Even though the Seventh-day Adventist Church makes participation in communion open to any who’ve accepted Jesus as Savior, and even though children clearly participated in the Passover (communion’s forerunner), and even though God seemed to set up memorials specifically to provide opportunities for parents to discuss spiritual things with their children, and even though Jesus had a deep interest in children, in the Adventist Church (as well as in many other denominations), children typically are excluded from participating in communion. Why?

While a few will go into deep theological explanations about how full understanding of the ritual and baptism are prerequisites to participation, the most widespread response I’ve encountered is that little children are just too young to understand the true meaning. My response: So what?

Lest you think I’m too flippant, let me explain myself. When I was an infant, sitting in my highchair and unable to talk, my parents folded my hands when we had the blessing on our food. Did I understand what it was all about? No way.

As I grew older, my parents took the process a step further: I was invited to participate in a repeat-after-me prayer. Did I understand why I was told to close my eyes and talk to someone I couldn’t see? Not really.

With the passage of time, I memorized a few prayers. And later, I was able to construct them myself. But still I had hazy understandings. (In fact, I still do. As the Apostle Paul says of all of us, "Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror... Now I know in part . . . .") But my parents operated on the assumption that faith and understanding don’t always have to precede actions. In the developing child, actions can precede faith and understanding, which dawn slowly.

So even though going through the exercise of prayer initially had no real meaning, so what? The understanding was going to come eventually. And not for one moment do I believe that God was offended because a little kid was assuming postures and mouthing expressions far beyond his ability to comprehend. God, too, knows that greater understanding will come with time and practice.

Keep in mind, what I’m talking about is a repetitive activity. Praying will be done over and over and over again. The meaning can become clearer and clearer and still clearer. No problem. So why isn’t the repetitive activity of communion seen in a similar light? Why is it assumed that there must be near-perfect understanding of the symbolism before one can participate?

By contrast, baptism is a once-in-a-lifetime event. Baptism is a one-time statement before God and witnesses about my acceptance of and commitment to Christ as my Savior. So it would be inappropriate for a three-year-old. The person being baptized needs to have a relatively detailed understanding for this singular experience to have the meaning it should.

But communion is in an altogether different category. Like prayer, it’s repetitive. And as in prayer, if I’m only going through motions because I don’t fully understand, it’s no problem. I have an entire lifetime for my understanding to grow.

Once a week we made a trip to the nearest town of any size, where we bought "day-old" bread—by the case—at Holsum bakery’s discount store. The bread cost 10 cents a loaf (or $1 for a case of 12). Occasionally, however, we were lucky enough to buy two or three cases of several-days-old "dog-food" bread, which sold for 5 cents a loaf (or 50 cents for a case of 12).

To ensure that the "dog-food" bread wouldn’t be used for human consumption, the cashier would jab his or her finger through each loaf’s wrapper. Once home, however, we tore the wrappers open and removed the two or three slices that might have had human contact. Those we actually fed to the dogs. The rest we rebagged, put into the freezer and later consumed. We were delighted that we’d been able to save so much money.

The cheapest processed breakfast cereal in those days was Loma Linda Ruskets—especially when bought by the case. Along with cooked cereals such as oatmeal and cornmeal mush (grits), Ruskets were our breakfast mainstay. And the wonderful thing about Ruskets was that each package contained a prize—some little doodad that was worth almost nothing but that could keep my sisters and me fighting for hours.

My parents attempted to keep track of whose turn it was to open the next box and get the prize. But as surely as night follows day, three of their four children wouldn’t agree with their recollection of who was next in line. And most aggressive of all were my sisters Donna and Nancy. (Bonnie and I were more genteel and far more respectful of law and order.)

One day, much to our surprise, Donna and Nancy seemed to have little interest in whose turn it was to open the Ruskets and get the prize. In a truly cultured and self-controlled manner, Bonnie and I discussed whose turn it was. Being the true gentleman that I’ve always been (my, how time has a way of distorting perceptions!), I deferred to her.

Eagerly she opened the Ruskets. The prize, larger than usual, was a comb. As she turned it over, she gasped. For there, stamped on the comb, were familiar words: "Houses of distinction built by Coffin Construction." For a fleeting moment, she failed to divine the significance of the comb’s presence: How could Loma Linda Foods have made such a mistake? How did they get the comb in the first place?

Then the realization dawned. Donna and Nancy had carefully opened every package of Ruskets in the entire case, had stolen every prize, had substituted a Coffin Construction comb or pen and had carefully reglued each package.

Since I’m out of space, I’ll have to save the moralizing for next week!

