.
and I, from my perspective, peering out from deep inside the 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 knew for sure was my heart spinning out of control.
and 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 small hopes to loom larger than life itself.
and i said, that is how I will know you are ready, when you show me a place to put the bread. 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, a little too quietly perhaps, because they were still feeling shyly but reverently sure of themselves:
amen.
helpful | By crymytinyflood | 10:25 AM
Comments
Wish me luck, I know you think I need it...and so will that little baby doll if she's ever going to get into heaven! ;)
Posted by: Juliana at 4 de Junio 2009 a las 10:18 PM
