Sacred Moment.

Sacred Moment.

A moment of the sacred entered my life on Sunday.

He was three years old.

He looked at me from a distance and wasn’t really sure if he should approach. I saw him clutch his daddy’s hand a little tighter. I squatted down so we could be face to face and I said hello.

He smiled at me.

Barely verbal, he said hello back.

I told him how glad I was to see him.

I stood back up and greeted his father and the man who came to be his Godparent. They appeared as if entering the church was not a common or familiar practice for them. The father was kind and genuine. I could tell both men were determined to be there for this child. Both men were set to offer this child into the hand of God.

We had very little time before the service was to begin.

We had not spoken before.

We had not done the usual pastoral visit,

nor the usual meeting with the child.

I had received a phone call earlier in the week from the child’s grandparents’ expressing their son’s desire for his child. SO, with the permission of the elders, we forged ahead to prepare for a Sunday baptism of a child we had not met and the father they barely knew nor had I met.

I was convinced that this was a moment Jesus would honor.

The little boy was ready to run and discover as he tried to tear away from daddy’s grip. I said to him, “Do you want to play with toys?” His eyes lit up as he said to daddy, “Toys, toys!” We found our way upstairs to the nursery and there he played with fire engines and everything that made noise. Through the sirens I ran quickly through the liturgy for dad and Godparent. I shared the questions I would ask and the expected response from each of them. I again thanked them for choosing baptism for this child. It was all in such a rush, not the way we would expect it to be done right. But, what is right really? Did Philip hesitate at the request of the eunuch? I think not.

I looked at the little boy and said, “Let’s go downstairs and I’ll show you the water and everything that will happen this morning.” We went downstairs and I showed him the pitcher that held the warm water to be poured into the font. He pulled away unsure and not too keen on water. I held out the pitcher and again offered it to him to touch and then I gently took his hand and put his fingers in the water. He looked up at me with big eyes and he touched the water again dipping his fingers deeper. We walked to the font and I spoke of what would happen next and how the water would be placed on his head and, if he let me, I would lift him up and hold him.

Time was running out and it was clear we needed to empty the sanctuary and allow the congregants to gather. We squeezed through the side door and we parted ways for the time being.

The moment in worship arrived and I called the family forward and all the children to be witnesses to “remember our baptism as we witness today’s baptism.”

The little boy was filled with energy. He saw the baptism candle and tried to blow it out as one would blow out a birthday candle. He took the wooden cross to be given to him at the end and gripped it in his hand. He reached around dad and looked at the children seated there. He looked up at all those grown-ups staring down at him.

He smiled.

All through the long liturgy and the many words and prayers he held the hands of several people. He looked at them and eyed them with a wondering heart.

And then the moment came to pour the water.

Together we took the pitcher in hand and as we poured together I prayed the prayer of the presence of the Holy Spirit over the waters. It seemed in slow motion as we intentionally emptied the pitcher together into the font.

We eyed each other with satisfaction.

God had united our hearts and made us one in Christ.

I reached to pick him and he went willingly into my arms. And here the little child who was so afraid of water received the water poured over him. His eyes were mesmerized and so large.

He didn’t say a word.

“I baptize you in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit Amen!”

He was motionless,

still,

ever so quiet.

Again, we looked at each other as I said the words. “This promise is for you, God so loved the world that he gave his only Son that whoever believes in him has eternal life…you too will grow to love God as God loves you.”

In my arms he stayed as I walked with him all around the large sanctuary and as I shared the story of home and the place to belong with God and this congregation.

                                                             I believe he saw God that day.

                                                     I believe he saw the real face of God,

                                                             his eyes and his body showed it to me. 

                                                          Yes, I’m sure he saw God that day.

The only other time I have seen this awe on the face of a child was when my son

was three years old. We had stepped inside a cathedral in the midst of mass. And there was the priest wearing white and waving his arms with the liturgy. We stood there for some time taken in with the worship. And then with respect as to not disturb the rest of worship since we were tourists we quietly departed. As we came out my son looked at me with enormous eyes. He face was almost drained of color as he stared at me. He said to me, “I saw God.” I said, “You did? Where?” He responded, “He was inside wearing white and waving his arms.

I saw God.”

I do not doubt that he saw God that day.

Just as I do not doubt this little boy saw God.

                        Because I too caught in the holy moment of Sacrament,

                                           not only experienced God,

                                                              but

                                                         I saw God.

             A moment of the sacred entered my life on Sunday.

                                                          He was three years old.