You may have heard the saying “Children are the future of the church” or its sister phrase “Children are the Church of tomorrow”.
I hate both of these.
Children are not the future of the church, neither are they the church of tomorrow. Children and Youth are full members of the church today. To speak of them in any other way is to relegate them to wait until the grown ups decide they’re old enough to participate fully in the life of the church.
In any Sunday School program we should work to lead children on a lifelong path of Christian faith, spiritual growth and loving service to others. This is not something that is completed once a child has reached a certain age or has proven mastery of a given set of concepts. Children are welcomed additions in all aspects of our church life together and are honored for bringing their unique gifts with them. For example, children serve at the altar as acolytes. Without their assistance and presence our worship would be diminished. The Children’s Chapel offering is brought up by children as young as three. Their gifts, no matter how small, in their basket are honored with the same thanksgiving prayer as the gifts of everyone in the service placed in a big, fancy silver tray. Perhaps the best example of children’s gifts being used to their full potential and in equality with adults are children’s choirs. They are carefully trained and prepared and bring so much to our worship services when they sing.
When we tell children that they are the church of tomorrow, what we are really saying is “sit there, be quiet, you will matter when you’re older.” When we say that children are the church of the future we reduce their presence in our Church to nothing more than a token of how great we think we are. When we believe these empty platitudes, we rest on our laurels thinking that all we have to do is make sure they physically reach adulthood and they will keep the church going on into the future.
Instead, when we embrace children and youth as full members of the body of Christ no matter their age, we enrich and enliven the church of today.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Sunday, March 28, 2010
A lesson for the movers and shakers
Say what you want about Palm Sunday - this year I've read a lot of complaints about putting all of Holy Week within the liturgy of this Sunday morning - I still love it. The chance to do something different. From a teaching point of view I see this as a day when the liturgy speaks most to the kinesthetic learners in our congregations. We get to do more than just stand up and sit down. We walk, we sing, we poke each other with palms. At my church, we have a donkey lead the way. All the senses are employed to tell the story of the Triumphant Entry.
In Sunday School this morning we lead the children through Holy Week in under 45 minutes. From Palm Sunday to the Empty Tomb we tell them the whole story by asking them to come with us on the imaginary trip. Children have such active imaginations that engaging them in class means we're more likely to engage the child, too.
They are welcomed in, given palms to wave and a cloak to walk over as they hear the story of Jesus' entry into Jerusalem. We move to a small corner of the church where at a low table they are invited to share in the bread and wine (grape juice) of the Last Supper. Once we are in a small garden (a different corner with a few fake trees) they sit and listen and pretend to fall asleep as Jesus prays. They hide in the back pews as they are told the disciples hide. They wonder where Jesus has been taken. The trial is held at the raised pulpit, covered with purple velvet, the children sitting on the floor looking up at the storyteller. They hear the crowd (their parents) yell for Barabbas. We walk through the stations of the cross displayed around the church. One sentence said at each station with silence in between for them to think their own thoughts. We slowly wander, downstairs, down into darkness as the storyteller speaks about the days when the disciples thought Jesus was dead. They are told of the women going to the tomb days later wondering who would move the stone. We arrive at the columbarium and are told by an angel "Why do you look for the living amongst the dead? Jesus is not here."
The whole time they are moving. The whole time they are using their whole bodies to learn. They walk. They sit. They eat. They drink. They sleep. They hide. They look up. They walk the stations. They go down. They are told the Good News.
All through the lesson the children were attentive and alert; quiet but not bored. The teachers and parents were as well. We knew something was moving within and amongst the children.
They took home with them not a craft or a piece of paper, but the story and the experience. They took home something they knew not something they had been taught.
The afterglow of having a great lesson was beginning to wear off a little while later when a parent came up to me saying "I just have to share this with you. Julia (his 7 year old) was talking to me about the story. She told me: I know why the crowd picked Barabbas, daddy. Because they knew Jesus could handle it. They knew Jesus would be able to handle what was coming."
I told him, "That'll preach."
In Sunday School this morning we lead the children through Holy Week in under 45 minutes. From Palm Sunday to the Empty Tomb we tell them the whole story by asking them to come with us on the imaginary trip. Children have such active imaginations that engaging them in class means we're more likely to engage the child, too.