Needless to say, my sister Bonnie and I were less than enthusiastic about their crime, granted that we were left with something we didn’t consider a prize––even though it was actually more functional and of greater value than what they took.

Last week we ran out of space before I was able to mount my soapbox and preach. But no way am I going to let you escape without the moralizing! So here goes.

A lot of what we consider a real "prize" in life is of no more value than the little plastic doodads we children so looked forward to getting from a box of Ruskets. Even as adults, we’re experts at misplacing priorities and distorting values.

I remember a story told by youth worker Jim Harris, whose plane was shot down during one of the early bombing raids over Germany. Thus he spent much of World War II in a prison camp.

As the Allied forces closed in, the Germans marched Jim and his fellow prisoners away from the Allied advance. The men, emaciated and ill, were falling like flies. The one thing on every prisoner’s mind was finding something to eat. Anything. They were starving.

During a brief lull in their forced march, Jim and a friend slipped behind a barn. To their great joy, they discovered a couple of small potatoes that had been dropped when the potatoes were being dug. Starving as they were, they became preoccupied with their little potatoes.

They became so preoccupied, in fact, that they never noticed that all the German guards had suddenly vanished. They were so preoccupied that they didn’t notice that the trucks that were roaring up were Allied trucks, not German trucks.

They were so preoccupied with eating those little potatoes that they didn’t even notice that Allied servicemen were handing out candy bars and fruit and an array of wonderful food items to their fellow prisoners. While they focused on their little potatoes, their comrades were indulging in food they’d only dreamed about for the past three years.

Jim and his fellow prisoner-of-war became so focused on the small prize of a couple of potatoes that they became oblivious to the huge prize––which was liberation from their captors, food in abundance, medical care and . . .

Too many of us focus on things that really aren’t worthy of our time and attention. At the very least, they’re not worthy of the amount of time and attention we give them.

The prizes in the boxes of Ruskets didn’t merit the elaborate efforts required for Nancy and Donna to acquire them illicitly. And they certainly weren’t worth the anger and angst Bonnie and I exhibited when we discovered what Donna and Nancy had done to us.

Wouldn’t it be great if kids were the only ones who ever get their priorities so out of kilter?

To oversimplify, the Rutherford Institute is the opposite polar extreme of the American Civil Liberties Union. For example, while the ACLU typically seeks to limit religious expression in tax-funded venues, the Rutherford Institute defends the rights of people to express their faith in such settings.

Although our historic Adventist stance on religious-liberty issues put me in sync with the ACLU more often than one might expect from a clergyman, I find the Rutherford Institute’s founder and president, John Whitehead, to be one of the best communicators I’ve come across. Even when I disagree with him, I have to admire how his mind works. He’s an exceptional writer, a clear thinker and a great student of our culture and the influences on it.

Anyway, the other day I read a press release telling how the Rutherford Institute has "come to the defense of a Christian systems engineer who was allegedly fired after voicing a religious objection to his employer’s diversity training initiative, which included a requirement that employees accept, celebrate and embrace homosexuality."

When Thomas Meeker asked to be exempted from those aspects of his employing company’s diversity training that "conflicted with his religious beliefs about homosexuality," his company denied his request and ultimately fired him.

In a letter, Meeker’s employers told him that his refusal to participate in all aspects of the training "impedes your ability to perform your job in a manner consistent with our Standards of Business Conduct policy." The Rutherford Institute contends that Meeker’s employers discriminated against him on the basis of religion.

"This case has to do with the freedom of conscience—the right of individuals to object to something they believe is wrong, especially when it contradicts their religious beliefs, whether it is war, abortion, homosexuality or a number of other issues," Whitehead states.

I’ll admit that it does seem unfair to fire an employee for a conscientiously held conviction. But how would most Christians feel if the tables were turned.

Suppose someone is working for a religious organization with clearly stated and strongly held positions on issues such as homosexuality, divorce, mixed-race marriage or female subservience. In fact, the concerns are so strong that the organization conducts indoctrination classes in which employees must not only read vast quantities of material supporting the organization’s position but, as a condition of employment, must commit to promote/defend the organization’s stance to all who inquire. Should an employee have the right to be exempted if she or he conscientiously disagrees? Such latitude is rarely granted in religious settings.

Let’s assume that in the Meeker case (just cited) the company managers have a moral conviction concerning inclusiveness. And they also have a clear picture of what they want their company’s image to be. Should they not have as much right to expect conformity from an employee as a religious organization has?

Why do so many of us as Christians feel that religious organizations should have the right to discriminate on the basis of our moral values, but that secular organizations shouldn’t be allowed the same privilege?