After church tonight, a little boy walked with his grandparents past the choir area.
He pointed at one of our guitarists (whose traditional “church wardrobe” is white pants and a white dress shirt) and exclaimed, “Pop-Pop! He looks like God!”
In his younger days, the kids used to comment that Bill looks like Jesus. Bill is good with that. He figures that if someone thinks he looks like Jesus, then that makes them think about Jesus. And that’s a good thing.
When people look at you, do they think about Jesus?
When you look at others, do you think about Jesus?
Little Brother’s been on a rye-toast kick for breakfast these days. Specifically Jewish rye, with seeds.
This morning when I was getting breakfasts and lunches going, I asked him if he wanted toast. When the answer was yes, I said, “Regular, or Jewish?”
That’s when the questions started. (Not like I could answer them…)
“Why do they call it ‘Jewish’?” Aren’t Jewish people from Israel? Was it always called Israel? What was it called before it was called Israel?”
And then we moved on to…
“Is Galilee a country?” (No, it’s a small town.) “Is the manger where Jesus was born still there?” (Well, they THINK they know where that is, but they can’t be totally sure because it’s not like Mary and Joseph made a big sign for it when they were running away from King Herod who wanted to kill Jesus: “The Son of God was born here.”)
“It should be easy to find.” (No, there were lots of barns with mangers around Bethlehem.)
“Barns with mangers and a cow and a sheep and a pig?” (No pig.)
“Why not?” (Jewish people don’t eat pigs.)
“Why not? Are they afraid they’re going to get gout?”
Boy Next Door is over here playing with Middle Sister and Little Brother. His dad called to ask him what side dish he’d like with the chicken he’s having for dinner. (Apparently it’s “just the guys” over there tonight, so his dad thought he’d give Boy Next Door a choice).