CREEDE HINSHAW: Enjoying God’s grace from the best seats in the house

At a recent church service, the sounds of a babbling infant were 100% joy to me, causing an unexpected chain reaction.

At last week’s Ash Wednesday Service, my wife and I were, unbeknownst to us, strategically positioned to see the joy produced by the innocent noises made by a set of twins.

We were occupying a pew near the front of the sanctuary. In the pew immediately in front of us sat a dear friend who is now afflicted with dementia. He knows me by name and can carry on a basic conversation, but his memory and his physical capabilities are severely affected in many ways.

Immediately behind us sat two grandmothers, each holding a twin brother. The mother of these boys was singing in the choir. And so, my wife and I found ourselves sandwiched between the very young and the critically afflicted.

As the pastor began reading Psalm 51 (“Have mercy on me, O God, according to thy steadfast love … blot out my transgressions.”) those twin brothers began sweetly cooing. They were not screaming, nor were their voices raspy or demanding. They were providing, it seemed, a counterpoint to a psalm of penitence and confession.

My wife and I did not turn around to gaze on these children, though I would have loved to do so. We had been young parents once; we remembered what it was like to try and keep children quiet. We had been on the receiving end of scowling, irritated people craning their necks to determine which parents couldn’t keep their children under control. So we faced forward and enjoyed the happy sounds.

But our friend with dementia did turn around. More than once. The babbling of those boys was irresistible, and he quickly located the infants producing those felicitous sounds.

In response to those unscheduled infant noises our friend did two things: First he flashed a spontaneous, winsome smile at those little boys. Then, his right arm draped along the back of the pew, he raised his right hand and wiggled his fingers in a touching greeting to those lads.

I felt like I was sitting on the 50-yard line immediately behind a college football team. I felt like I was sitting directly behind home plate in the World Series. I could see and enjoy everything.

The tone of Ash Wednesday is penitential and somber. The prayers, the homily, the ashes serve to remind us of our mortality and our need of God’s grace.

But with ashes on my forehead, I departed with a deep sense of joy. A dear friend of mine, smitten with an incurable affliction, was moved to joy by the infant voices of baby brothers.

The smile of this dear man and the wiggling of his fingers as he connected with those children was the most significant thing that happened in that service. Those children were a gift of God to my friend, and my friend was a gift of God to me.

I had the best seats in the house.