Frumpiness

Children. “Suffer the little children…” I must confess, there have been times I have wondered about that turn of phrase. Oh, I know it’s from the old King James, and therefore an older understanding of the word “suffer” must be considered. But even so, the phrase is odd to me.

For nearly nine years now, the majority of my church attendance has been in a church where generally there are few children. This drought of children has changed me.

As I grew up, in my 20’s and 30’s, I adopted many of the attitudes of my parents. I would always fume over the squealing children in church. They were interfering with MY experience of worship. They must be quieted! They must be made to understand that there’s no room for screeching in God’s House!

Then came MCC Omaha. No, well FEW, screeching children. In fact for months on end there would BE no children. I didn’t realize how much I missed them.

Then, about a year ago, I attended church with Mom & Dad at a new catholic church in Scottsdale, AZ. The demographics of this fine church were obviously very young. I found myself welcoming, enjoying even the crying of the children, the supposedly “inappropriate” carrying on of these little ones.

I was very attentive to the presence of children there. On this day, I was reminded of “Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.” (Matthew 19:14). I also couldn’t help thinking “Make a joyful noise unto the Lord.” And even a child’s cry in the House of God is a joyful noise, for it is redolent of life itself.

At the end of the service, I had a little time to look around. At the rear of the sanctuary (typical of modern construction… very warehouse-like and absent charm) was the Eucharistic Chapel.

This was walled off from the primary sanctuary by what my memory says was two layers of heavy glass or pleas-glass. Etched into the glass were leaves and branches.

I gazed through this wall at the interior. There, in the center of the tastefully appointed chapel was a column, artfully designed to look like the trunk of a tree… or perhaps a very old vine trunk. This housed the Tabernacle. Springing from the top of the column was a structure designed to provide continuity between the trunk and the branches and leaves on the glass wall… the entire effect being to elicit the concept of a vine and branches… or perhaps the Tree of Life.

A little boy of less than 6 was in the chapel. He was quite taken with the “trunk”. In short order he learned to open a door on the “trunk” and was confronted with a metal structure. It didn’t take long for him to figure out THIS mechanism, either, and soon the Tabernacle lay open, it’s contents on display. I was aware of the consternation of those around me, as the parents rushed for the door.

Then a man I had not previously been aware of in the chapel reached the lad first, and took his hand. The wall prevented overhearing his words, but he pointed to the contents of the tabernacle.

I imagine his words, based on the appearance of his face, and the fact there was no apparent fear in the boy, were explanatory of the mystery there enshrined.

When I first wrote of this (much of the above is an edited form of something I wrote in my journal nearly 2 years ago) I was really more alert to the significance of the “tree/vine” imagery.

Today, as I resurrect this tale in order to “jump-start” my blogging again, however, I’m more attuned to the child. To the raucous cacophony of numerous children. To the beauty of little voices in the staid and stale sanctuaries of our churches, so many of which are today devoid of any real life.

I imagine those voices, the children’s voices, as metaphor… the metaphor of absence. These voices are a metaphor for what is absent in our churches… yes, oft-times my church, too.

The Holy Spirit is often depicted as a dove, or as a wind or fire. But perhaps the Spirit might better be depicted as children at play. The joy of discovery, the ribald joy of life itself exhibited by children at play might better depict our God far more nobly than the stuffy, frowning faces of most adults at worship.

Our God… MY God… is a God of joy and play. A God who delights far more in surprising us with gifts of exquisite beauty and love and forgiveness far beyond anything we might deserve.