all ye who would enter the kingdom of heaven must become as little children

The mighty Heelers is kneeling soulfully in Kilcullen church.

Between bouts of mystic exaltation, I am listening in on my nephews who are with their mother in the pew in front of me.

"Can we light a candle for Uncle James and the hamster?" whispers Tom aged six.

"Not now," says his mother, "mass is about to begin."

The stern faced priest Father Michael emerges onto the altar.

"I have some colouring sheets here for the children," he announces cheerfully. "The sheets contain scenes from the gospel. Any children who want to do some colouring can come up and take one now. There are pens and markers for you to use and you can show me your completed drawings at the end of mass."

"I want one of those," says Tom.

"So do I," says John aged eight.

"Well I'm not going up for them," states their mother firmly. "If you want them you can get them yourself."

The two nephews sulk for a few minutes.

The church service begins.

"How many more seconds will this last?" asks Tom tugging at his mother's sleeve.
"Three thousand," snorts his mother.
"How long is that?" persists Tom.

"Count up to 3000 and it'll be over," she tells him.

For long moments the pew rustles with muted counting: "One, two, three, four... eleven, twelve... twenty eight, twenty nine, thirty..."

Then.

"Is it over yet?"

"Did you reach 3000?"

"No."

"How far did you get?"

"I got to 56."

"Well it's not over so."

Once more Father Michael's voice rings out from the altar.

"The gospel according to Saint John," he intones.

There is an excited stir from my littlest nephew.

"Hey John," he gasps, "this one is about you."

For long moments I am incapable of coherent speech, prayer or breathing.

I am laughing so hard.

Then.

"Mammy!"

"What?"

"Can we light a candle for Uncle James and the hamster now?"

"I told you Tom not till the end of mass."

A pause.

"Mammy!"

"What?"

"I want to see Jesus."

He is pointing to the little statue in a side alcove.

"Not now, later."

"Mammy!"

"What?"

"Why is Jesus wearing a dress?"

When Ireland's greatest living poet finally stifles his laughter and regains control of his senses, mass is finished.

Father Michael bestows his blessing and departs into the sacristy.

The altar is clear.

As one the nephews scamper up to the front of the church to retrieve armfulls of colouring sheets.

"There were pens and crayons and markers up there too," John informs his mother.

"Hey, he said we could take those as well," remembers Tom brightly, getting ready to go back up on the altar.

His mother grabs him.

"He said you could take the colouring sheets," she insists. "You can only take the pens and crayons if you're doing your colouring here in church. You can't take them home with you."

The little family disappears towards the alcove containing a statue of the child Jesus.

I cannot help thinking how God must love them.