I sometimes feel like I should be with the children in Sunday School rather than with the adults in the sanctuary of the church. I said this once to a previous minister. She laughed- with me.
At times, I still feel the same now. Particularly when I am talking to my 5 going on 15 year-old son. Not because he is limited in his understanding of faith, compassion or god, but because I am.
Earlier last week he told me as we held hands to walk up the driveway of his daycare provider, “mom, even though you can’t see mother nature, she’s still there.” The comment came after our mutual admiring of the gorgeous oranges and reds coming off the eastern sky as the sun was rising.
Now, I loved his comment for its content, but the thing that I admired more was he said it so matter-of-factly, so confidently. As if he was just nonchalantly imparting a piece of knowledge on me that he just knew to be true.
I was taken aback when he said it; such a bold statement of faith before 7 in the morning that it occurred to me that maybe childhood is a ripe and fertile time for learning and practicing faith, compassion and god. Kind of like how they say the younger you are when you learn a second, third or fourth language it is much easier, almost natural. The child mind has not yet trained him or herself in habitual automatic behavior and language as to make the roll of an “r” awkward and difficult. Just as the child mind has not yet closed itself off to mystery, and he or she may feel little to no discomfort at all when something is true yet unexplained by words. But as an adult, learning a language, like learning to practice faith, is much much harder.
At least it is for me. I did not learn about faith as a child. I did not learn how to practice god as a child. So like most adult learners, I feel like I am ridiculously slow in my ability to pick up the new material compared to my younger counterparts, say like, my son.
Other children have been role models for me as well. I have always been fascinated by the stories of folks like Anne Frank, Ruby Bridges, and Ryan White. Truly remarkable children who you just have to stand back and marvel at. But then, I like to take it a step further and ask, what? And how? What did these young people do to practice faith, compassion and god? And how did they do it?
Take Ruby Bridges. Do you know her story? It was depicted in a famous Norman Rockwell painting. She was the 6 year-old African American girl who was escorted by Federal Marshalls into a New Orleans elementary school in 1960-1961 as part of desegregation. I first learned about Ms. Bridges when I was in social work school. My policy professor showed our class a video clip of Ms. Bridges walking in to the school. But interestingly, the professor did not ask us to focus on the policy aspect of desegregation in thisclass. Instead, she told us to pay attention to Ms. Bridges’ moving lips. Now keep in mind, this little girl is walking through a mob of white adult men and women screaming and shouting, pushing and screaming. But this child, just kept her eyes forward. The story goes that she was asked why her lips were moving as she was walking in to her school each day, and the 6 year-old replied that she waspraying. Praying for what she was asked? Praying for all the very angry adult white men and women to receive god’s blessing because they surly were the ones who needed help.
Now, I read an interview with Ms. Bridges on the PBS website and she says she now, as an adult herself, does not remember praying for the mob. But she does remember her mother repeating to her on many an occasion, “If I’m not with you, then say your prayers.” She said she learned that when she was afraid, pray. And so, according to the interview, Ms. Bridges “prayed for those people who were being mean to [her].”
When I first heard that story as a young social work student I remember being blown away. How could a child be so evolved and capable of compassion in ways that I had not even considered? How could a little girl practice god in such a bold manner and I could not even say the word out loud in public for fear of a.) not even really knowing what it meant, or b.). being afraid of not being taken seriously as a rational individual? I know now a seed was planted inside of me that day in class. A seed that would not take root for several more years.
After my brief encounter with my son’s apparent ease with the practice of faith earlier last week, I remembered back to my encounter with Ruby Bridges in school, and it inspired me to try something I had never done before. I had posted last week that I was going to an event on Sunday where I’d cross paths with an old relationship that had been jeopardized and harmed long ago. Prior to going, I was working hard to find my equanimity, but I had not been focusing much on faith, compassion and god. Until I did.
On Friday morning after my meditation practice, I prayed for him. I had never done that before. What’s more, I had never even considered doing that before. The paradox is, it actually felt good. I swear. I would not make that up. If it had been a truly awful and non-beneficial experience, I would tell you that, but it wasn’t. I was shocked! The best way to describe it would be to say it felt like a body sensation of a space growing inside of me. And so the next morning, I did it again, and it was even easier than the first time.
Now, I can’t say it will always be that way with this individual. After all, I’ve only done it twice. So you will have to try it out for yourself, and see what you see. But what I can say is this: after that experience, at the end of last week I was talking again to my son. He was telling me about a 5 year-old boy in his kindergarten class who has virtually no friends and is getting behavioral red cards nearly every day because he just cannot keep his little body still and out of trouble. But before responding with my usual parenting suggestions such as: try to be helpful if you can or at a minimum, try to ignore this boy’s instigating behavior, I paused, and instead suggested that we say a prayer for him. And so we did. Together.
It felt good to be the adult for once in matters of spirit with my son. Maybe I’ll be graduating from Sunday School sometime in the next few years.
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