Smelling Jesus

There's something about the age of three.  John's imagination and ability to move between different genres of make believe is unmatched.  On any given day, he and I are some sort of dynamic duo...Batman and Wonder Woman, Ezra and Sabine, Kai and Nya, Chase and Skye, and I could go on and on.  His mind is magical and at times make believe is so real to him.

I think this ability to see and live the make believe facilitates an ability to live and  express his faith in a way that adults can't quite grasp.  Do not get me wrong.  I am not saying the Christian faith is one of make believe.  But there are mysteries about it that we, adults, struggle to understand.  The resurrection and thus presence of Christ in our lives today is certainly one of them.  In my experience of raising boys, I have found that these mysteries are less difficult for children to understand at this tender age.  They will grow up.  They will develop rational understandings...understandings that make miracles and rising to life again difficult to grasp.  But for now they can make some theological statements that are quite mind blowing to adults.

All this brings me to this Holy Week with this guy.

Monday afternoons are busy.  Dinner must be served at 4:30 pm in order to get William to baseball practice.  This particular Monday was busy as ever.  A neighbors dog was hit by a car.  I was tired, sad, and flustered.  Three older boys had left the table.  Just John and I left.  And then he says it. 

"Mom, Jesus is here."

Caught off guard and flumbling through my thoughts.  I'm about to say something about when two or three are gathered in His name he is there.  Silly me.  Always ready to display my intellect.  Quoting scripture at time when knowledge is not necessary.  Only emotion.  Only feeling.  He stops me before I open my mouth.

"Mom.  I smell Jesus.  He's here."

He smells Jesus.  I am speechless.

We sit in the quiet, reflection of smelling Jesus for a minute or two.  Then he asks,

"Mom.  Which do you like best: the Good Shepherd who lays down his life for the sheep or the Good Shepherd who finds the lost sheep?"

I suppress my need to tell him that they are the same Shepherd and simply choose the first.  He chooses the second and I ask why.  His answer is simple.

"Because he puts the sheep 'up high' when he is found."

Our children love to ride 'up high' on their Daddy's shoulders.  For once they are tallest.  For once they can see everything.  They get a free ride and don't have to fight to keep up with our adult pace.  They are high up and yet they are safe.  Safe on the shoulders of the one who loves them most.  Their Daddy provides the best protection and they are comforted.  Because John has an earthly father who loves and protects him, he fully comprehends his heavenly Father's love.  He knows the Good Shepherd and revels in His love and protection.

And so it is without surprise that he looked up at me during the long gospel reading at the Good Friday service and whispered, "Mama, those bad guys didn't know Jesus was the Good Shepherd did they?"  Sweet baby, I don't think they did.