 Smile - even if you’re nervous and don’t know how to deal with children, even if you’re annoyed that kids kick the pews, even if you worry the baby may scream and interrupt the sermon, even if you wonder why they didn’t take those kids to the nursery, especially if you are happy they came to church. Because you’ve been blessed with the chance to be like Jesus - to teach and listen and care for the littlest among us. Here’s how:
 Images from Covenant Presbyterian Church - Columbus, OH. Photo credit - Betsy Patterson
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I gave this 5 minutes talk at the Association of Presbyterian Church Educators conference in January. It's "the story of a little church making space for God to bring new life out of death." It gives a little background into how we began embracing cross generational worship, and also WHY this is bringing new life to our church.  Ash Wednesday Family Image by RubyDW - used with creative common lisence You are dust, and to dust you shall return.
The hand moves with careful deliberation - down, then across - a coal black cross marks each head turning back toward the pews. I move forward in line, my body swaying with the rhythm of the murmured promise, my infant daughter babbling quietly against my shoulder. Finally, I stand before my dear friend and she marks my face with the ashes - last year’s hosannas returned as this year’s dust - the cycle life and death contained their oily grit. Before I turn back to my seat, she looks down at my little girl and I remember I brought her here for a reason. As I shift her tiny face toward this glorious woman, a cry of glee bursts from her baby lips. My friend with the ashy fingers is her friend too, and their faces shine like the sun as they meet in the Wednesday evening darkness. In an instant, this solemn moment when we honor the good and holy truth of death becomes one of life and joy. As it should be. The sign of the cross, the symbolism of the ashes, it all points to life as well as death - but it took a child to show me the truth: God holds our beginnings and our endings. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. It is powerful to affirm my own mortality, but it is something altogether different to tell my lively daughter that she will die someday. How can we explain the power of these words to children? How do we help them understand the goodness of death without being too macabre? Even now, five years later, as I gaze upon this girl whose being is so full life and joy and glitter and rainbows, who skips and twirls and sings through her days, I cannot imagine a world without her. And yet, that will be. Thank God I have no idea when, or where, or how, but she will die. She - who was created out of star-dust - will return to earth-dust. Her precious body will blow upon the wind and nourish the new life out of the loamy soil, as will we all. In life and in death, you belong to God. This truth breaks my heart, and also makes me whole. Because - more than a truth - these words are a promise. In life and in death, in sunshine and in rain, in baby’s cry and in old age’s sigh, in joy and in tears, my daughter belongs to God. I cannot protect her from death any more than can protect her from life, but I can entrust her to God. You are God’s beloved child, now and forever. These are words of death, but also words of life. They are words of belonging and identity that my daughter needs to hear. Because she will die someday. More than that - she will live through pain and shame and world-shattering disappointment and sole-rending grief. She needs to know that there is never a moment when she is without God’s care. No matter what. Even in the fire, even after the fire when only ashes remain, these too are God’s. And so I entrust her to God, just as I entrust myself to God. And as I speak these words on Wednesday, I will mark the cross in ashes and entrust each precious body I touch to our Creator. God created you from dust, and to dust and to God you shall return.  It can be challenging to worship with children, but it is also supremely glorious to worship as a whole, holy Body of Christ. In fact, when I ask people to list the blessings of worship with children, I always receive an enthusiastic and varied response. Here are some of my favorites: It is a blessing to worship with children because...
What I love most about worship with children is how it changes the adults. Kids free us to be a little silly. They allow us to do things we wouldn't normally do - like dance or color or blow bubbles or listen to a storybook - because "it's for the kids." Guess what? It's not just for the kids. Children learn by listening, seeing, and doing - and so do adults! When the child behind you sends her entire bucket of crayons skittering across the floor, grab one for yourself. Draw the story of the scripture or try to distill the message of the sermon into a simple picture. Give it to the child - but not before you let that image take root in your own heart.  In my workshops, I often ask folks to complete this sentence: "We can't worship with children because..." And let me assure you, we have no trouble coming up with a long list of reasons why kids should should stay out of the sanctuary.
I don't mean to make light of these fears because they are both honest and (usually) true. Kids are loud and messy. They have a tendency to ask questions at inopportune moments. Church can be boring for kids (and adults too)! Children can't understand the language and symbolism in much of the service. But how much of worship - the intersection of divine glory and human awe - do any of us truly understand? Christina Embree says, "{church is} a total package. And much of what is included in that package is not comprehended through the mind, but through the heart." Worshipping with kids isn't easy. It's important that we recognize the challenges so that we can also embrace the gifts children bring to our church. Make sure to read part 2: "Top 10 Blessings of Worship with Kids." |
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