Bouncing on the Bread

October 5, 2008–Today’s Gospel text was Matthew 21:33-46. To set the stage, Jesus is in Jerusalem the last week of his life. He is preaching in the Temple and is continuing a series of parables with a strong theme of rejection. People have been given something wonderful, and they waste it, don’t recognize it or somehow mess up the situation. The theme is fairly consistent that the people appearing to not be the rightful receipients of the gift are the ones that welcome it with joy.

This series of parables ends with Jesus recalling the Psalms118:22-23 text: The stone that the builders rejected has become the cornerstone; this was the Lord’s doing and it is amazing in our eyes.”While I’m not a Greek scholar, my NRSV says he goes on to describe this “cornerstone” as something that could be tripped over or something that would fall on you.

In Michael Yardley’s Architecture History class in the early 1990’s, he mentioned something as he described one of the most influential architectural leaps of ancient architecture: the Roman keystone. The ancient word for keystone was used interchangebly with cornerstone. The Roman keystone, or capstone, was the perfectly hewed stone that carried the load, by compression, for the arch and the load above it. This innovation allowed for spans to increase, allowed for aquaducts, great gates and walls to spread across the land with the Roman army and culture. It gained common use increasingly in the time of Jesus and the technology exploded with spinning the arch on it’s axis to form a dome as early as the first century AD.

The description of the cornerstone in the Psalms text was most surely our traditional (to lay a straight course) understanding of it, for the keystone technology would not be familiar at that time. But in the time of Jesus, the keystone would be as innovative and talked about as the Eiffel Tower, Falling Water, Bird Nest or Water Cube–but it was Roman. It symbolized the pop-power culture of the time. So I wonder if Jesus was speaking of this “cornerstone” as not just one low down, to be tripped on, but maybe as one that is both carrying and distributing the load? What would that really mean then?

I wonder if God can be both the creative spirit in the very foundational structures of the universe and still somehow be working, holding things together? Or maybe it is not that gradiose. Maybe this was a social statement, to not be so enamored with the newest technology, culture and innovation, so as to forget our core principles of humanity: love God, love God’s creation. Or maybe this was truly a carpenter’s commentary on building materials or a foretelling of the Temple’s pending fall. What do you think?

Today, some children (Sanctuary class) and I played with this story. We built a Roman arch with some beautiful blocks designed just for this purpose. The slate floor didn’t make a very even surface, but we got it together. When we removed the scaffolding, and the arch held, there was a gasp. They believed it would work, but I don’t know if they really knew it would work. Somehow all the “what-ifs” just didn’t matter. The wonder didn’t come when it all came tumbling down–the wonder was that it held up.

For October 5, 2008-This Sunday, we hear one of the all time favorite children’s stories–not just Bible stories, but all stories. In addition to this wonderful story, our church will welcome the scaly, furry and feathered for our annual Blessing of the Animals.

The story of the flood, the ark and Noah has been embraced by artists, movie-makers (Steve Carrell and Morgan Freeman among my favorites) and designers of coffee-cups, nursery linens and just about everything–the sacred and secular alike. What makes this story so interesting? Is it just the cute animals? Is it the curiosity and plausibility of “who cleans out the cages” and “how did they all fit”?

Some respected theologians argue that it is not a story for children. It is just too catastrophic, and children should not be exposed to such a scary expression of God’s wrath.

Is that our view of children? That they should be kept insulated from God? That they are insulated from all other scary things in life, and should not have access to expressions of fear, hope and promise? The sad reality is that all children live in a world that is potentially scary. They don’t cross over at some point to sharing with all other people the fears and wonders of life, but have those from infancy as a mark of our shared humanity.

Bible stories, when presented in wonder, mystery and honesty provide children with valuable access to tools. These tools help children to ascribe their fears to something safe and distant from themselves, play around with it, and then incorporate a new understanding in their own life. I would even go on to say we all access Bible stories this way. Somehow, though, children seem to be naturally insulated and be able to ignore the part they don’t need to hear or deal with at that time. While I would never suggest children should be exposed to something fundamentally inappropriate, I do wonder if children have a healthy sense of selective listening skills. Their “listening ears” can hear what information they can process with their current tool kit or for current problems.

This concept is fundamental to Godly Play. We tell children the hard stories, but in a safe way. The Flood and Ark story is an excellent example of that. Most children when asked “where are you in this story” are very safe and sound on the ark. It is the happy yellow submarine, complete with the most amazing selection of pets.

One of the most memorable responses I got from that question still haunts me. One little boy in our preschool class many years ago was clearly struggling. Whether it was home-life, having the new responsibilities of kindergarten or what was truly troubling him, I was not privy to–for I only saw him for one hour a week in Godly Play. When I asked the group, “where are you” I got the typical responses, until he spoke. “I’m under the water,” he shared. This story was an avenue for him to verbalize a deep fear and a feeling of being overwhelmed. The fear existed before the story, and was expressed after the story.

Somehow, the cuteness of the story is irrelevant.

September 28, 2008–All of our Sunday School classes are focused on a creation story. Some focused on the Creation (Genesis 1) story, some on the Adam and Eve story, some both stories side by side, and still our oldest children heard about the creation or beginning of our church, St. Martin’s.

