children in church

One of the things that bothers me about Sunday worship is the break down of the family. And it’s not just parents from their children; siblings are quarantined off by narrow age margins of as little as six months. And while the adults can enjoy the service without shushing or pointing a disciplinary finger, what are their children doing? Certainly, they are being bred for worship. But are they learning to be true worshipers, or are they learning to be the center of their own worship?
Let me explain. In most churchest I have visited, there is a multi-colored “kid zone” that alarmingly resembles a McDonalds playland. Equiped with slides, toys galore, maybe even french fries and a coke. . . does the children’s church resemble “church” in anyway? The children have fun, for sure, but do they learn anything about how to worship? At best my son might scribble over the words “Jesus loves me” with a crayon (an activity that might take him a total of 10 seconds), but since he can’t read, did he learn anything about what worship looks like? Instead, for two hours, with all his needs catered to, wildest fun guaranteed, he is taught how to be a consumer of stuff, a lover of pleasure, a worshiper of self.
When our first-born was a few weeks old, we ventured out to a large church down the road. I wasn’t about to place my newborn into the hands of a stranger in a room already teeming with helpless babes, so I brought him into the sanctuary with me. I felt like I was sneaking him in; we sat in the back to “hide him”, as if I was breaking the rules by wanting to worship with my new baby rather than without. Within minutes my feelings were validated, as an announcement was made: “There is excellent child care for a reason - please use it.” A thousand preying eyes pounced on me. Embarrassed, I relocated to the nursing mom’s room, and watched the rest of the service on the TV monitor, separated from my husband and the worshipping community. It was a very isolating experience, church sponsored motherhood aparthied.
When we first came to the Orthodox church, one of the things that attracted me was the sound of a crying baby, the shushing of a mother to her child, the sound of childrens voices mixed with mature ones. It was refreshing to see kids and parents worship together, approach the challice for communion as a family, raise united voices in love for God. It was heavenly.
Even now after two years, I keep expecting kids to be discharged, but they never are. A two hour liturgy doesn’t deter them from zealously attending church school after the service while the adults fellowship and break the fast together. It is a suppliment, not a replacement for the worship service. During this time, bible stories are taught, the liturgy explained, hymns practiced, bible verses memorized. And this is why they call it “church school”; preparing, training, educating, growing children to be worshippers.
Now that I have two toddlers, I faintly lament the loss of “dropping the kids off” in the morning. It certainly would be much easier. But I do not think it would be better, for them or for me. It is my primary job (not the church’s) to raise my children to be worshippers of the living God; to be reverent; to be prayerful; to stand in awe of Him; to bow with humility before His throne; to be attentive to the Word of God. As the saying goes, children “Do as I do, not as I say.” It still remains that the best way for my children to learn how to worship is to watch me.
What will become of our children if we let our churches spoon feed our children when they need solid food for spiritual growth? If they spend the first seventeen years of their church life being catered to, playing games and having fun, they will never transition into “adult” worship. Instead, they will become a generation who is disenchanted with the Church because it doesn’t meet their needs. A generation who thinks the world revolves around them. A generation with no respect for authority and no self-discipline. I don’t want to see my son drinking out of a spiritual sippy cup at seventeen, do you?