My mom played piano and organ for our church when I was a kid. This meant some Saturdays she’d bring my sister and me to the dark, empty church building where we would entertain ourselves for hours while she practiced. We’d roll under the pews, find forgotten communion cups we’d use for our dolls later, play tag between the aisles, and take rest breaks on the stage stairs. And all of this happened with the epic soundtrack of a booming organ playing all around us.
When you’re at church all the time, that building starts to feel like home. You begin to feel comfortable there when you know the smell of the closet where the choir robes are kept and you’ve stood behind the pulpit to preach your own pretend sermon and you’ve marched yourself slowly down the aisle, imagining some far off wedding day. Church is no longer a foreign or uncomfortable place. It holds memories for you beyond the formality of a Sunday morning service.
My parents always made us dress up for church. It’s a tradition I continue with my own kids. I want them to know that Sundays are different. I want them to be respectful of the church environment and to recognize sometimes we need to be willing to get uncomfortable for Jesus. If putting on a polo or a skirt can help them internalize that, then I hope they will be willing to make themselves uncomfortable in other ways– more meaningful ways– when the occasion calls for it. Serving others, sacrificing their comfort to embrace someone who feels challenging to love, recognizing that the call to be salt and light will sometimes set you apart when you wish you could blend in– these are the best, the real reasons we make ourselves uncomfortable. In those Sunday morning environments we are practicing respect and challenging our typical priorities of ease and comfort in the hope that these children of mine will understand that obedience to God means respecting his call on our lives, however difficult that may be.
But mostly, I want the church to feel like home for my kids. Which is why while we practice music before the service, my kids play tag in the aisles. I let them take a turn singing into the microphone. They lay under the pews and play with silly putty.
And over the last few months, my littlest girl has wanted to be with me on the stage when we sing during the service. I’ve worried about the optics of this. Does it look like permissive parenting to allow her to be up with me? Is she distracting for the congregation? I feel like a more “professional” church would never tolerate such a thing.
I think of the formality of the Old Testament temple– the rules, the harsh consequences for disobedience, the separation from God outside of that temple experience. And I think of how God now makes his dwelling with us. I think of Jesus welcoming the children. I think of the little people I am raising and how I want them to know their worship matters. I think of the children in the congregation who may feel their contributions are more welcomed because they see someone like them up front. I think of the adults like me who sometimes need a reminder that unless we become like little children– helpless, curious, trusting– we won’t enter the kingdom of heaven. Maybe having her peacefully present with me is a blessing even if in some ways it feels humbling to me.
Ultimately, as familiar as that church building may be to me or to my kids, it isn’t “the church.” We are. She is. When we gather together, these souls are what matter. My prayer is that when it is no longer my job to get my kids up on a Sunday morning, they will choose this life because it is where they feel loved, valued, where they can use their gifts and where they find wisdom to make the choices that matter in life. Instilling that value in my kids is about more than just showing up on a Sunday morning for a professionally produced service experience. It’s about living life with our church community. It’s about modeling those same values at home, at school, and in our careers. And maybe it’s about sometimes letting them play tag in the aisles.
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