The two creation stories found in Genesis don’t necessarily explain each other. They sit there side-by-side, and many, if not most, people don’t say “What’s up with this?” I don’t know how folks deal with this when debating Evolution theory textbooks, but I digress… Once again, children seem to be perfectly comfortable with these two stories being held together.

Among the many jewels in each story, if I took a favorite pearl from each, they would be this: when God looked upon creation, God saw it was good and we are created in God’s image, to have dominion of the earth. So it is established in Genesis 1, that God liked this creation, so much so, on the seventh day God rested. Probably laid in a hammock for a few million years smiling about how wonderful it is. God loves each bouncing atom, smiling face, gurgling volcano.

And then we go on to find out we are made to be LIKE God–imago dei. So much so, we have dominion or in other words, are to be God-like over the creation. The precedent is already set, what it means to be God-like—to love, to care, to revere, to rest over this wonderful creation. Each bouncing atom, smiling face, gurgling volcano and you. As this great big story unfolds, God’s people learn what that really means.

How have we responded in our classes to caring for God’s Creation? Our Godly Play classrooms have been “green” as we can be for about five years. We use reusable cups and cloth napkins. This action was taken after a child noticed how much trash we put in our trashcan after one “Feast.”

It is these types of responses I live for in a circle of children learning about God. These types of responses are the surprises, the ah-ha’s that take your breath away and shift your paradigm. “Bouncing on the bread and swimming in the wine” was a response by a five-year-old boy to the wondering question “where are you in this story?” The story before us was the Godly Play story, the Faces of Easter. The card he pointed to was the picture of Jesus at the last supper.

The picture doesn’t appear to have any dancing, bouncing or swimming. The looks on the faces before us aren’t especially joyful. But somehow, the boy saw himself in that painting, and he was joyful, playful–bouyant even. So much for unleavened bread, not much bounce.

The truth was the little boy’s life wasn’t too rosy either. His mom was recovering from emergency brain surgery. His worry over what he knew and what he felt like he should know, showed on his face in the weeks prior to this response. His little friends in the circle around him prayed fervently and out loud for the mom. They gave him a break on the playground, in the lunch line–they took care of him. However, this day mom was better, definitely on the road to recovery. It felt lighter, the air, that day.

So his comment shouldn’t have blindsided me like it did, but I love these blindsides. This response, and similar amazing words from children, seems to point directly toward God–just as God says “peek-a-boo.” There seems to be an ability, seemingly unique to the childlike, to place the hard stuff of life and the joyful play of life together like a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

This past summer, Souls, Young and Old, at Play and in Story gathered at a like-named international conference in Berkeley, California. Presenter and theologian, Dr. Rebecca Nye, compared her concept of the “reflective soul” and the “refractive soul.” She offered that when presented with concepts spiritual, perhaps children “refract” instead of “reflect.” Those who sit beside children learning religious language, walk beside children in the woods or rest beside them reading a bedtime story could probably support this hypothesis. They can blindside us with their (refracted) insight.

So maybe that is why Jesus mentioned welcoming children at least eight times in the Gospels. If we could somehow be like them or at the very least welcome them, maybe we could have just a bit of this playful clarity. Maybe we wouldn’t think of God as either the commanding puppeteer pulling our strings or the disassociated Creator, watching this creation spin out of control. Maybe we could join the game of peek-a-boo? Maybe we too could bounce on the bread and swim in the wine.

I wanted to begin by telling you about this photograph and what it has to do with minstry and children. It is a vacation photo from a family trip a few summers ago to Assateague Island in Virginia (inspired by a two generation fixation with the book, Misty of Chincoteague).

This is the last photo in a series that chronicles an afternoon of playing on the beach. I started drawing a giant labryrinth in the sand. That is an easy task if you have a few miles of pristine beach to start over if you mess up. However, this one, I took my time. I thought about it. The rest of my family ran here and there, dancing with the waves. I was really concentrating, so I didn’t notice my youngest daughter, about four, starting some little creation of her own several yards away. She didn’t bother me and I didn’t bother her. We just kept our heads down working.

When I finished drawing I started walking around the labyrinth. When I came to the end, and looked around a bit, I saw my daughter’s own little spiral, both whimsical and serious, just a short distance from mine. She walked her labyrinth, too. Then the whole family joined in, walking around and around the spirals. (I’m sure we looked a little strange from a distance.) Then my little daughter, carefully and seriously walked around the big labyrinth I had drawn. One path in, one path out–no way to get lost. When she came to the center, she threw up her hands and “click” my husband snapped this photo.

Dr. Jerome Berryman, creator of the Godly Play movement, offers children’s response to the expanse of the ocean. Children, when faced with a view of the ocean, so vast and awesome, they turn their backs and dig their own hole, their own little ocean. The daughter, when faced with her mother’s labyrinth, will make her own–and maybe walk her mother’s path in her own way and time.

Walking beside children on a their spiritual journey is a profound honor. Adults feel the need to model a Godly life, guide toward the best ways to live, steer away from things dangerous. Do we think our own path, directs our child’s feet? Maybe instead, it is their skipping, kicking and dancing on our well designed paths, that change us, not them. This joy and fearlessness in the face of the great expanse of ocean, in praise and thanksgiving for the One that creates, redeems and sustains it all–isn’t that the real path?