It was my second Sunday at St. Peter's and after the church service, one of my new parishoner's and friend came up to me to apologize for her almost 7 year old son's behavior at the altar rail. I thought back and didn't remember anything spectacular, and we surmised that it must have happend on the deacon, Diane's side. But then, of course, I had to know what happened, and she begrudgingly told me.
Apparantly, H had come to the altar with some friends of the family. When Diane went to place the host into his one open palm, he was nudged by the "adult" male who was with him, and H opened his other palm proudly to reveal that it contained a roly-poly. The story then went that Diane was so surprised by this offering, that she dropped the host (but this turned out to have taken on some elements of urban ledgend).
What most struck me, as my friend was telling me this, is that H was, in fact bringing his own offering to the altar as Jesus instructs all of us. What more appropriate offering from a 7 year old boy than a roly-poly which he has captured and contained, watched and wondered at?
One of my favorite things in this whole wide world is to witness children at the altar. I love to see their shining faces, the epitome of hope. It reminds me of who I have been and also who I hope to be: simple, joyful, and grateful.
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