Remember the day of your baptism.

“I like the fire.” The smallest children answer first, eyes still locked on the smoldering candles half submerged in the great glass bowl of sand. “I like smelling the oil.”

“The light’s not gone,” says someone older, “it’s only changed.”

This wondering isn’t unfolding in a Godly Play room. We’re in the parish hall, where big bowls of potato salad and coleslaw are lined up like train cars behind Southern BBQ and platters of pickles and homegrown tomatoes. We are sitting on the same rug some of the children know, but strong hands have hauled it through the corridor and placed it here in the center of everything. The little ones crowd close to the storyteller while older children and adults sit in a half moon near the corners of the rug and on the floor and in chairs like layers of nested parentheses. Continue reading →