Children in Holy Week

In the Spirit of Throwback Thursday and Holy Week together I thought I'd take a pause and reflect, for myself really, on the long road of getting lots of little ones through this week and maybe even, bizarrely, how far we've come. This thought has been percolating for some time in the flabbiness of my mind, since Christmas, really, when I found myself sitting in church, on Christmas Day, with all six of my children wiggling around me. What could be more usual, you would think, than the pastor's wife and all the pastor's children sitting together in church, especially on Christmas, but let me assure, you, it hasn't always, or in fact ever, been so. For starters, I never had gone to church on Christmas Day myself. I always went the night before, obviously, since it is my Main Thing for the whole year. And then there's the incredible exhaustion of staying up all night fulfilling all their hearts' desires in the name of an old fat man no one has ever seen. Then there's the waking up and making bread and the insanity of over sugared humans careening around. So not only had I never gone, but the children hadn't really either. Except once or twice Elphine went because she knew her friend would be there. Matt would pop the goose in the oven, smile benevolently over all, and pop next door to celebrate the nativity of our Lord while I wandered around picking up the pieces of my broken shattered mind.

Imagine my surprise, then, when I, and who can remember why, I got it into my head to go to church this year. Was I ahead of the game? I think I must have slept, at some point, and so was awake and thought I would go. So I announced I was going and walked over to church and sat down while Matt was still flailing around looking for the candle lighter. But then Elphine slithered in, and then, in the most extraordinary turn of events, Alouicious arrived pushing and shoving all the rest of them, telling them to be quiet and sit down. I wasn't so rested that I really thought about it being strange, but as the service progressed and intervening days careened by, I wondered why they came. I mean, the house was Full of chocolate and new toys. What gives, I thought.

Then, many weeks later, I was sitting in church again, only this time at 7 in the morning, for Ash Wednesday, and they all came clumping in, only slightly late, dressed in a variety of strange garments, smiling and rubbing their eyes. Matt looked extremely annoyed. We'd all be back in the evening for exactly the same thing, what were they all doing here now. Aren't they tired? Shouldn't all the pancakes and syrup of the night before have kept them in some kind of lasting stupor? I shrugged my shoulders at him when he mouthed from the front, “What!”

So, though, before I carry on, remember that for the last ten years I've been nursing and pregnant. But also, especially in Holy Week, trying to help Matt in making the services go. Every year we try to remember where we put the fire pot, and how many candles are required for Tennebrae, and do we have a procession on Maundy Thursday or just come in from the altar. How many towels for foot washing? Who is preaching when? And the biggest most pressing question of all, What Are We Going To Do With The Children? In the old days we had a baby sitter come. I would lug whoever I was nursing with me and leave the rest home with someone they all clearly loved more than me. Then we moved to this new house and for one or two years I had a baby sitter. But then I looked at them all thoughtfully, after I was tired of trying to bribe someone, and closed all the curtains and turned on the tv and crept away. Then, who knows how long ago, I shoved them all into the church nursery and told Elphine to keep them there and not let them escape. Probably there were some intervening steps and probably I mixed up the order. As they got older I suppose they insinuated themselves into the actual service. But the burden of child care, over the many years, has weighed on our minds. And, not surprisingly, by the end of the week we are all Extremely Needy. We all miss each other. We feel bilious from all the quickly heated junk food. We all think we're going to perish, I, and any baby, weepy and in need of an extended three day long nap.

Traditionally, I have budgeted for the fatigue and stress with fun things, or promises of fun things, easy food, who knows what else. Except this year, for whatever reason, I didn't do that. I just planned meals as if we'd be cooking. And, well, no extras really. Today we're going to dye eggs in the usual way but that's it. And last night, Matt made a really nice dinner and we all sat around and ate it all, and then the children cleaned the kitchen, and then, much to his chagrin again, all six of them slunk into the front row of church. They jiggled and banged on the pew and I watched them from my vantage point, in between getting up to put candles out. They looked at me. I glared at them when they were being loud. And I sat there and wondered, to myself I wondered, What Are They Doing Here. It's half an hour of psalms and scriptures being read, by their father, me putting out candles, the big noise and then we all came home. They couldn't possibly have been listening to the readings. No child ever listens, that is the nature of being a child, Never To Listen.

Writing this out, I can see a glaring question you might all be wondering. Why are you not expecting them to come to church? And, well, of course, I do. They have to go to church, all the time. And because that's so, there are times when I don't expect them to, like to a lot of the extras. They don't go to the 8 o'clock service on Sunday because they go to the 10:30 and Sunday school. It didn't occur to me to tell them to go to church on Christmas Day because they were there for hours and hours and hours on Christmas Eve. It's not like they don't get a hefty dose of church. Honestly, it's practically the only thing they get. And being a person of low expectations, it never occurs to me that they will come back for more. It's kind of the same surprise I have when anyone comes to church at all. I mean, I like it, but well, I am not a good indication of what other people will like. I was a kid who went to all the extra things at church, when we were around a church, but I was the only one, except sometimes one other kid. Aren't children supposed to be angry and rebel? Which may be the brilliance of my non strategy. Maybe they know, on some deep level, that it totally irritates their parents to watch them wiggle all over the place, so they do it to spite us both. Maybe I should begin to tell them they can't go, and then they'll want to disobey me and come anyway. Just kidding. I would never do that. The interesting thing about it, I think, though I'm still trying to figure it out, is not just that they are there, but that in some way beyond my plans, they know they have a right to be there, that it belongs to them too. And so they come, and wiggle, and drive everyone crazy.

And on that note, apparently I'm making pancakes (I feel so bossed and managed). I guess I lied, about there being no fun extras this week. A blessed Maundy Thursday to you all!