My name is Linda and I bring my children to church. Lately, I’ve noticed a few blogs trending about this subject. Some people are apparently ranting about mothers or fathers coming in late and leaving early for church, and, naturally, other mothers and fathers are ranting back. Here is my rant, for what it’s worth (probably about 2 cents).
I bring my kids to church, because what is important to me should be important to them. My little one runs back and forth between the nursery and my adult Christian formation class during our Sunday School hour. The adult class just smiles at her and the priest acts like he doesn’t mind that she distracts us from the discussion. Then, if I’m lucky (and usually I am), someone will watch them both in the nursery during part of mass. They come in during the Peace, and partake in communion. It’s not easy to manage them during this time. I bring snacks, which make a mess in the pew. Sometimes I let them play games on my phone, but I’ve learned that is usually louder and more distracting than anything. “Mommy, this game isn’t WORKING right!” “Mommy, my little sister took the phone!” Sometimes, they color. Sometimes, they walk up and down the pew on the kneelers. Sometimes they fall and bite their lips and wail hysterically (that’s when we go into the nursery for the rest of the time.) Sometimes they rearrange the hymnals, bibles, and Books of Common Prayer, and draw all over the prayer request cards. Sometimes they play peekaboo with the choir.
I am lucky that my congregation is extremely welcoming to my children. People smile indulgently when they talk during the service, or when they try to run down the aisle during announcements. My friends at church shake my kids’ hands, give them communion, and indulge them with cupcakes during the coffee hour. Fellow parishioners sit beside my kids and some even bring them special toys during the service. They kiss their booboos and compliment their art projects. There are probably people who wish I didn’t have them there, when they’re loud, or people who are annoyed at the mess, or the lack of decorum that kids bring to the service. But, no one ever voices those views to me. I am glad that my church family welcomes my nuclear family; it makes my life much easier. Even without all the support, I would still insist on bringing my children to worship, and here’s why.
I went to church as a child, every week, and I learned to sit. In the Mennonite church we attended, children were expected to sit in worship services after the age of four. In the spirit of good German discipline, my mom felt we should learn to sit and pay attention. I ate candy, I played with little toys that my grandma brought, I colored, I rolled things down the backs of the pews, I poked my sister. When I could read, I leafed through the hymnal and I looked for racy parts in the Bible. In between all of those distractions, I learned how to listen. I learned to sing the Doxology and say the Lord’s Prayer. I learned what an offering meant. I learned to pray, or at least to listen to others pray, which is not a bad start. I learned to hear the word of God and listen to people speak about it. During a 20 year absence from a Christian church, those skills, ideas, and attitudes never left me.
I need my kids to go to church with me, and my kids need church. It might not seem like they’re listening, but I assure you they’re absorbing it. My oldest plays, “Body of Christ, Bread of Heaven” and gives communion to her dolls. When the acolytes ring the bells as the priest prepares the Host, she says, “Mommy, it’s magic!” She baptizes her bath toys. She asks me questions, “Mommy, why do you say, ‘Our father, who aren’t in heaven’? Isn’t God in heaven?” (That one led to an interesting discussion about the language of the Lord’s Prayer). I am continuously grateful that my church is welcoming to my little ones. To those who might complain, thanks for sucking it up for the benefit of my children.
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