Recently, Babykins has started to notice the crucifixes in our bedrooms. My husband and my bedroom has one hanging above our bed, the nursery has one hanging above the closet door. Whenever she points them out, we talk about how Jesus died on the cross to forgive our sins.
However, in the guestroom we have a decorative cross. Babykins was looking at it the other day and we then had this chat:
Babykins: What’s dat? (points to the cross)
Me: That’s a cross
Babykins: Jesus no on that one!
Me: Well, yes, um. . . That’s because it’s just a cross. When Jesus is on the cross, it’s called a crucifix. Can you say “crucifix”?
Pastor’s kids can have the oddest vocabulary.
Since my husband and I are now back at the seminary, that means we have access to the Co-op again. Shopping at both Co-ops means we can get some great things for free–my husband has started restocking his pitifully small dress shirt wardrobe, I’ve found a great pair of jeans that actually fit, and we’re enjoying only buying one gallon of milk per week.
Of course, access to the Co-op also means some really bizarre finds–bizarre like this crucifix my husband found at the Clothing Co-op this week:
When he first found it, we thought it was relatively normal. Sure, the Jesus figurine was made of plastic, so not the highest quality. But what can you expect when it’s free? However, we realized why the crucifix might have been at the Co-op when we turned off the kitchen lights that night: Apparently the Jesus figurine glows in the dark.
Now we are not only asking ourselves what we are supposed to do with a glow-in-the-dark crucifix, but also who on earth would decide to make a glow-in-the-dark Jesus to begin with!
On Sunday, one of my husband’s friends from seminary is getting ordained. He asked my husband to help with his ordination and installation service. Generally a good job to give a seminarian helping out with a service like this is crucifer (the guy who carries in the crucifix in the procession). However, my husband’s friend’s new church doesn’t have a crucifix, they have a cross. Consequently, my husband isn’t the crucifer, he’s the cross bearer. But whenever I hear “cross bearer,” I think of this: