David, three years old at the time, was praying at bedtime.  He asked God to bless his friends, then his family, pets, and stuffed animals.  Finally, he ended the prayer saying, "And God, I miss you."

Huh?  I did a mental double take.  Did David just say he misses God?  Yes, he did. What was that about?  What should I do?  Part of me wanted to offer him a comforting story or clever advice that would assure him of God's presence, but another part of me was paralyzed by these stark words: "God, I miss you."  So instead of saying anything, I kissed him goodnight and went to tell Jane so she could worry too.  Jane was equally puzzled and concerned.  The truth is, a parent cannot simply make a three-year-old, or anyone else, feel something they do not, certainly not the presence of God.  Whatever we could say or do would fall short of the depth that was generating David's prayer.  This was from the heart.

The next morning over our peanut butter and toast, with a touch of fear and trembling, I did bring the matter up with our son.  "David, last night when you were praying, you said you missed God."

"Oh yeah," he answered, "but it's okay now."

"What do you mean?"

"Well," he said, "God came to me last night . . ."

I interrupted, "David, you mean like in a dream?"  (My modern brain had to find some way to explain this.)

"I dunno, I guess.  Anyway, I was playin' in the sandbox behind our old house," (we had recently moved from across town) "and God came and said, ?Come, David,' so I followed, and we came here, and now God is here with us in our new home!"  He smiled.

Brad remarks that he has quit trying to explain the experience.  "Like any deep experience, explaining tends to reduce the fullness of it." [The Power of God at Home, Jossey-Bass, 2003, page 23]

How is faith formed in our children . . . and continued to be formed in us, throughout our days? 

I grew up in a home that was very religious.  In church not just Sunday mornings - we always were, there was no question about that - but Sunday evenings too, and sometimes Wednesday night as well - I was steeped in the stories of the Bible.  Most nights, after dinner, my Dad would get up from the table and bring out a big Bible, and he would read from it.  Now, given the profession in which I find myself a half century and more later, you might think I was glad to see that Bible hauled out.  But I wasn't.  I really didn't like it.  I was glad for the times some activity or other got in the way of the nightly Bible reading.

But I learned the stories of our faith that way.  And I learned that this faith was really important to my dad, and my mom - so important that they kept on reading even though they must have known how profoundly uninterested their youngest son was.

I learned the stories of faith at that table, and in Sunday School.  I am grateful for that - now - even though I chafed under it then.  For the stories of our faith - about Noah and Moses, David, and Sarah, Mary and Jesus - those stories are the framework upon which our faith is built.  It's important that we learn the stories of our faith.  But those stories are only the start of a continuing journey.  Stories that remain only in our heads but never penetrate our hearts, our spirits, our souls are merely interesting and quickly forgotten. 

Spiritual growth - growing up into the image of Christ, exhibiting the character of Jesus in our lives - that growth is what faith is really about.  It is not so much about knowing, as being - being a person that more and more lives out those fruits of the Spirit we heard a minute ago - living in love, joy, peace; patience, kindness, generosity - and more too, characteristics we observe in  those Bible stories  - courage and sacrifice, faith and justice, mercy and grace.

Now, those stories of faith are understood differently as we grow in faith, as we mature in our understanding of the world, and God.  As our pilgrim forbear John Robinson said in 1620, "There is yet more light to break forth from the Word," from the stories of scripture.  The question is how do we let that light break out, to form us, to transform us, to make us into people who are journeying toward wholeness, growing up into the image of Christ.

Brad Wigger has a very helpful way of expressing what growing in faith, what growing spiritually is.

"Learning, in the context of faith, involves seeing the world, seeing one another, and even seeing ourselves in ever fuller ways.  Spiritual learning involves paying attention [italics mine] to the sacred.   . . . [seeing that] there is a loving grace at work all around us and in us and through us, even in our own homes." [p. 3]

Seeing the world in new ways, in a new light . . .  Paying attention to see in even the most mundane matters of life the sacred, the presence of God.  Asking questions of the world, of ourselves, of God - questions that may open a new avenue of grace.  Our Buddhist friends talk about "mindfulness."  By that they mean paying attention - intentionally, deliberately, regularly - to the world around us and within us, and looking for the Divine in new places.

Mindfulness means being aware of how our souls are being shaped every day.  For we are being formed, spiritually, emotionally, even religiously by the world around us.  The TV shows we watch, the movies we rent, the books we read, the talk shows we listen to - these form our view of the world, of ourselves, and God too.   We are shaping one another's spirits too - by our love given or love withheld, by forgiveness granted or denied, by our graciously accepting others for who they are, especially the people with whom we live, or by demanding that they be what we want them to be.  We play a role in forming the spiritual lives of others, and it's important that we know that.

If we would, as the scripture said today,  "grow up in every way into him who is the head, into Christ," if we want to be formed by the Spirit of Christ rather than the spirit of the world, then you and I need to make some choices. 

Choose to read a book on faith, choose to go to a group that talks about faith development.  Attend a retreat.  Find ten minutes each day of quiet, when in the stillness of those moments you can listen for the nudge of the Spirit. 

Read scripture, read poetry, watch films that ask the great questions of life and of faith, go dig in God's good earth, walk in the glories of a fall day - being careful to be mindful of the Creator's presence in all things. 

Attend a concert listening for the presence of God in the mystery of sound.  Volunteer to serve the poor to help them, but also to feed your own soul, to see anew the world and your role in it.  There are so many ways we can foster our growth in faith, in spirit, in character.

Paying attention - being mindful - is a prelude to prayer, and may be prayer itself.  In our prayer times here we listen for common needs and shared concerns, that we might offer them to God.  As we turn now to prayer, I would like to offer a poem called Mindful.  The poet is able to see in the "ordinary, the common, the very drab" the presence of God, and the joy that brings.  She is able to see in the very light around us, the shine of the ocean, even in the grass under our feet glimpses of God's grace, reminders of God's love.

Mindful, by Mary Oliver