The Spirit

I volunteer at a church as a Sunday school teacher; the children I teach are two years old. The church did a series on the Holy Spirit and during that time they asked me if I had any stories about the Spirit and the children. And I did!

Here it is.

Just like the adult congregation, we are teaching the children about the Holy Spirit, which is absolutely as difficult as it sounds.

For example, one Sunday during story-time, we showed them a picture of the “fruits of the Spirit,” each attribute paired with the depiction of a literal fruit. It’s a pretty great picture; I have hung it on my fridge in the hope that one day I can actually remember the list from Galatians.

The children were seated in rows of multi-colored miniature chairs (I use the terms “seated” and “rows” loosely here). The teacher said, “so children, the cherry is next to love, which is a fruit of the –”

An outburst. “I see an apple!”

“I see an apple too!”

One little boy started to bounce up and down in his seat. “Strawberry, I see a strawberry!”

The interruptions grew. The teacher pressed on… “and there’s goodness and yes, next to the strawberry, caring — “

“ — watermelon, I see a watermelon!!” The train started to leave the station.

“There’s a strawberry! See, the strawberry.” He was now both leaning forward and bouncing.

“I like bananas!”

The disruption had become a cacophony of fruit types — cherries, pears, pineapples and so forth — a crescendo ending in the dramatic climax of aforementioned little boy running up to the picture and pointing, actually tapping the paper, with an emphatic monster-voiced “STRAW-BERRY.”

And so, our early-years foray into metaphor fell with a clunk.

Like the adult congregation, we also worship.

Worship can be a mixed bag. If I’m involved, there is a likely period of disorganization before any music starts as I deal with technical problems, such as linking my phone’s blue tooth to the speaker which is much harder for me than it ought to be. There is the requisite 90 second wait as I lower the volume to run through the commercials because I’m too cheap to pay for the premium digital music service. Sometimes the playlist shuffles right away and plays a suggested song that isn’t on the play list. And it is not gospel; it is not a children’s song; it is R&B; or pop; with PG-13 type of lyrics. Which makes me really question the service algorithms.

Then there is the concerted effort to connect the music to activity on the ground. We pass out bells sewn to Velcro straps and plastic maracas and encourage the children to shake either. Some children will run to collect as many bells as possible and put them in a pile. Some will request a maraca, only to hold it close to their chest. Others will wrap the bells around their wrists and ankles and sit. Two will ask to play with the baby dolls. A small set will actually move their bodies in an atypical way that suggests dance. The teachers alone will sing loud and clear and a good number of children will stare at them for it.

This Sunday I’m wrecked because earlier that morning during gym-time someone suggested we all hop like a rabbit across the gym. I am all sweaty and middle-aged. One of the children had cried the whole time through play and gym and story-time and prayer and I didn’t know how to soothe him. I had hummed and murmured and hugged and distracted to no avail. It was distressing. And now it’s worship time.

The blue tooth works like it’s supposed to. The app plays the first song in the playlist. Victory.

It’s “Peace Like a River,” with a really bouncy rich arrangement. We, the volunteers, start to clap. A number of children also clap. Others have collected their bells and maracas during the earlier non-premium digital service commercial break and they are actually shaking them. Some with the beat. One small person sits in a chair and overtly bobs her head from side to side to the rhythm and it is very apparent that she finds this to be super-cool. They are all, ALL participating.

Everything becomes a bit of a blur. The children are smiling and laughing and clapping and moving. They are waiving different colored scarves. Two little girls have exploded in Solid Gold moves in the center of the classroom. The song has changed and now we’re stomping and throwing up our hands crying “Amen!” “Amen!” My cheeks have several new micro-wrinkles from smiling.

And our perennial crier, praise God, is standing in the middle of the rumpus, chest puffed out, tears dried, beaming. It’s like a movie-scene where all the action moves in the background out of focus in streaks and only this boy remains still. Luminous. Beaming. Oh glory, glory!

I feel …I don’t know… energy, a wash of color, a sweep of delight, a lifting, a pointed thrum in my chest, a pleasing vertigo. Small hands clasp the base of each of my pinkies like large soft binder-clips. Perfect little giggling, whooping, guffawing faces radiate out in a whirl. I thought the Germans might have a word for this (they probably have a word for the ‘feeling you get reading a story about children’), but no, none quite capture it.

Because of course, there is no quotidian run-of-the-mill word for this moment like “happy” or “fun” or even “geborgenheit”.

We are drenched in the Spirit. It’s behind my sternum, threaded from sole to scarf tip to toothy grin to fingertips. It’s in each our cells. It’s everywhere.

It’s joy (aka the ‘grapes’).