Spilt milk does not disinherit one from the family. In some families, spilt milk means no dinner. But that is to the shame of that sort of father.
What spilt milk ought to mean is that the child needs milk. They are little and the cup is too big, or they are have a hard time paying attention to all the details, or they are just too clumsy.
But even fathers spill milk, too. But they almost always do so with an excuse. “Oops, my fingers are all buttery from the corn.” Or, with a cross look at an adjacent and innocent child, “Who put my cup right there?”
My question to you is, “Who is causing schism at the family table when milk is spilt by a little toddler? The child or the angry father? It is manifestly NOT the child.
Spilt milk, spilt happily, displays the unity of the family. It displays the welcome of children and the maturity of mother and father, brothers and sisters. Instead of thinking, “I can’t believe Billy would disrespect our table that way!”, everyone should be thinking, with a smile on their face, “I remember when I used to do that almost every night.”
My wife mentioned to a visitor, how she loves to see the wine on the pages of our communion songs. She received a bit of a surprised look. I suppose Presbyterians ought not to spill their wine on the Psalter.
But we ought not to cry over spilt wine. In fact, we ought to laugh and remember when we were just babies and wine was something we had to get used to. We ought to remember when it was hard to hold it and hard to wait for everybody else. But then we learned to discern the Lord’s body. And when we saw them waiting, we waited, too, because we knew that we were of them. And we ought to remember the times we were cross at the spilt wine and had to repent because we caused a little one to stumble.
But Jesus is kind to us. He gives us bread. He gives us wine. He gives us each other. He gives us little children and He builds our faith to be like their’s. So, let us eat and drink, crumble and dribble, drop and spill, grow and mature, all to His glory.