He Said It Was Cheese!

There are some moments in life that rise above others in importance and meaning. They touch us at a deeper level, reminding us of a greater meaning to life than the daily grind of our often mundane existence. This moment falls under that category. A month ago or so, my youngest son shared with me that my 3 year old grandson had taken Holy Communion for the first time. He knows who Jesus is and knows that Jesus loves him. Before my grandson could even walk, I would tell him about Jesus. If he came to work with me, as we were getting out of the car I would always tell him we were going to see Jesus. On our way up the walkway, I would point to the cross over the doors and say “There’s Jesus’ cross!” And once I fumbled with my keys with bags on one shoulder and a 30 lb. lug hanging on my other, we’d enter the lobby of the church and then into my office. There on the walls would always be at least a couple of paintings of Jesus, here, there, and everywhere. So again, I would say “There’s Jesus!” as I would point to each one, one at a time. It didn’t take long before he began to do the same each time he visited. Whenever my husband and I eat a meal, at home or in public, we most always give thanks to God before we begin. The only time we don’t really, is when we are with others who are not professed followers of Jesus and rather than making them feel uncomfortable, we simply give thanks quietly within ourselves. So our grandson has learned to pray with us, being asked to hold back from beginning to scarf down whatever is in front of him for just a moment, as I tell him, “Let’s tell Jesus thank you first”. I used to get a dirty look and a forceful folding of the arms, making his point that he was not taking part. I pray each morning for each of my kids and their kids and had added to my list of desires that my grandson would learn to love praying. At Easter dinner this year at our home, with all the commotion and excitement of having all 9 of us around the table, we hadn’t started praying yet. It was at that moment my grandson said “Grma, do our praying thing first” as he put his hands down and prepared himself to give thanks, as well. Since each of my grandchildren were born, I have rocked them to sleep for naps or at night with loving arms, a warm heart, and a couple of songs. I always start with “Twinkle, Twinkle” and back it up with a tender version of “Jesus Loves Me”. If I ask at bedtime now, would you like me to sing you a song, 9 times out of ten the request is for “the Jesus song.” So when my son told me that his son came to the altar and requested to take Communion with his mom and dad, my heart was strangely warmed. The pastor offered the bread first with the words “Because Jesus loves you.” After dipping it in the grape juice and returning to their seats, his mommy asked him if he liked the bread. My grandson responded “But the guy said it was cheese!” I guess “Jesus” and “cheese” sound a lot alike to a 3 year old! But this Sunday they were all worshipping at my church. And when they came forward as a family to receive Holy Communion, my grandson did his best to slide over into the line gram and papa were serving at. My son pulled him back by his shirt sleeve and offered him the opportunity to take receive from the two laity serving there. But I watched. I stood with cup in my hand saying the words “The blood of Christ, poured out for you” to others as I watched my grandson reach up and tear off a piece of bread, dip it into the Cup of Salvation, and then place it in his mouth. Time stood still. He would no longer be thirsty. He would no longer be empty. He would no longer be naked or imprisoned, for he had allowed Jesus to fill him in all ways that he would ever need. He knew the difference between Jesus and cheese. One filled all appetites, one left you needing more.