Let the Children Come... The Revd Deacon Polly M. Bowen
It is not yet Christmas as I stare at an empty page and discipline myself to write about the Feast of the Epiphany.
In the early Eastern Church, where it originated, Epiphany was chiefly a celebration of Christ’s baptism, and its celebration in Eastern Churches still retains the solemn blessing of baptismal water. Along with this baptismal emphasis, the Eastern Church also commemorated the visit of the Magi and the wedding at
This is the extent of my technical knowledge about this holy day, listed in our prayer book (p. 15) as one of the seven principal feasts of our church year. A search of old textbooks would no doubt bring me forgotten information, but I am not in the mood for that.
I am in the mood to savor the kind of knowledge that is not technical – not learned from books or classrooms – a knowledge born of an inner sense of awe fed by years of nativity scenes and traveling kings and camels. Images of children in bathrobes and capes, with paper crowns on their heads, parading down the church aisle to the tune “Three kings of Orient” fills my memory and swells my heart. I see them present their gifts to a doll clutched tightly but lovingly in a little girl’s arms, and the earnestness with which they play their role brings to mind Jesus’ admonition, “Let the children come to me.”
The swirl of book-knowledge in my head vies for attention: they were not kings, but astrologers . . . the Bible doesn’t say how many there were . . . the “gifts” have metaphorical meanings . . . Mary and the babe were no longer in the stable – they were in a house . . . and on and on. But I brush aside these technicalities and lean into the pure joy of remembering years of little ones of our parish - many now grown – in their various roles as kings, shepherds, angels, innkeeper, star and holy family, all arriving at the “right” time to worship the Holy One of Israel.
Because worship is what it’s all about. All of our worship, even our most solemn moments, is little more than crude but earnest role-play in preparation for the great heavenly banquet, and who better than little children to teach us how to do it? They who come with a pure sense of “play” in their portrayal of the traditional story may be nearer to God’s Son than we can imagine.
My thoughts shift to the communion rail and the Celebration of Eucharist, which always follows the pageant. Little children, some still in their costumes, come to the rail with eager faces flushed with excitement, and stretch forth their hands to receive the mystery of Christ.
Do these little ones understand what they are doing? Perhaps not. But then, do I understand what we are doing? With years of seminary training and the ability to teach classes on why we do what we do, do I really understand it? Of course not – none of us knows just how (or even why) God chooses to come to us. We know only that he does. And these little ones know, too – on a deep spiritual level that can’t be articulated, a trusting level that many of us left behind as we grew older.
By the time you read this, the pageant will be over for this year. If you had children or grandchildren in it, you were here, and perhaps you felt the joy of the occasion. But did you really understand what was happening? Our children were teaching us how to worship!
Try to hold on to that delight as you travel with Jesus through the church year of his life, through the years and days and hours of your own life. Try to come to him as a little child, pure and trusting, exuberant of spirit. Leave your grown-up fears and tension at the altar, and take from him the assurance of his loving care.
We are all children. “Let the children come!”
