Cruciform Child
I was hurrying along the side aisle, trying to find someone before the service began. She was standing there just beyond one of the chapels, in a turquoise coverall that fit her chubby form. She was the smallest thing in the largest cathedral in the world, St. John the Divine in New York City. She didn’t speak and it would have been easy for me to pass by her. My old friend was the new dean, and it would be his first sermon there so I wanted to say hello to him.
The little girl looked and me and held her arms straight out from her sides. I hesitated before picking up that cruciform shape. Something was stirring in me beyond my love of children, my eager response to one who was willing to be picked up and held. Something about her arms at the side posture made me pause. Something in me said, “Pay attention. Don’t miss it. I am here.” I was looking for an old relationship. What I found was a new one.
I picked her up; she put her head on my shoulder and an arm around my neck. She took hold of the cross I was wearing. She was as comfortable there as my own children had been, as comfortable as some of the parish children. But the whole event was remarkable for me.
I stepped into the chapel with her and it seemed as if all conversation stopped. No one said anything, but my entry felt awkward. No one knew me or expected that the child they knew would be with a stranger. I somewhat nervously said my name and why I was there. Looking to ease my way with her parents I said that maybe I had a new Godchild or perhaps she had a grown-up one.
I greeted my old friend and introduced myself to others. I heard from a deacon about his work in a bank and his struggle with the banking ethos. Folks had become mean-spirited and aggressive he said. I heard from Sonia about the World Council of Churches meeting she had attended in Boston and her fear that the newly declared Year of non-violence would not be taken seriously. I met the parents of the child in my arms who were in no rush to claim their priority relationship with her and take her from me.
I was welcomed into their midst because the child was my bridge. Nothing I could have said would have opened others to me in the same way. I was a distant cousin of the household of faith, a part of them.
“She has claimed you,” her father said and I am still in wonder about that claim. Claiming the cruciform path and being claimed by it and the love of the Godchild Jesus makes us all family. These relationships in Christ make us all pay attention. There is so much we don’t know about how or where God intends to meet us; I know that having an attitude of expectation helps. But often we are taken by surprise.
Expectation is one of the watchwords of the Incarnation season. I have always imagined Jesus all swaddled up in the manger; I had forgotten the little arms stretched out wide, welcoming all. I know that posture of Jesus from the cross and from centuries of art, a sign of God’s embrace and welcome. I also need to see the Christ Child as One who welcomes my rush to the manger, to slow down enough for me to be embraced.
The child who claimed me at that cathedral is named Selah, a name from scripture, from the Psalms where its meaning as a liturgical pointing is obscure. Scholars think it means ‘festival shout’ or ‘pay attention.’ I am hoping that God sends you a Selah too as we walk our way into this holy season.
©The Rev. Dr. Linda Privitera
Tags: News / Center for Prayer & Spirituality - Engaging the Contemplative Life