No more children’s sermon anxiety
As a parent, I’ve found that I don’t particularly want my children to age anymore, but I am thankful they have grown out of, or matured past, some things.
I recalled this Sunday as I watched the children’s sermon with a sense of distance and ease – and not of fear-riddled anxiety, as I have for most of the last two decades.
If you’re not familiar with the children’s sermon, here’s the rundown: During the worship service, they call all the kids down to the front and a person sits all the children facing the congregation and delivers a kiddie-flavored mini-sermon.
For the sake of comedy, they often ask the children questions. When my oldest son was 4, he loved the children’s sermon. He sprinted down to the front. But he never realized it was supposed to be a group activity. He answered all the questions.
This brought about great torment to my precious nerves. When he was within arm’s reach, I could at least put my hand over his mouth when he started to say “My daddy spanked me because I said ... ”
Four pews away, I had no such recourse. I was powerless and petrified – half my face in a grin because I expected him to say something funny, the other half quivering in distress, ashen in unease.
Here’s an example of what a typical children’s sermon was like with my son in those times:
Adult giving the children’s sermon: “Do any of you know who Lazarus is?” My son raises his hand and stands up.
Adult: “Yes. Do you know who Lazarus is?” My son: “My dog Bubby is in heaven.” Adult: “Well, I’m sorry to hear that.” My son: “Why?”
Adult: “Well, I’m sorry he’s not alive.” My son: “I’m not. My daddy said there are other dogs up there too, and they run all the time, and Bubby likes it up there.”
Adult: “Well, we’re glad to hear that. Do you know who Lazarus is?”
My son (without hesitation): “He’s the blue Power Ranger that I bought at the dollar store.”
Adult: “Actually, Lazarus was a beggar, and, hey, you can sit down now.” My son sits down.
Adult: “And also please take your finger out of that boy’s ear.” He complies.
Adult: “Do any of you know what a beggar is?” Big mistake. My son raises his hand and stands up.
Adult: “Yes. Do you know what a beggar is?”
My son: “If I got a shovel and started digging, and I digged for 10 whole minutes, I’d be in China.”
Adult: “OK, does anyone else know what a beggar is?” Another child gives an appropriate answer.
Adult: “Yes, and there’s a story in the book of Luke about Lazarus and a rich man who was dressed in purple and lived in luxury. You can sit down now.” My son sits down again.
Adult: “Both the beggar and the rich man eventually died, and ...”
My son: “Did they go to heaven, like my dog Bubby?”
Adult: “Well, yes, but only one of them. Do you know which one?”
My son: “We went to the beach and I found a crab and he started digging and I think he was trying to go to China, and then there was this tiger...”
Adult (loudly): “Let us pray ...”
And I did — hard. And, finally, after three children and nearly two decades of children’s sermons, my prayers have been answered. Amen.