The Trinity Within
We bear in ourselves
a living representation of Father,
Son, and Holy Ghost.
Put three children in a room together, and they will play.
Take them to the lake, and they will swim and laugh and explore. They’ll take turns pulling a raft. Or pushing. Swimming in front or behind. Pulling down a corner to fill the raft with water. Then jumping in and helping to bail it all out. They’ll attack from beneath, flipping the raft and its occupants. Then they’ll have a mud fight. Go for a swim. Jump in the raft together and do it all over again.
Take them to a waterfall. They’ll climb rocks: “Look! Up here!” “How’d you get up there?” “There’s a trail. No, over here. It’s easy!” One will find a snake and yell for the other. Or maybe they’ll slide as far as they dare toward the back of a hole behind the falls.
Choose what children you will. It doesn’t matter. Even those labeled “shy” or “loud” or “disagreeable” find a way to fit, to take part, to interact, to play.
One of my new favorite writers – William Law – suggests that we must turn “to the Light and Spirit of God” that is within us. We bear in ourselves, he claims, “a living representation of Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.”
We were created for communion.
Children know this, and they are naturals at creating community through play.
I spend most of my days with children and youth. And it is this aspect of my job that gives me so much for which to be thankful. My schedule from just one week this summer: On Sunday, I drove a handful of fourth- and fifth-grade girls to Twin Rocks. On Monday, I took a dozen students to the St. Paul Rodeo. On Tuesday, I hiked to Wahclella Falls with 10 middle school boys. On Wednesday, another youth pastor and I drove 20 students to Hagg Lake. On Thursday, back to Wahclella Falls with another group of boys.
And it’s not always a joy.
They spit paper at each other while I’m driving in Portland traffic. They run ahead of the group and try to lose the girls. They toss their empty water bottles in the creek and complain when I ask them to wade in and retrieve them.
But they also play.
They let Thomas have the front seat even though Noah got to the van first. They lean into one another for a group photo. They offer to stay and clean the van when we get back to the church.
They don’t even have language for their experience. Other than that it is fun.
But I do.
And I am thankful for what I see, thankful for this every-day experience of communion, hoping that I am faithfully reflecting “the Light and Spirit of God,” hoping that I am helping youth to see in themselves, “a living representation of Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.”
Take them to the lake, and they will swim and laugh and explore. They’ll take turns pulling a raft. Or pushing. Swimming in front or behind. Pulling down a corner to fill the raft with water. Then jumping in and helping to bail it all out. They’ll attack from beneath, flipping the raft and its occupants. Then they’ll have a mud fight. Go for a swim. Jump in the raft together and do it all over again.
Take them to a waterfall. They’ll climb rocks: “Look! Up here!” “How’d you get up there?” “There’s a trail. No, over here. It’s easy!” One will find a snake and yell for the other. Or maybe they’ll slide as far as they dare toward the back of a hole behind the falls.
Choose what children you will. It doesn’t matter. Even those labeled “shy” or “loud” or “disagreeable” find a way to fit, to take part, to interact, to play.
One of my new favorite writers – William Law – suggests that we must turn “to the Light and Spirit of God” that is within us. We bear in ourselves, he claims, “a living representation of Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.”
We were created for communion.
Children know this, and they are naturals at creating community through play.
I spend most of my days with children and youth. And it is this aspect of my job that gives me so much for which to be thankful. My schedule from just one week this summer: On Sunday, I drove a handful of fourth- and fifth-grade girls to Twin Rocks. On Monday, I took a dozen students to the St. Paul Rodeo. On Tuesday, I hiked to Wahclella Falls with 10 middle school boys. On Wednesday, another youth pastor and I drove 20 students to Hagg Lake. On Thursday, back to Wahclella Falls with another group of boys.
And it’s not always a joy.
They spit paper at each other while I’m driving in Portland traffic. They run ahead of the group and try to lose the girls. They toss their empty water bottles in the creek and complain when I ask them to wade in and retrieve them.
But they also play.
They let Thomas have the front seat even though Noah got to the van first. They lean into one another for a group photo. They offer to stay and clean the van when we get back to the church.
They don’t even have language for their experience. Other than that it is fun.
But I do.
And I am thankful for what I see, thankful for this every-day experience of communion, hoping that I am faithfully reflecting “the Light and Spirit of God,” hoping that I am helping youth to see in themselves, “a living representation of Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.”
2 comments:
An interesting exploration of your experiences, emotionally detached. Two critical thoughts: 1. You twice refer to "hope" in your final graf and employ a secondary use of "faith." Law himself at times uses the terms almost synonymously, then at other points as incongruencies. I tend toward the latter, in that if one only has hope, he or she does not have faith. Is there some element missing in the spiritual construction of the essay that would otherwise make your final thoughts represent faith rather than hope? Does that even matter? 2. I challenge this observation of children: "Even those labeled 'shy' or 'loud' or 'disagreeable' find a way to fit... .” All children have a desire or a need to fit, but certainly not all of them find a way. They may merely be going through the motions because it's expected of them. Is this a matter of semantics? It stood out to me in an unpleasant way. You excel when you journal your personal experience, but I can’t help but feel that there is a missing, unspoken component here that leaves the essay wistful.
Not so much an exploration of my experiences as it is of my observations. Emotionally detached? Purposeful. Bias is inevitable, but as much as possible, I'm trying not to color too much.
As for hope and faith, my reading of Law suggests that there is 1) the "Essence of Hope" as a kind of "Futurity, that the things expected, are not in being, but are to come." Then, there is also 2) a "certain Hope" or an "assured Hope," which has been "made as undeniable as the Veracity of God." I agree with you that hope is not necessarily faith. There must also be assurance. In the essay, I used "hope" in the first case, as I'm unsure of myself, even though who I am and what I do is built on an assured hope.
As for my observation of children, it's based on experience. The "fitting" may not be lasting, but in small groups, children find a way -- often miraculously -- to play with the playmates at hand. My observation is wistful in that I wish it happened more often. Large groups, for instance, are extremely difficult experiences for at-risk and special-needs children. But one-on-one and small-group interactions really do work.
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