Burning bush has nothing on the Church of the Home
He was cuddled in my arms, yet he was cranky, fidgety and as squirmy as an
octopus. All necessities from clean diapers to burps had been taken care of,
and still he fussed.
Although it was 45 minutes before bedtime, I decided to rely on Grandma wisdom
and put him to bed early. Remembering my daughter
’s bedtime instruction — “Don’t forget to say his prayers with him” — I cradled him ever more softly in my arms.
Looking at him, I said: “OK, Christopher, Mommy said we have to say our prayers.” I made the sign of the cross on his forehead and began, “Angel of God . . .” All body movement stopped and his eyes riveted on mine. “my guardian dear . . .” (a most tender and loving smile covered his face), “to whom God’s love commits me here . . .” (his body remained motionless and content). I finished the prayer; we blessed
Mommy and Daddy, Christopher and a jillion relatives.
Wanting to keep that smile on his face because it stirred my heart, I began the
prayer cycle again, and again.
Finally, I motioned for my husband to come near and watch. I repeated the
prayers four more times as an angelic baby rested softly in the cadence of the
prolonged prayer time.
He was only six months old! What was it about prayer that mesmerized him? Did it
remind him of his mother? Maybe.
There is a modern folk tale that has nudged every mother’s heart. It is a story about a new baby just home from the hospital and a
three-year-old brother who was continually trying to climb inside the baby
’s crib. Eventually he was successful. The parents, who were downstairs, heard the three-year-old brother over the baby monitor saying, “Please baby, remind me about God because I’m beginning to forget.”
In an earlier column, I mentioned our three-year-old grandson Nathan, holding
our son
’s hand as they walked toward church. He looked up to his daddy with wistful eyes
and said,
“I miss God.”
One baby is totally absorbed in prayer. Another child never wants to forget God.
And another longs for God
’s presence.
What did Christ mean when he said that we must become as little children to
enter the kingdom of God? For me, I
’m beginning to think the answer rests in the profound wisdom of children. In
them I see the simplicity of love
— to give oneself totally to God, to never forget him, and, in the “missing,” to long to rest in the heart of God.
This is the reality of the Church of the Home. We don’t hear God calling us from a burning bush as Moses did, but we have children
whose statements or actions open up God
’s presence among us in such a profound way that the sweet memory is lovingly
burned into our hearts and minds.
Jacki Corrigan is the archdiocesan consultant for the office of family life.
