On Haiti, and Raising Children in the Church

Recently I heard an observation that stuck with me. Loosely paraphrased, it was something like this: Raising your kids with no religion so that they can “choose” when they become adults is like raising them speaking English so that as adults they can “choose” between Chinese and Russian.

While it is not always easy to raise your kids with the kind of religious upbringing you want them to have, defaulting to no religious upbringing at all does not leave them better off. As a parent, and as a theologian, I struggle weekly with the balance between lovingly teaching my children about our family’s religious beliefs and practices and forcing them to attend church when they don’t want to because I think it’s good for them. Although I wasn’t necessarily a cheerful churchgoer as a child, my early experiences with religion were positive; I still remember attending chapel at my Lutheran elementary school, where as a first grader I would borrow a hymnal from the obliging second graders seated behind me in the bleachers. First graders were not presumed to be able to read, but following along with the hymns was an important part of the service for me. I can trace much of my current appreciation for hymns and liturgy back to these early services.

With my kids, I insist on their presence in church, but permit them to read or color as they like during the service. I do try to keep them from disturbing folks in the pews around us, sometimes without success, but if they want to chatter a little bit, I don’t worry about it. I emphasize the parts of the service they really like: communion and the offering, especially. And our congregation has a monthly potluck which they love. I am lucky that our congregation is filled with people who are generous and loving to my kids; they typically ignore the noise, smile when they see the kids, and always have something nice to say.

Today, my nine-year-old read one of the lessons at church. It was a youth-run service, and she agreed to read once she’d seen the passage and was confident she could pronounce all the words. We arrived early so she could see where she needed to stand, we located a small chair for her to perch on as she read at the lectern, and when it was her turn she darted up and then read quite well. She acted cool, but was grateful for my hug as she slid back into our pew afterwards, and blushed after the service as various folks complimented her on her reading.

I mentioned to one of the adults how much I’d enjoyed reading in church as a child, and she said she had too, that it was her first public speaking experience, and that it felt so safe to her to speak to people whom she knew loved her, even if she made a mistake. It was that way for me, too. I felt pleased to have been asked, glad that I was considered responsible enough to participate, and it helped to facilitate my transition from childhood to adulthood within the church. I had a place, and that sense of place has stayed with me all my life.

Part of the passage that my Gracie read struck me as so appropriate for this week’s terrible earthquake in Haiti: “How does God’s love abide in anyone who has the world’s goods and sees a brother or sister in need and yet refuses help?” (I John 3:17) One reason I sometimes feel deeply at odds with the church (writ large) is the response of people like Pat Robertson to the current disaster in Haiti. He has suggested that the Haitians themselves are to blame, because of some long-ago pact with the devil for which God is apparently punishing them now. I can’t quite communicate the depth of my anger with this statement – suggesting that God punishes terribly poor people with death and suffering, including thousands and thousands of small children, for some mythical choice by their distant ancestors is absurd and offensive. It is unchristian. It is hateful and wrong, and insofar as Robertson is able to persuade anyone at all to withhold aid from Haiti it is also destructive. In a word, it is sinful.

Although my children know about the earthquake in Haiti, and understand that we as a family and our church and our nation are working to help the Haitian people, I haven’t told them about Pat Robertson – they’re sheltered like that. But they are being raised to connect our Christian beliefs with service for others – when we see sisters or brothers in need, we help them. Their behavior in church is not perfect; their attention wanders, they talk, they wiggle. But we are there, we are part of a loving congregation, we are living out our faith as best we can. I felt so grateful, listening to my daughter read this morning, that she has a church full of people to support and teach her.

Courtney Wilder