Children have a wonderful way

of neutralizing our pomposity and diminishing our ego while maintaining

their cuteness in the process.

Several years ago, a little

boy at a previous church insisted on calling me, "God." He would

wave at me before church and yell across the parking lot, "Hey, God!

It's me, Timmy!" No matter how hard I tried to dissuade him, he would

not give up the notion that I was God.

"I'm not God," I

would explain. "I'm just one of his helpers."

But Timmy would have none of

it. I was God and that was that. His parents speculated that he overheard

them talking about "going to God's house" on Sundays and, when

the family arrived, there I was up front and at the pulpit. I appeared

to be in charge, therefore, if this was God's house, I must be God. He

was convinced. It's very humbling to have a 3-year-old boy give you that

look of awe and address you as "God." I've tried to get my wife

to do that but to no avail.

One Sunday night at a church

in another city, I was preaching away when a little boy on the front row

slipped out of his seat and walked across the front of the church. Every

eye fell upon the 4-year-old tyke and followed him as he slowly traversed

the front of the sanctuary.

Realizing that I had lost the

attention of the congregation, I stopped preaching. The little guy stopped

right on front of the pulpit, looked up at me and said in a loud voice,

"It's okay. You can go ahead. I'm just going to tinkle. I'll be back

in a minute."

When that happens, the wise

preacher will just slip his sermon notes back into his Bible and leave.

It must have taken the congregation 10 minutes to stop laughing.

I have had a beard twice in

my life. Once, when I was in my mid twenties and once in my early forties.

In the intervening 20 years, the beard changed colors from dark brown

to snow white.

In Sunday School one day, a

5-year-old girl crawled up into my lap while the teacher taught. After

a bit, the child began to rub my tummy (which also changed significantly

in 20 years), gazed into my eyes, and said, "Pastor David, when you're

not at church and being our pastor, are you Santa Claus?" I shaved

the beard off the next day and it hasn't been seen since.

One child loved to sing his

favorite song, which also happened to be one of my favorites. The words

to this little ditty go, "The cloud of glory is moving, move with

the cloud, move with the cloud." Often, I would look out during praise

and worship and see this little guy singing the song for all he was worth.

After service one day, I asked him what his favorite church song was.

"The cow song," he

replied.

Puzzled, I asked, "What

cow song?"

And then, with great gusto,

he began to sing, "The cows of glory are mooing, moo with the cows,

moo with the cows." He enjoyed the song so much, I decided just to

leave him to his lyrics. Besides, if "rocks cry out," why can't

cows "moo to the glory of God?"

But children, even if they

don't mean to, can actually change a life. A man at our church shared

with me this past week that, when he was in the Marine Corps, he did all

the things that Marines do. He drank too much, smoked too much, cursed

too much, and engaged in other activities that were part of the prevailing

military culture.

That is, until that day when

his niece looked up at him in admiration and reverence and sighed, "When

I grow up, I want to be just like you."

Shocked by her words, he realized

that he did not want his innocent niece to be just like him. That was

the day he quit drinking too much, began to stop smoking, stopped cursing,

and began to seek God.

I hope his niece does become

just like him. He's a fine man, a godly leader, and a good man. All it

took was the adulation of a child.

Last Sunday, during the sacrament

of Holy Communion, I left the sanctuary and accompanied a eucharistic

minister to the nursery where he would serve the nursery workers and children.

We opened the door to the nursery amid screams, squeals, and the loud

excitement that can always be generated by a room full of "fours

and under."

"How in the world do the

eucharistic ministers serve these workers and children Sunday after Sunday

with all this clamor and noise?" I silently mused.

The minister didn't seem troubled

at all, however. Calmly, he walked into he midst of the screaming hoard,

sat on the floor, and opened his communion kit and prayer book.

Almost immediately, the children

quieted, gathered around him, sat a circle, and fell totally silent. Not

a peep was heard as he read scripture and, as he led in the confession

of sin, nearly all bowed their heads as well. Expectantly, the children

cupped their hands in expectation of receiving the bread and the wine.

A monastery full of monks could not have been more reverent and expectant.

Sitting in the floor, cross-legged,

and surrounded by children under 4, I understood a little better the admonition

of Jesus to take note of the children. "Unless you become as a little

child, you will not enter the kingdom of Heaven," he said.

Children enjoy life, trust

those over them, love unconditionally, and enjoy the presence of a God

they do not fully comprehend. Innocence, honesty, spontaneity it's really

too bad that we had to grow up.

[Father David Epps is rector

of Christ the King Charismatic Episcopal Church in Peachtree City. He

may be contacted at [email protected] Or at www.ChristTheKingCEC.com.]