Remember: God is Everywhere

He was two years old and had no idea that the collection plate he had just laid his toy truck on wasn't coming back. His mother didn't notice that the truck had been offered up to the church and, as the plate went by, more than one of them smiled to see it, parked along the raised edge of the tray. He watched it disappear down the line and his expression of delight slowly soured as it occurred to him that it wasn't coming back.

"I don't know why these people bring their children to church." the old man said. "They do nothing but fuss and fidget during the service and at some point there is the inevitable bawling that starts and ends when the embarrassed parents haul the kid down the aisle and outside for a spanking. They should save us all the irritation and leave them at home, perched on dad's belly as he sleeps through the first football game of the day."
"Uh Huh." I said as I poured him a coffee.

It was Sunday afternoon and he'd just come from church.

"It's those parents who do such a poor job of disciplining their children. They hope an extended sit down in my place of prayer and devotion will calm their infantile souls. God doesn't care about children, though. They're all instinct and aggression, and as near to being perfectly human as anyone can hope to achieve, I say. And it's all down hill from there."

This one didn't cry, however, as his toy truck receded into the distance and then was passed toward the front. Instead he watched it, his eyes never leaving the brightly coloured blue and red designs stenciled onto the side of the truck, as it was dumped, with little ceremony, onto the huge salver at the front of the church. His steady gaze neither betrayed any fear of losing it forever nor the panic that one might assume would register in him when that fear became fact. He just followed its progression through the hands of the collectors until one of them picked it up and, walking slowly so as not to interrupt the patter coming from the pulpit, slipped it into the hand of the minister.
The minister carefully set the toy truck on the edge of the lectern, in sight of all the parishioners, and as he looked around he could see smiles appearing everywhere, including on the face of the giver. The child had stood up on the pew in order to get a better view of his truck and clapped his hands together in delight as it appeared out of the ministers hands.

"And now," intoned the minister, "I would like to draw your attention to this." and he indicated the truck in front of him. "We all share, in and with our savior, Jesus Christ, a divine inspiration, an undeniable instinct to return to our Father, the love which he so freely gives to us. To Him this is a sign that we are not enslaved by the material nature of this world but that we accept his will and his word, and need no more to ensure us of his great design, than the love in our hearts and the trust in his good will."
The child stood still now, entranced by the ceremony playing out before him, but with a clear eye still held fast by the toy, now the centre of everyone's attention.
"And, although He gratefully accepts our tithes so that his ministry on earth will always exist to mollify our troubled hearts, he does not require that we forfeit the playthings that develop our minds, for through this development we gain a clearer understanding of his will and grow into our responsibilities as illustrated by his only son, our savior, Jesus Christ."

There was a laugh or two at this pronouncement.

"Truck." yelled the boy, clapping his hands together with gusto to more laughter from the congregation.
"Yes, truck." said the minister, "and now we know who it is who is so generous in spirit. Would you care to return this to him," he said to the waiting congregation, "so that the kindness with which he gave his prized possession will grow in him and that he may learn of his Lord's limitless compassion?"

"Oh brother, I thought. This guy could milk anything for a lesson. The congregation, right on cue, said, "Yes." just like the sheep they are." said the old man.

The boy was still on his feet, with his mother steadying him, and he watched his toy coming closer and closer until he squealed in a piercing voice when his mother handed it to him. He promptly stuffed it into his mouth and sat down on the pew to gnaw away at it, and by the time the service ended he was oblivious to anything, asleep on his mother's shoulder.

"The whole thing was a game to the boy. And that fool of a minister used it as an anecdote in God's ministry, and I, for one, thought it was reprehensible. Instead of being punished for his carelessness he was being patted on the head by everyone, except me, that's for sure." he grumbled. "I suppose it was a relief that the kid didn't scream his bloody head off and ruin the service for everyone but that was no reason to use his foolishness as a tool to teach a lesson in morality. That's my opinion, anyway. In my day, children were meant to be invisible. But not today; today it's all about love and forgiveness instead of fear and compliance. No wonder the world is going to hell. And that's one more reason I don't like this new minister. This never would have played with the old one. Now there was a man who knew how to handle children."

It was like this every Sunday. I nodded and smiled, thinking to myself that what awaited this old prick was likely to come as a shock to him. I topped up his coffee and wondered that no matter how many opportunities I gave him, he just didn't get it. And I like the new minister. He might be a bit melodramatic for my tastes but he does his best, and that's all I ask for, after all.