The other day, driving on the Northway, Charis spotted a stand of tall grass along the side of the road. Usually this time of year, the grass would be under several inches – if not feet – of snow… this winter has been devoid of snow so far and no maintenance crew intends to mow in New York in January. So, as we are driving along the Northway, Charis and I are negotiating whether we will go to the Children’s Museum (my choice) or the carousel at the mall (her choice). I change my plans to go ahead to the carousel and she’s silent for a moment until I hear, “Daddy, grains of wheat! Communion!” as she points to the stand of tall grass.

Then she starts to sing, “As the grains of wheat, once scattered on a hill…”

I have to back up for the non-POP folk who read this: at Prince of Peace, we celebrate communion every week. I was raised in a church that celebrated communion every three months and accompanied this ceremony with stoic faces, a dirge on the organ, and a dismal cloud that descended into the sanctuary. Prince of Peace is a bit different: we celebrate every week. Kids are a welcome part of our worship so we tend to have giggling, crying, scurrying and squirming as we gather for communion. Charis is among the kids who scurry and squirm – she tends to be kinda quiet – as she comes forward each week for communion.

Usually, Charis describes this a time for “bread and juice.” Last week, I was able to sit with her in worship and as the elements were brought forward I said "Now it's time for communion." She wanted to know more about that word and settled for Jesus being with us at this special time.

We often sing a cheerful song as the bread and wine are brought forward during the worship service. Charis has often sung this song at home or other times: “As the grains of wheat, once scattered on a hill, are gathered into one to become our bread, so may all your people, from all the ends of earth, be gathered into one in you."

And so, after negotiating a carousel ride from her dad, my not-yet-three year old looked out the window of our minivan to a stand of grass, taller than it generally grows, and associates that grass with pictures of wheat fields she has seen and then connects that to a song she likes and draws a connection to communion.

I am proud to come from traditions that choose to let children come to the communion table. This was not the case in the congregation in which I grew up. To be “admitted” to the table, we had to complete class time with the pastor and be interviewed by the Consistory, something so daunting most kids put it off until well into high school. We were told we shouldn’t come to the Lord’s Supper until we “understood” what it was about.

Phooey. I’ve got a Master’s Degree in Divinity now and I STILL don’t understand everything about the Lord’s Supper. But I do know that my daughter already understands more than I thought she did – she can look out the window of a car and be reminded of worship and sacrament. That’s cool.