Sneaking Jesus...

Confession time. I’ve been sneaking BB tiny pieces of my communion bread for about nine months.

I'm quite the rebel, aren’t I?

I don’t know why this is considered rebellious behavior, but it feels like it is where we worship. In my pastoral roles it has been the ‘norm’ to offer the meal of grace to all the baptized. It was up to the parents as to whether their child took communion, and as it turned out most kids over the age of three held out their hands for the bread on Sunday mornings. In third grade everyone went through a (First) Communion class and we went deeper into the meaning and history of the sacrament.

The argument against inviting children to communion never holds up for me. “We’ve never done it that way before.” “I didn’t get communion until I was Confirmed.” "They haven't been through a class." “They aren’t old enough to know what is happening/understand/hold it sacred enough…”

I’m not out to make a huge scene or completely stomp on other people’s communion piety. I’m not advocating mashing up bread and juice for infants. I wouldn’t give it to Henry if he was in a rotten mood and prone to throw it on to the ground. Parents need to teach what communion is, model its importance and know their child.

But I happen to believe that God meant the sacrament to be for all the baptized. If we are going to baptize them, we should offer them food for their faith journey.

This week BB added “church” to his list of pretend play. We has been cooking, building fire trucks and playing baseball for quite awhile, but this week he began processing around the living room with paper towel rolls and calling it a cross. He has started to shake our hands and offer the greeting, "Peace, Mommy." "Peace, Daddy." "Peace, Enemy." And yesterday out of the blue he came over to me, reached up to my mouth with two pinched fingers and said, “bdyftrist.” I didn’t get it at first and as I racked my brain trying to decipher “Henry speak” it hit me… “Body of Christ.” Nothing like reducing your mom to tears as she catches up on the mail.

Tonight, as I was trying to make dinner, and feed EG all the while trying to keep BB from “vacuuming” up his sister with his pretend vacuum for the 11th time, my voice got a little loud as I ordered him out of the kitchen. He went to his play-kitchen, fiddled with some cereal boxes and came back to me with his little pinched fingers reaching up to me, “bdyfrist, Mommy.”

Of course you know I want to make the case that this has some large theological meaning--that BB was offering me forgiveness and mercy in my weak moment. Perhaps, even reminding me of God's ultimate grace and mercy. Relax, it may have been a sign of grace but I also know that he could have offered me pretend pancakes just as easily. What all of this new 'play' does show me is that somehow his faith life is developing. He is beginning to understand that what happens at the altar is important. That he is a part of it. That it, is life changing.

That whatever 'it' is, it might help you out when you’ve gotten yourself into some trouble. "bdyfrist" for Mother and Son.