Experiences in the church are as varied as the genetic code of each human. Mine were painted by God, as much as yours or your neighbors...
My first church experience - at 7yrs old - was initiated by my mom who felt it very important that my brother and I learn something from church. In hindsight she may have just been longing for a couple hours peace. No matter, she dropped our small selves in front of the catholic church in our neighborhood. I remember everyone being dressed up very fancy, the water, the candles, the quiet room in the back, the kneelers, the ceremony, and afterwards, the table covered in donuts and cookies with basket for the offering, All from a season of my life in which my memory is almost blank.
This season didn't last long, maybe a year or maybe months... I told a friend of mine that I first met Jesus with the lure of sugar, as that table of treats has always been on my mind when I think of my childhood.
This experience as a child is what I draw back to when I think of childrens ministry. For all that I do not remember, I do know that I was freely able to come, participate, and stay. We were, at some point, settled in the quiet room, but I cannot recall why or how often, as I also recall the pews and kneelers.
I am concerned that the western church is losing sight of the open eyes of children for the sake of security and perfection. sigh. Let the little children come to me, Jesus told his disciples...
Years went by before Jesus came to our door again, this time dressed as a brother from a local baptist church bus ministry, offering candy and a bus ride to church. Once again, sugar.. Again I remember people all dressed up fancy, but this time I remember classrooms, and a very large stage and pulpit. I remember everyone named brother this or sister that and, being about 11, feeling very ashamed of my clothing. I suppose I've always been a little odd...so I played my viola and learned some sunday school songs and then, again, this season ended... Thirteen is far too cool to be riding a church bus, playing viola, and singing sunday school songs.
Jesus doesn't let us go. More years, and the sugar came in the form of an open door and grace...
This summer our family lost a dear loved one. His funeral was held in his church, a lutheran church, and as much as I was there in support of the family and to honor his life, I have to confess that the funeral for me was like a breath of fresh air. Twenty years a foursquare/baptist, and I realize I am weary of the lack of heritage & depth that I find in this place. I suppose it is my own making, as I read mystics and monks and poets and presbyterians (for goodness sake!) as much as I read the old testament and love the hebrew and find my favorite moments with my daughters when we kneel in communion once a month. I kneel because I'm the most flexible, and because in doing so we can put our heads together and one of us girls can pray.
How lovely is your dwelling place, O Lord of hosts! My soul longs, yes, faints, for the courts of the Lord; my heart and flesh sing for joy to the living God. (Psalms 84: 1-2)
My first church experience - at 7yrs old - was initiated by my mom who felt it very important that my brother and I learn something from church. In hindsight she may have just been longing for a couple hours peace. No matter, she dropped our small selves in front of the catholic church in our neighborhood. I remember everyone being dressed up very fancy, the water, the candles, the quiet room in the back, the kneelers, the ceremony, and afterwards, the table covered in donuts and cookies with basket for the offering, All from a season of my life in which my memory is almost blank.
This season didn't last long, maybe a year or maybe months... I told a friend of mine that I first met Jesus with the lure of sugar, as that table of treats has always been on my mind when I think of my childhood.
This experience as a child is what I draw back to when I think of childrens ministry. For all that I do not remember, I do know that I was freely able to come, participate, and stay. We were, at some point, settled in the quiet room, but I cannot recall why or how often, as I also recall the pews and kneelers.
I am concerned that the western church is losing sight of the open eyes of children for the sake of security and perfection. sigh. Let the little children come to me, Jesus told his disciples...
Years went by before Jesus came to our door again, this time dressed as a brother from a local baptist church bus ministry, offering candy and a bus ride to church. Once again, sugar.. Again I remember people all dressed up fancy, but this time I remember classrooms, and a very large stage and pulpit. I remember everyone named brother this or sister that and, being about 11, feeling very ashamed of my clothing. I suppose I've always been a little odd...so I played my viola and learned some sunday school songs and then, again, this season ended... Thirteen is far too cool to be riding a church bus, playing viola, and singing sunday school songs.
Jesus doesn't let us go. More years, and the sugar came in the form of an open door and grace...
This summer our family lost a dear loved one. His funeral was held in his church, a lutheran church, and as much as I was there in support of the family and to honor his life, I have to confess that the funeral for me was like a breath of fresh air. Twenty years a foursquare/baptist, and I realize I am weary of the lack of heritage & depth that I find in this place. I suppose it is my own making, as I read mystics and monks and poets and presbyterians (for goodness sake!) as much as I read the old testament and love the hebrew and find my favorite moments with my daughters when we kneel in communion once a month. I kneel because I'm the most flexible, and because in doing so we can put our heads together and one of us girls can pray.
How lovely is your dwelling place, O Lord of hosts! My soul longs, yes, faints, for the courts of the Lord; my heart and flesh sing for joy to the living God. (Psalms 84: 1-2)
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