The neatest thing

     The neatest thing happened Sunday.
     Sundays are stressful for the little ones. There are so many people at church, so many people we know, so many people we know on so many different levels.
     The extroverted, gregarious ones of us want to seek out friends who have been sick and find out how to be praying for them. They want to welcome friends back from vacations and set a date to see their pictures. They want to tell this lady what a pretty necklace she is wearing, tell that one her slip is showing. They jot down notes for emails (which they almost never write) to tell the pastor which parts of his sermon they liked and which parts they took exception to. And they want to greet all the newcomers.
     What energizes them scares and depletes the rest of us.
     This Sunday was more stressful than usual. When we got there we realized it was Communion Sunday and the whole congregation would be filing forward to receive pinches of bread and shots of grape juice. It meant being conspicuous. And we'd forgotten that we had to help with the offering (being conspicuous again).
     But something new was happening inside. I could see all the little ones as if they were in the Sunday School room for two-year olds. They were sitting on the floor, contentedly absorbed with picture books, or coloring at tables or--or tumbling all over a stuffed lion, about as long as they were tall. (Actually its mouth moved sometimes but I didn't hear a voice coming out.)
     A lion? Plush? It looked like--well, a miniature, safe-sized Aslan. And, since there was no adult in the room, the lion was apparently handling child care.
     Then I saw a lamb, standing on new, long legs. At first the children were curious. Blood suddenly spurted from a wound in its side--I remember wondering why from its side instead of its neck and then remembered Jesus, the lamb slain from the foundation of the world, had a spear driven into his side. The blood was sprinkling all the children--and they were jumping and laughing and playing in it.
     Then the lamb grew taller and taller until it was above the church roof and we lost sight of it. Its blood seemed to be sprinkling the whole world. The children ignored the legs--still like four pillars among them, reaching up through the ceiling--and went back to playing with the lion.
     Three things occurred to me, one after the other:
          The promise: lion and the lamb will be together, at peace with each other.
          Jesus is both the Lion of Judah, benevolent sovereign, King over all, and the humble Lamb of Sacrifice, bleeding his life out for our sins.
          The King (and Great Shepherd) protecting the children physically and emotionally. The lamb protecting them spiritually.
     The service was still going on but the little ones didn't have to be part of it.