After we sang the first hymn the family behind us were called to the front of the sanctuary. My mother whispered in my ears that their baby was going to be baptized like I had been. I looked on intently and listened to every word. Sometimes it was hard to see around Mrs. Barber's huge head of sprayed hair but I persevered despite my mother's pleas to be still. Again the minister spoke words of inclusion, "This child is a member of the household of God and is called to participate in the ministry of Christ. Let us now welcome the newly baptized, the newest member of the Kingdom of God." That baby who had moments before had been wiggling and gurgling behind me was now a member of Christ's family. I wondered if she would be allowed to touch the gold trays when her family was taking communion or if she would be able to thumb through the pages of the red hymnbook.
I never saw that family or their baby again, and over time it became more and more apparent that not all the words I heard spoken in the sanctuary included me. This meant I was left on my own, so the words of hymns, colors of the windows, smells of the candles and wood all came alive announcing God's presence.
Every time we sang, "Crown him the Lord of Lords, the Potentate of time", I imagined standing at God's feet singing with the angels. Determined to get God's attention I would over emphasize the string of "t's" almost yelling the phrase, "Po-ten-tate of time!" It was one tiny moment to worship God without constraint, with full on joy. Somehow God's story came alive even when the leaders of worship failed to recognize my presence or the gifts I brought as a child...
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