A pretty church, newer building, Sunday morning. I sat an empty pew and admired the clerestory, the natural wood and stone. Center-church, an old, marble baptismal font, dark and stained. If I’d had some soap and water with me, I’d have given that thing a good scrubbing. After the service, I visited with the altar-guild. I asked about the font. “Oh, that’s smoke-stain from the fire that burned our old church. That font reminds us of bygone days.” Well, maybe. But I’m pretty certain I’d not let a child of mine get too close to that font.