July 21, 2019
Beth Christianson
I indulged in a flight of fancy this week. I imagined the preacher as preschool teacher, and the authors of our various lections as mini, four-year-old versions of themselves. Over there is Amos, watching the news on television and scolding the authorities who are explaining why tearing down an old and poverty-stricken neighbourhood to make room for a shopping mall is a good idea. And in that corner, little Paul is standing on a chair looking out the window, declaiming poetry to the squirrel in the tree outside. And here in front of me is sweet Luke. He’s got a big idea for a great story, and he’s sitting at the little tab!e with his crayons and a big sheet of drawing paper, making a map to go with his story world, a la J.R.R. Tolkien. The psalmist is the little girl sitting in the playhouse singing to her doi!. Even little Collect is there. She’s the kid who invariably catches you if you stub your toe and swear. and she mostly only speaks in short, declarative sentences. Working with these preschool iections is a little bit like herding cats. It takes a light touch and a little bit of reverse psychology, but the trick is to get them to realize that in fact, they are all telling the same story.
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