They are welcomed in, given palms to wave and a cloak to walk over as they hear the story of Jesus' entry into Jerusalem. We move to a small corner of the church where at a low table they are invited to share in the bread and wine (grape juice) of the Last Supper. Once we are in a small garden (a different corner with a few fake trees) they sit and listen and pretend to fall asleep as Jesus prays. They hide in the back pews as they are told the disciples hide. They wonder where Jesus has been taken. The trial is held at the raised pulpit, covered with purple velvet, the children sitting on the floor looking up at the storyteller. They hear the crowd (their parents) yell for Barabbas. We walk through the stations of the cross displayed around the church. One sentence said at each station with silence in between for them to think their own thoughts. We slowly wander, downstairs, down into darkness as the storyteller speaks about the days when the disciples thought Jesus was dead. They are told of the women going to the tomb days later wondering who would move the stone. We arrive at the columbarium and are told by an angel "Why do you look for the living amongst the dead? Jesus is not here."
The whole time they are moving. The whole time they are using their whole bodies to learn. They walk. They sit. They eat. They drink. They sleep. They hide. They look up. They walk the stations. They go down. They are told the Good News.
All through the lesson the children were attentive and alert; quiet but not bored. The teachers and parents were as well. We knew something was moving within and amongst the children.
They took home with them not a craft or a piece of paper, but the story and the experience. They took home something they knew not something they had been taught.
The afterglow of having a great lesson was beginning to wear off a little while later when a parent came up to me saying "I just have to share this with you. Julia (his 7 year old) was talking to me about the story. She told me: I know why the crowd picked Barabbas, daddy. Because they knew Jesus could handle it. They knew Jesus would be able to handle what was coming."
I told him, "That'll preach."
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Single Serving Sunday School
Sunday School classes are interesting animals. While the relationships within them continue week to week, class to class and, sometimes, year to year, the lessons themselves do not. We can expect students to recall and connect points from day to day but week to week is a stretch. Aside from the valuable time it takes to recap previous points like a soap opera introduction (last week on As the Church Turns...) there's the insular, secret and unwelcoming aspect to trying to link lessons from week to week. It gives newcomers one less thing they can be comfortable about. Anyone who was there, but doesn't remember the lesson is in the same boat.
However, every lesson doesn't need to reinvent the wheel. No need to start over from scratch every Sunday as if no one has ever been there before. There is great power and importance to ritual and consistency in things like how the classroom is set up, the flow of the lesson and what we do every time we meet. Those who are in the know can find a role in sharing these rituals with newcomers as a way of welcoming them in and including them.
Keep it simple. Keep it open. Keep it warm. Sunday School is not a secret society. It is not a clubhouse. It is an open space for all that come. Kids are cliquish enough on their own without us reinforcing those negative behaviors and helping them exclude.
Single Serving Sunday School is a way of welcoming in, creating a culture of inclusion while teaching, leading and shepherding children into the Kingdom of God.
However, every lesson doesn't need to reinvent the wheel. No need to start over from scratch every Sunday as if no one has ever been there before. There is great power and importance to ritual and consistency in things like how the classroom is set up, the flow of the lesson and what we do every time we meet. Those who are in the know can find a role in sharing these rituals with newcomers as a way of welcoming them in and including them.
Keep it simple. Keep it open. Keep it warm. Sunday School is not a secret society. It is not a clubhouse. It is an open space for all that come. Kids are cliquish enough on their own without us reinforcing those negative behaviors and helping them exclude.
Single Serving Sunday School is a way of welcoming in, creating a culture of inclusion while teaching, leading and shepherding children into the Kingdom of God.
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Life as Kleenex
There is nothing in the world quite as useful as kleenex. Those tissues, known by brand name the world over, hold truth and meaning in a small cardboard box.
Sneezes, coughs, and sniffles are made more genteel and polite with the use of a simple square of kleenex. Tears are dried and fears are calmed. Sometimes a kleenex is only held, giving our hands something to do when there is nothing we can do. Other times its utility is more direct; a smudge on glasses removed, a bit of dirt cleaned (sometimes with the aid of the greatest cleaning agents known to man - mom spit).
But at the end of all these trials, once the cold is gone, the bloody nose stopped, the tears dried or the spot removed, the kleenex's greatest attribute is discovered. It is disposable. Unlike old fashioned hankies or shirt sleeves, once their usefulness has finished the kleenex is no more. It is thrown away and life moves on.
