Let the Children Come

Verily, verily I say unto you, it was a super long weekend. The kick off of fall Sunday school always brings a certain, how shall I call it, Kilimanjaro of work, and this year is no exception. I say ‘is’ because I had to shove a smaller lesser foothill of stuff into the recesses of the back cupboard in the children’s area and will have to go face it, yea, even today. If it was possible for me to earn my salvation, I feel sure I would have nearly achieved that great work this weekend. Of course, if I could lose it, I would have done that too, sliding as I did down the slope in a heap of apologies and forgotten tasks that did really need to be completed but were not. The main thing to cling onto, as you are caught in a precipice and need to push on toward the top, but know that you are going to stumble and end up back at the bottom, the main thing to remember is that 90% of the failure can be hidden in that cupboard, and little children don’t care anyway, as long as there are vast expanses of stickers strewn out before them.

See how shiny and pristine lie these rooms of work and worship. May God be praised for his mercy and grace.

The very youngest child can come and hear the good news of Jesus in language that speaks to the heart. Sorry, no sarcasm here.

One of the main reasons I love Catechesis of the Good Shepeherd is the fuss factor. I don’t really love talking to children, or people even, but I do love arranging flowers and candles and straitening up and mending things with glue. It’s perfect, really, I fuss and then fall silent, and then the children come in and touch and see and smell and  color.

And pray.

There will be prayer and work. It will be really great. I’m so happy for these rooms and for the still, calm uncluttered vista of the gospel.

Its not perfect, of course, being a human and therefore broken endeavor, but the preaching of the gospel to children in their own language, in their own space, is worthy and good.

There are all kinds of debates about how best to bring children into the household of faith. Children should be in the pew with their families. Children should have programs built for them. Children should be shepherded. Children should be catechised. All of us have our ideas and hopes and techniques to try and do that very simple and very hard task, commanded by Jesus himself. “Let the little children come” he said, “and do not hinder them.” But of course, we do hinder them, with our ample personhood heaving into view, trying to mediate and relate the child to Jesus. It should be simple but it never is because of all the sin, the stones in the way, the selfishness of me.

I do know, though, because I have discovered it to be true, that the Word of God is sufficient, it is big enough even for me, it is wide and capacious enough for the child. If the room is there, or the pew, and the message of Jesus is spoken out, clearly and plainly, the ears of the child even, can be open to faith and understanding.

In the middle of church, having hauled a little girl out into the narthex for persisting to talk when all else was quiet, I asked her if she wouldn’t like to obey Jesus, to obey rather than to follow her own way. “Oh no” she said, “I don’t wanna. It’s too scary.”

“That’s Very True,” I said, “it is terribly scary. You have said the most true thing today.” We went back in and had a second try, because it was there. The pew was there, beckoning, and the rooms, and the gospel, and the true forgiving love of Jesus.