Blasphemy!

My three-year-old son, Cubby, has become a bit of a handful at church.  Yes, he's the one from this story.

His behavior is mostly my  fault, I'll admit.  In January he left his beloved nursery to start his time as a Sunbeam in Jr. Primary.  I have been (until last week) the primary chorister.  He took the fact that I stand in front of the room and wave my arm to mean that he owned the place, and he would roam around the primary room, draw on the chalkboard, and generally cause mayhem while his teacher tried in vain to rein him in.

Buffy couldn't help because she was not in church for the first month-and-a-half that Cubby was in primary because of Toby's birth the first week of January.  And, like I said, I had to be in front waving my arm.  So, no parents were available to apply the needed amounts of fear and threat to contain the boy.  In other words, Cubby is a free-range sunbeam.  And, this may be the main reason I have been released, well, along with this.

So last week, Easter Sunday, Cubby and I sat in sacrament meeting when he began to squirm restlessly.

I whispered, "Stop, or I will take you home and put you on time out."

"Okay, let's go home," he replied.  He knew, even at age three, that church is often more boring than a time out.  My bluff had been called, and I was caught.

"I was just kidding," I backpedaled, "we need to stay here."

"Why?" he asked contorting his body the way children do when they are overly bored and constricted.

"Because we love Jesus and we want to learn about Him."  I reasoned in whispered tones while wrestling him back on to my lap and into sitting position.

Cubby was not buying it.  "I HATE JESUS!" he screamed.  This is, of course, not what one should yell in church on Easter Sunday.   Screaming in church is generally frowned upon, but if one must yell, one should yell hallelujah or hosanna or amen or gesundheit--it's really hard to make a case for yelling I hate Jesus in a Christian church. 

The universe froze as I, the father of the blasphemer, contemplated what to do.  It didn't take long to decide on a course of action.  I stood, scooped him up, and headed for the exit.

Cubby, sensing that he had found his ticket out of there poured gas on the flame, "I HATE JESUS!  I HATE JESUS!"

All I could think of was, get him out of here before the Christians stone him!  I pulled the boy into my body trying to muffle his blasphemous cries with the child-drool-stained shoulder of my suit coat and speed walked out the door of the chapel.

I didn't stop until we were safely half-way down the hallway.  Then I held him up to look him in the eye, to talk to him about what he'd said.  He looked back at me with his beautiful brown eyes while his adorable mouth delivered a great big grin.

"Cubby," I said, "we can't say that about Jesus.  We love Him."  He just smiled back at me.  His eyes shone bright and he appeared,  to me, to be completely innocent.

He's three.  He is innocent.  I relented.  Wasn't that part of Jesus' atonement?  Jesus has covered the sins and misdeeds of children.  Three-year-olds are not guilty of blasphemy (it's their parents who shoulder the blame at that age...).

Later that evening while serving a time out for an unrelated issue, we heard Cubby knocking on his bedroom door from the inside.  He called out,  "I like Heavenly Father, now.  Can I come out?"