The Sacred Ordinary is a blog series originating from a writing course led by Ellie Roscher for the Collegeville Institute, centering on the sacred ordinary. The authors read and wrote essays designed to make ordinary moments shine, and we are grateful for the opportunity to share these essays with the Church Anew audience. 

The service had already started. I quickly walked into the sanctuary, right as worship was starting, dipped my hand in the baptismal font for a blessing, and then found myself a spot on the end of one of the pews in the middle. Feeling a bit flustered from a previous meeting and thinking about the next few meetings ahead, I simultaneously knew I didn’t have time to be here and yet desperately needed to recenter and be in worship. Translation: I absolutely needed to be here. 

As I leaned forward to grab my hymnal, I paused and noticed blue crayon was swirled all over the back of the pew and onto the tile floor. I couldn’t help but smile. This is not a common occurrence on the campus of a seminary. We don’t have a lot of children in our worship space but what a joy when they are there. 

I imagine, the little one attached to this crayon felt very proud or creative or inspired or, possibly, even bored in worship. I can also imagine the horror of the adult who was with the little one. What had they done to the pew and the floor? How was this ever going to come out? 

I only hope the adult didn’t notice and I secretly hope that this swirl of blue stays there forever. 

At that moment, for me, on this particular day- I really needed that swirl of blue. The defiance of coloring outside of the lines. The desire to create something out of nothing. The need to take my art and bring it out beyond the page. It was also a good reminder to not take myself so seriously or to allow myself to get lost in the wonder and the mystery. 

I found myself following the circles and swirls up and down the pew and onto the floor-getting lost in the beauty of the wax pressed into the wood and ceramic. I had a visceral response in the center of my chest as I traced the swirls with my fingers and felt the wax and the grain come together. The swirl tugged at my heart and reminded me to breathe. It enveloped me in a warmth of tender care and love by our Creator. 

I was immediately taken to a smaller version of myself, one who was old enough to know not to color on the pews but not quite old enough to forget the awe of authenticity. The vibrant, bold hope of changing the world one crayon at a time with art and laughter and music and words. This little one, who always believed she was loved and felt held in the world by the adults around her. 

I was running down the pew of my home congregation helping my mom add water to the baptismal font. This was a favorite activity of mine on Sunday mornings as it meant that a baptism was happening at one of the services. I would go into the sacristy and open the drawers to find the candle that they would light and take home with them to remember this day. I remember that the drawers were low enough for me to open; I felt proud being able to help on such a big occasion. 

The font in my home congregation was small and tall. It was not a permanent fixture in the sanctuary and it was often pushed to the side when it was not in use. It was, also, quite heavy. I would try with all my might to help my mom pull it out towards the center and then would reach up as high as I could to feel the water splash in the basin. I always felt called to that space and place and found deep joy when it was brought out. 

At that age, I didn’t have all of the language or theological prowess to comprehend or articulate what happened at baptism. I had no idea what the paraclete was, or a sacrament, the means of grace, or even a real understanding of the holy trinity. I did know that I found joy in being there, I loved the ritual of the water and the words, I felt a love that was deeper than I could ever know, and I felt safe. I wonder if the little one attached to the crayon felt those things too? I sure hope so.   

As my finger traced back up the pew, I had to wipe a tear from my eye. How is it that these swirls of blue could take me to such a tender place in my childhood? I don’t think I had ever thought about those moments with the baptismal font until now and yet as I walk into every sanctuary, I search for it and long to splash the water in the basin. Even the times when I am rushed and in a hurry, I find myself drawn to the water to take a deep breath and settle into the sacred place God has nestled within my heart. I went to church behind the pew in the swirl of the blue crayon, enfolded in the love of God, and embraced in the grace of our baptismal waters. I hope this is what our spaces and places of worship and community can and aspire to be: filled with joy, deep wonder, love, grace, and awe. I think we all need it. I know I sure do.