
For some random holiday one year my aunt bought a piñata. Now that might not seem like a big deal to you, but I grew up in an incredibly Anglo home in Michigan. Of course I knew what a piñata was, mainly because I had traveled extensively to Central and South America, and piñatas there are like fire hydrants here. They’re on every corner.
When my aunt pulled out the piñata at the family holiday festiganza, all the kids ooohed and ahhhhd. They obviously had never seen the likes of a paper machete beast, and my aunt was incredibly proud of her find. She held it high in the air and carried it into the room with the aura of one who is transporting the Ark of the Covenant. You could almost hear the Angles singing and I believe I could almost taste manna.
She told all of us with great vigor of the random treasure that she had found that day at the flee market. She announced that we would beat open her beautiful treasure right after dinner, and once her icon of joy was split wide it would offer up succulent treats of tantalizingly tasty tidbits. They were ecstatic.
I asked my aunt if she had already put the candy in the piñata, and she told me that the lady at the flee market told her that it already had candy in it. I picked up the piñata and gave it a healthy shake and heard the distinct sound of air. I told her that with all due respect this piñata does not have any candy in it. That she has to cut a hole and fill it. She is responsibly to put the tasty treats inside it does not come with them already in there.
She dismissed me as a mere pup on the porch of life and informed me that I was wrong and that indeed there were mountains of treats just waiting beyond the thing walls of paper machete.
Dinner came and dinner went. The kids were beyond excited, they were chomping at the proverbial bit to not only smash a perfectly good toy with a bat, but then actually get rewarded for it. So my family strung up the incredibly light piñata and the kids took turns wacking at it with the hickory equalizer.
The final blow came when my nephew hauled off, and in one fail swoop, gashed the piñata’s abdomen, and broke it from the string sending it crashing to the floor. It was great! All the kids dove on the poor unsuspecting piñata with hopes of sweet rewards. It was empty.
Once the feeding frenzy subsided, all the kids turned and glared at my aunt with a look that was reminiscent of Cujo. Each one with empty hands, and unmet expectations. My aunt is still trying to live that one down.
In the church world we have done the same thing. We have become a part of the Body of Christ and declared to our community that there are sweet morsels of grace and love on the inside. You have to get on the inside that’s for sure, but once you’re in, it’s loaded.
The problem is nobody took the time to tell us that we are the ones that are supposed to fill the piñata. We are the ones that are supposed to show the love, and give the grace. We are the ones that are supposed to be accepting and caring. We are the body of Christ, and we are responsible to make sure that inside, not only ourselves, but our churches, is life-giving. It’s relational and fun!
I just don’t believe that our piñatas should be full of bitter, self-centered, discontent. If that’s all our piñatas are full of it’s no wonder no one is beating on our walls to get inside, instead they are merely passing us by. The things of Christ are fun, and engaging, and life-altering. They are meaningful and full of spiritual transformational power, but again, we are the Body of Christ, and what’s in us is what others are looking for. That is if we took time to fill our piñatas with the tantalizing sweet treats of Jesus.