The joy of crying babies

Anyone with kids knows that a baby that won’t stop crying will bring a 250 pound linebacker to his knees.  You would consider selling your soul to get that kid to stop crying.  I mean, those long cries.  Hours and  hours of constant crying at 2 AM.  You would saw off your left arm if it would make a difference.

And yet, there’s something about a crying baby.  It’s what they do.  It’s how they say, “Excuse me father, I have a problem.”  There’s something beautiful about that.  There is a feeling when you hold your child and that child clings to you – to  schmuck loser you – as the source of all comfort and security, as if you have a clue what to do to help.  I like to think about that when I consider Jesus’ use of the word Father to describe God.

A priest who was visiting from Africa once told us not to worry about fussing babies.  A church without crying babies has a problem.  Babies mean life itself.  And fussing babies simply dial up the decibels to make sure that in our noisy, blustery world of gadgets and digital media, their voices can be heard.  I thought of that as I read this story.  It’s not the end of the world.  But it does give you something to think about.  There’s saying you love crying babies, and then there’s loving crying babies.