I grew up in a family that was always at church on Sunday mornings. I cannot remember one Sunday that we were not sick or out of town that we were not at church. It is what we did. To this day, my heart gets excited to see the many faces of my childhood that taught my Sunday School classes, lead my youth group, directed choirs and organized Vacation Bible Schools. I love that I have treasured childhood memories, but I love it even more that I have relationships with those same friends as adults. We don't go to the same churches, we don't even live in the same towns, but I feel a connection to their lives that is unique.
It didn't happen out of obligation. Sure there were days when as a 15 year-old I did not enjoy waking up on a Sunday, but I loved it when I got there. It didn't happen because we walked in at 10:59am and were out the door at 12:05pm. For my family, church was not a weekly one-hour event, but a way of life. My parents were active in their own gifted ways. My dad led singing for the kids and taught Sunday School. My mom had so many roles in children's ministry that I dare not count them. When we aged into the youth program, it was my parents that organized retreats and went to camp and planned lock-ins. There was even that time that dad serenaded the charter bus with his version of Poison's "Unskinny Bop." Thanks, Frank.
Church life was not just about committee meetings or responsibilities or attendance. Church was family. They were the ones we spent Christmas Eve with (and still do). They were the ones that celebrated our birthdays with us. Those same precious friends drove to East Texas to celebrate my Granny's life. They were our traveling partners on many family vacations. They were at our weddings and graduation parties. They were our people.
In the modern context of church life, this seems to be abnormal. Sure, most churches would say they are about community and connection, but raising kids in 2017 means weekend sporting events and travel meets and all-weekend school activities. Even if you are not booked from 9-noon on Sunday, the pace you keep the other 168 hours of the week does not set you up for prioritizing the Sunday morning experience. Just keeping it super real, you have to work to go to church in our post-modern world.
Is it worth it? I would argue that it is the very best use of my parenting energy. Not because of a flashy and cool youth program. Not because my kids are entertained or love the preaching. It is vital because we live in a world where connection is scarce and being known and treasured is a lost commodity.
If you don't like your team, you can join another one. If you don't like your job, quit and get a new one. If you think your school is too big, choose one with individualized instruction. If you don't like your teacher, just change classes. Our kids are growing up in a world where your individual needs are paramount, and the Church today pays the price.
Maybe I'm being a little hard-nosed on this one, but I think it's good for my kids to expect that on Sunday and Wednesday nights and on serving days, they are going to be present with their family at church. We don't hold the line as tightly as I recall in my childhood, as we do miss for special events (including sports). But we also choose not to do things on Sunday morning so that we instead spend that time together. It is a very fine line between helping my girls value community and not creating resentment that they are missing out on their events, I get that. But I also think that we don't have to be everything to everyone on everyday. Saying 'no' to what I want in favor of the good of a community is a skill we all need to work on.
I still love my faith community. The church that I am a part of today is very different from the church of my childhood. We don't have hymnals. We don't wear dresses. We have a band. I must tell you, if we were to sleep in on a Sunday or skip out on a small group or summer camp, my daughters would be throwing a big fat fit! They would miss seeing their mentors. They would be so sad to miss their week helping in the pre-school class. If they missed a Wednesday night dinner and study time, I would be the one in big trouble. They love their community. They love that they are known and loved and missed when they are gone. They love their 4 year-old friends and their 64 year-old friends. They love when a new baby comes to church for the first time and when someone chooses to be baptized.
And even though the name and location and feel are different from my traditional church of 1984, the foundations are the same. We love Jesus. We share life together. We feast at the Table. We value each other. We show up in the good and the hard.
It is my greatest prayer that when my girls look back on the church of their childhood that they will know that they were deeply loved and that the world needs them to continue to be bearers of hope and grace and community. Sure, we can do that in ways other than gathering together on Sunday mornings, but in my darkest hours of life, the place I knew to run was to Jesus and his people. I'm so thankful for the ones that were there for me in my childhood and the ones that are still there for me every Sunday morning.
No comments:
Post a Comment