How many other things in life are like kleenex? So multi-purpose and important, yet utterly disposable and individually forgettable. How many people in our lives are human kleenex?
I realize in saying this I may sound dismissive of the value of human life and the sacred nature within each of us. That is not my intention. Instead, think about this: how many of your elementary school teachers can you name? Classmates? How many are you in contact with now?
Those formative years, spending 6+ hours a day in the same room, doing the same thing as 30 other people, and how many of them do we remember?
What about at church? How many Sunday School teachers do you remember? It is not names that are important, nor are faces or pictures. Experiences, emotions, lessons learned stick with us; but oftentimes the purveyor of the lesson is forgotten. I admit I have a terrible memory for names and faces and details, so maybe this is just me, but I doubt it.
When "doing" youth and children's ministry there is such a focus lately on relationships and individuals that I think we're missing the point of ministry - it is not about us. The first time someone looked me in the eye and in all earnestness said "Caren, it's not about you" - took my breath away. I haven't forgotten it. (I only vaguely remember who that was, too.) As youth ministers we only see these kids for a few hours a week, if we're lucky we get to see them on a day other than Sunday. We come into their lives for a season, when we fit and are needed, then, like kleenex full of snot and tears and dirt and found somewhere at the bottom of a purse, our usefulness ended, are discarded.
There is nothing - NOTHING - wrong with us or our ministry when this happens. In fact, it means we're doing something right. Who wants to hang onto a disgusting, old, holey, lint-covered kleenex? Who needs to remain tied to a ministry they have long-since grown out of?
A few of the youth I thought I had the biggest impact on, the ones whose names and faces I vividly remember... I've lost contact with them. If it weren't for Facebook, I wouldn't know where they were at all. Does this invalidate what I did? What I've done? What I am currently doing? No. Not at all. In fact, it means I did something right.
Sneezes, coughs, and sniffles are made more genteel and polite with the use of a simple square of kleenex. Tears are dried and fears are calmed. Sometimes a kleenex is only held, giving our hands something to do when there is nothing we can do. Other times its utility is more direct; a smudge on glasses removed, a bit of dirt cleaned (sometimes with the aid of the greatest cleaning agents known to man - mom spit).
But at the end of all these trials, once the cold is gone, the bloody nose stopped, the tears dried or the spot removed, the kleenex's greatest attribute is discovered. It is disposable. Unlike old fashioned hankies or shirt sleeves, once their usefulness has finished the kleenex is no more. It is thrown away and life moves on.
How many other things in life are like kleenex? So multi-purpose and important, yet utterly disposable and individually forgettable. How many people in our lives are human kleenex?
I realize in saying this I may sound dismissive of the value of human life and the sacred nature within each of us. That is not my intention. Instead, think about this: how many of your elementary school teachers can you name? Classmates? How many are you in contact with now?
Those formative years, spending 6+ hours a day in the same room, doing the same thing as 30 other people, and how many of them do we remember?
What about at church? How many Sunday School teachers do you remember? It is not names that are important, nor are faces or pictures. Experiences, emotions, lessons learned stick with us; but oftentimes the purveyor of the lesson is forgotten. I admit I have a terrible memory for names and faces and details, so maybe this is just me, but I doubt it.
When "doing" youth and children's ministry there is such a focus lately on relationships and individuals that I think we're missing the point of ministry - it is not about us. The first time someone looked me in the eye and in all earnestness said "Caren, it's not about you" - took my breath away. I haven't forgotten it. (I only vaguely remember who that was, too.) As youth ministers we only see these kids for a few hours a week, if we're lucky we get to see them on a day other than Sunday. We come into their lives for a season, when we fit and are needed, then, like kleenex full of snot and tears and dirt and found somewhere at the bottom of a purse, our usefulness ended, are discarded.
There is nothing - NOTHING - wrong with us or our ministry when this happens. In fact, it means we're doing something right. Who wants to hang onto a disgusting, old, holey, lint-covered kleenex? Who needs to remain tied to a ministry they have long-since grown out of?
A few of the youth I thought I had the biggest impact on, the ones whose names and faces I vividly remember... I've lost contact with them. If it weren't for Facebook, I wouldn't know where they were at all. Does this invalidate what I did? What I've done? What I am currently doing? No. Not at all. In fact, it means I did something right.
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