Sometime around 22 years ago, without a serious or conscious
decision, Joe Coelho and I embarked on being parents. Neither of us wanted to have children (people
always give us disbelieving looks when we say this, but it is true), but as
things happen (he is a biology professor!) we co-created a child.
Now, I am the oldest of five children and my youngest
sibling was born when I was 18. I know a
thing or two about babies. Joe is the
youngest of five children and is a quick learner.
For the most part, Savannah Coelho has been a joy to raise
(while some children cry when they are sleepy, she had manic fits of
laughter). She is a compassionate, smart
young woman that totally amazes me.
Between us, Joe and I have nearly 10 years of post graduate
work. Yet, we did not really have any
depth of understanding as to what it would mean to have a child.
There were the predictably hard questions: Where did I come from? (Who knew the answer
was Indiana !) Why did my kitten die? Do I have to be her friend? And while at the movies watching Disney’s Prince of Egypt, “Why did God kill all
those babies?”
Even more challenging than the hard questions are the times
we parents are the tour guides to navigating the changes in life. Some of those challenges are both hard and necessary: Making a doctor’s appointment and going by herself;
Starting the first year of college by being independent; quitting a job because
she could not give it her best. If I had
to guess, the hardest and most challenging part of parenting is stepping back
and providing directions in those times, knowing we have given her all the
skills she needs to get to the appropriate direction, even if it was not in the
first try. This navigation process sometimes
involved the nasty, nasty lesson that life is not fair.
There are times that the faith community is pregnant with
new life, such as baptisms or communion.
I remember hearing people say that children should not receive either
ordinance because they did not “really understand them.” Children, in this vaulted opinion, could not
fathom the sacredness of the water and bread.
Usually, I get all bristly hearing these explanations. Like a porcupine cornered by a yellow lab, my
quills perk up and threaten to do damage.
The reality is, just like embarking on parenthood, when we
entered the sacred ordinances of the church, none of us are prepared. None of us wholly understand them. None of us “get it.” If we did “get it,” then baptism and
communion would not be holy mysteries or moments for conversion.
The faithful life comes with its own set of hard questions:
How do we understand the rape of Tamar?
What is God calling me to be? How can I be present to the least of
these? Can I mirror the love of God to
people that I do not, personally like.
The faithful life also comes with a nasty realization that
life is not fair. I once heard an older
adult say: “Fair is a place you go to ride rides. Life is not fair.” Nothing makes that painfully clear as a
faithful life. Perhaps the realization
that life is not fair is painful, but it is also joyful. I do not want a God that is fair. Realistically, I would prefer a God that
gives me what I need with compassion than one that gives me what I deserve with
justice.
