Bouncing on the Bread? What?

It is these types of responses I live for in a circle of children learning about God. These types of responses are the surprises, the ah-ha’s that take your breath away and shift your paradigm. “Bouncing on the bread and swimming in the wine” was a response by a five-year-old boy to the wondering question “where are you in this story?” The story before us was the Godly Play story, the Faces of Easter. The card he pointed to was the picture of Jesus at the last supper.

The picture doesn’t appear to have any dancing, bouncing or swimming. The looks on the faces before us aren’t especially joyful. But somehow, the boy saw himself in that painting, and he was joyful, playful–bouyant even. So much for unleavened bread, not much bounce.

The truth was the little boy’s life wasn’t too rosy either. His mom was recovering from emergency brain surgery. His worry over what he knew and what he felt like he should know, showed on his face in the weeks prior to this response. His little friends in the circle around him prayed fervently and out loud for the mom. They gave him a break on the playground, in the lunch line–they took care of him. However, this day mom was better, definitely on the road to recovery. It felt lighter, the air, that day.

So his comment shouldn’t have blindsided me like it did, but I love these blindsides. This response, and similar amazing words from children, seems to point directly toward God–just as God says “peek-a-boo.” There seems to be an ability, seemingly unique to the childlike, to place the hard stuff of life and the joyful play of life together like a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

This past summer (2008), Souls, Young and Old, at Play and in Story gathered at a like-named international conference in Berkeley, California. Presenter and theologian, Dr. Rebecca Nye, compared her concept of the “reflective soul” and the “refractive soul.” She offered that when presented with concepts spiritual, perhaps children “refract” instead of “reflect.” Those who sit beside children learning religious language, walk beside children in the woods or rest beside them reading a bedtime story could probably support this hypothesis. They can blindside us with their (refracted) insight.

So maybe that is why Jesus mentioned welcoming children at least eight times in the Gospels. If we could somehow be like them or at the very least welcome them, maybe we could have just a bit of this playful clarity. Maybe we wouldn’t think of God as either the commanding puppeteer pulling our strings or the disassociated Creator, watching this creation spin out of control. Maybe we could join the game of peek-a-boo? Maybe we too could bounce on the bread and swim in the wine.