the calf path

I came across this poem today, and thought it worthy of posting...


One day, through the primeval wood,
A calf walked home, as good calves should;
But made a trail all bent askew,
A crooked trail as all calves do.

Since then three hundred years have fled,
And, I infer, the calf is dead.
But still he left behind his trail,
And thereby hangs my moral tale.

The trail was taken up next day
By a lone dog that passed that way;
And then a wise bell-wether sheep
Pursued the trail o’er vale and steep,
And drew the flock behind him, too,
As good bell-wethers always do.
And from that day, o’er hill and glade,
Through those old woods a path was made.

And many men wound in and out,
And dodged, and turned, and bent about
And uttered words of righteous wrath
Because ‘twas such a crooked path.
But still they followed—do not laugh—
The first migrations of that calf,
And through this winding wood-way stalked,
Because he wobbled when he walked.

This forest path became a lane,
That bent, and turned, and turned again;
This crooked lane became a road,
Where many a poor horse with his load
Toiled on beneath the burning sun,
And traveled some three miles in one.
And thus a century and a half
They trod the footsteps of that calf.

The years passed on in swiftness fleet,
The road became a village street;
And this, before men were aware,
A city’s crowded thoroughfare;
And soon the central street was this
Of a renowned metropolis;
And men two centuries and a half
Trod in the footsteps of that calf.

Each day a hundred thousand rout
Followed the zigzag calf about;
And o’er his crooked journey went
The traffic of a continent.
A hundred thousand men were led
By one calf near three centuries dead.
They followed still his crooked way,
And lost one hundred years a day;
For thus such reverence is lent
To well-established precedent.

A moral lesson this might teach,
Were I ordained and called to preach;
For men are prone to go it blind
Along the calf-paths of the mind,
And work away from sun to sun
To do what other men have done.
They follow in the beaten track,
And out and in, and forth and back,

And still their devious course pursue,
To keep the path that others do.
They keep the path a sacred groove,
Along which all their lives they move.
But how the wise old wood-gods laugh,
Who saw the first primeval calf!
Ah! Many things this tale might teach—
But I am not ordained to preach.

-Sam Walter Foss

playing church

I just finished a post on my other blog about my oldest son telling Jesus he loves him. (there's a link in the right column) It got me thinking about "playing church". I know of people who like to teach their small children to repeat phrases like, "praise the Lord" or "hallelujah", etc. I know of another lady who tries to teach most kids to say, "Jesus" in reply to her question, "who do you love?" Now, there probably isn't much harm in all this, but I just decided a while back that I want my kids to have some understanding of why they do and say what they do and say. My son, Nathan, knows that "God bless you" is something I usually say to a person who just sneezed. Now he says it, too. He knows, "C'mon, lady!" is something daddy has said a time or two to female drivers who should have just parked somewhere until they figured out where they wanted to go. And he knows that the Home Depot paint sticks around the house are really "spanking sticks". (Maybe that's why the seem to disappear under beds and couches frequently!) He's figured these things out for himself, mostly. And I want him to decide if he loves Jesus or wants to praise the Lord on his own, too.

Don't get me wrong - I'm not keeping Jesus or my faith a secret. I just don't want to "play" church with my son's spiritual development. I think it's great that his favorite song right now is, "This little light of mine". But if "the Hokey Pokey" or "Elmo's Song" is tops next week, I'm not going to start fasting over it. I don't want my two year old to be a religious parrot.

I remember "playing church" in my childhood. It might have even been in a church nursery or something, but there were several kids playing like we were in "big church" and we were the adults. We had a choir director and a organist, an usher to take our money and make us stay quiet, and a preacher to yell and spit at us. This "playing church" happened a few times, as I remember, and the message always depended on the messenger. Sometimes we were all bad and going to hell if we didn't come to the front and get saved. Sometimes we just sang songs and pretended to take communion. And then there was that time where a certain girl told us how Jesus loved us very much, and I remember feeling that she wasn't just "playing church". It was different when she was the "preacher" because she seemed to believe what she said.

I remember this little girl didn't have a daddy and she sometimes dressed rather plain (for Sunday church and all). But when she talked about Jesus, she would light up. And when the Sunday School teacher taught, she was front and center with her little white picture bible open on her lap. She wasn't "playing church". She really loved Jesus. I don't particularly remember the other kids anymore. But I remember the genuine sweetness of this one girl. (And, it wasn't a childhood crush or anything!) I don't know what happened to her, but I hope she still has that passion for Jesus.

I wonder what kind of "preacher" some of our kids would be if they were to "play church". Would they teach us to give so we'll be blessed/rich, or that the blessing is in the giving itself? Would they teach us that God is mad at us or mad about us? Would we hear more about politics or loving our neighbor in practical ways? Would we be told how, as Christians, we're still just sinners saved by grace, or that if any man is in Christ he is a new creation?

I wonder what kind of church we are, outside of the weekly gathering(s). Are we living our lives in such a way that Jesus' love and compassion and hope and forgiveness are freely flowing to those around us? Do we judge others by their social status, race, or weight? Do we withhold the love of Christ from the athiest, the homosexual, or the bad driver? I guess I'm asking of all of us who claim to be disciples of Jesus, "Are we really Jesus' disciples, his bride, his church; or are we just playing church?"