It wasn't funny, but then again, it was...

Last night Sarah and I were snuggling Joel in bed and
talking about how Jesus suffered on the cross.

Sarah said, "They did all kinds of mean things to Jesus. They mocked Him,
they spit on Him, they yelled mean names at Him.”

Then Joel said, “And the pweece whipped Him.”

“Police?” I asked, trying to figure out his meaning. “Do you mean soldiers?”

“Yeah, soldiers . They whipped Jesus on the bare hiney.”



Sarah and I erupted in laughter. I don’t mean at all to treat this subject lightly, but until that moment, I had never heard the words “Jesus” and “bare hiney” in the same sentence.

When we finally composed ourselves, we were sobered by the connection that this four year old had made between his kind of suffering and the Lord’s. (Worlds apart, for sure—I am not even intending to compare, as Joel’s never gotten more than a few whacks with a wooden spoon.)

But then he said, “Why are the two o’ you laughing? It’s not funny.”

We hugged him and said we knew it wasn’t funny, but the way he said it was.