Yesterday as we arrived at Church, Sophia asked where lazy bunny was. Being the pious father that I am, I suggested we all pray together that the Father would find lazy bunny. I thought it was a wonderful opportunity to teach Sophia about prayer. So we all held hands and prayed together. This seemed to satisfy Sophia and we all went into the service.
When we arrived home in the early afternoon, I was changing Sophia's diaper and she asked if the Father was going to find lazy bunny. Again, trying to be pious and theologically astute I said "sweetie, sometimes the Father doesn't give us what we ask for because he knows it isn't what we need." Sophia: "maybe the Fader will find lazy bunny?" Me: "maybe sweetie, but maybe not. We all make choices and sometimes the Father doesn't step ...", I trailed off. Sophia, with bright, confident eyes: "Maybe the Fader will find him."
I really couldn't say anything else. Sophia's childlike faith had nailed me to the wall. When I had suggested we pray to find lazy bunny earlier, I never expected anyone to follow up on that prayer. I never expected God to find the bunny. I was just taking Sophia through a pious exercise. Why? Well, because prayer is a good thing. But, really, I did it because I wanted people see her extremely pious nature and look ... ugh ... at me.
The Gospel reading at Mass was from Luke 18:9-14: the parable of the Pharisee and the Tax Collector. Had I been the pharisee, here is how I might have prayed that day: "Thank you, Lord, that I am not like other fathers. Thank you that I am a good father, I pray with my daughter, she knows the Nicene Creed, we teach her hymns, she's learning the books of the Bible. Thank you Lord that I'm not like that father over there whose drug habit has kept him from providing for his family. Or that father who is so busy with his career that he never spends time with his daughter. Thank you that I'm bring my daughter up in the faith, that I'm willing to sacrifice my own time and energy for her. Thank you that, because of me, she will grow up to be a model of piety and devotion."I used prayer like the Pharisee had, to pat myself on the back. But Sophia really meant it. She really expects the Father to find lazy bunny. She doesn't care if anyone thinks she's pious or devout. She knows the Father loves her and she expects that he will give her good things (once she said 'like the Fader gives me blueberries and strawberries ...").
Moreover, I expect that if the Father doesn't bring lazy bunny back Sophia will be genuinely disappointed. She doesn't hide her disappointment because she sees no reason to.
However, less than six hours after we prayed I was already making excuses for God. Why? Probably because I had those excuses ready before I even suggested to Sophia that we pray. See, I've already worked things out. I know the right answers for every theological and philosophical problem under the sun. I've got everything in a nice, neat, logical box.
Sophia? she just wants her bunny back ...
I love you, Babe. And I'm so grateful that the Father gave you to me, and to Sophia. Like blueberries, you, too, are evidence that the Father loves us.
ReplyDeleteThank you for the reflection, Ben. I could see myself doing the same thing. It's funny, too, how we feel like we have to mitigate others' relationships with God, especially children, with answers ready in our back pocket for when He doesn't answer or to explain how He will likely answer, instead of letting them experience the process of that relationship. A helpful reflection for me on having faith like a child, too (something I wonder about a lot, esp. when I'm not listening to sermons). That is... not concerned with looking pious. I hadn't thought of it that way before.
ReplyDeleteSomehow your blog always makes me cry - and proceeds to make me think.
ReplyDeleteThanks you!