Kids in Church - A Plea to the Grownups

The concept should exist, right?

After all, "Let the little children come unto Me."

Also, I have another argument.  Remember when Nehemiah read the entire law to the nation of Israel?  They pass out refreshments afterward to everyone, including "the little ones", which I discovered means kids of about three years old.  So everybody should be in church services.

The problem is that, at least the way that most churches do business in the United States, it's very awkward to have your kids with you in church.  Notice I said "with you".  Not, "in nursery".  Not "in children's church."  Because here's my theory, a very simple one, really:

"How on earth are they supposed to learn to sit in church and listen if they're in nursery from birth to age four and then in children's church from ages four to ten?"

Age ten is too late to start learning to sit in church.  By age ten the kid can already be mouthy and refusing to go to church, if you don't watch out, or at the least sitting pouty and bored and kicking at the back of the pew.

Now, *cough* if my children ever get mouthy or kick at the pew unrestrained may I get the pox, but the principle holds.  I want my kids with me in church, both so I don't have to trust random nursery workers' ideas of discipline, nutrition, and safety and so the kids actually can learn to enjoy a church service.  I learned to enjoy a church service when I was little, so I know it's possible.  I want them to look at church as something desirable and necessary, and not a boring chore that they used to get out of, but now that they're 10 their parents make them do it--like cleaning hair out of the shower drain or turning their socks right-side-out before throwing them in the hamper.  (Accompanied by mental mutterings of "When I'm a grownup...")

This is all great, of course, except for when it comes to other people.  They're well-meaning, but it's incredibly discouraging after a service where you've taken the kids out three times and have tried (in vain) to keep the 18-month-old from answering the pastor's rhetorical questions, to have someone come up and say, "What lovely children!  We have a great nursery, did you know?"  (Bends down to look at children.)  "WANNA GO PLAY IN THE NURSERY WITH THE KIDS?  THEY HAVE FUN TOYS!"  (Kid recoils in fear.  Grownup looks at Mama.)  "They always told me my kids only fussed for the first five minutes."

It's already embarassing when the kids make noise--especially the time when Buddy had a (very) audible blowout right as they were getting ready to serve Communion.  We KNOW that they are not sitting quietly with folded hands, and we are trying our best to keep them quiet and occupied. 

We have (see above) strong feelings about our children remaining with us; if the Biblical argument wasn't enough, we also have had a bad experience in a church where nursery supervision was lax and a known sex offender was granted active membership.  (We weren't harmed, but it just reinforced my innate refusal to leave my kid sobbing and terrified in the nursery in the care of workers who believe "all kids have to cry a bit" and "moms have to leave".) 

For us church is a choice: we can either make it terrifying for our children or embarassing for their parents.

It's really, really hard for us to go to church.  If we didn't think it was important it would be on the list of things like Gymberoo classes and library storytime to which we say, "Nah."  First of all it's a trick and a half getting everyone ready and out the door on Sunday mornings, but we can do it.  Second it's not like we get to sit and immersively enjoy the music and listen attentively to the sermon, but it's important to us that our kids learn to sit in church, so we can sacrifice our own ability to worship as deeply as we'd like to.  But thirdly, when our natural embarassment is so amplified by the reactions of others, it makes us seriously question whether the juice is worth the squeeze.  If we're going to go and kill ourselves to make something happen, and then be told we shouldn't have bothered because the kids aren't welcome anyway, well, it becomes a lot easier to just stay home, have Bible stories and songs with Daddy, and be able to watch the Steelers game.

So help me out, huh?  When someone's got happy-but-talkative kids, or kids who are not talking but making noise with their dolly, or kids who keep singing when the songs are over, please just extend them some grace, smile at them, and don't say anything about the nursery.

I don't care if your kids did fine in nursery.  Mine don't.  Period.  Isn't it possible that not all kids can tolerate it?  What if I had a special needs kid?

I'm sorry if the sound of crayons on paper interrupts your worshipful thoughts.  I truly am, and we'll dispense with the crayons as soon as possible.  But perhaps you ought to question why it is that you can listen to music, text, and drive, but you find absolute silence a necessity for prayer and worship.

Please note that I'm not saying my kids should be allowed to run screaming up and down the aisles, throw food, talk and jabber, or sit and scream.  I'm just asking the churches of the nation for tolerance for the occasional peep or crayon that rolls under the pew, without assuming that I'm a clueless mom who has never heard of childcare.  You're the grownups--you have the ability to concentrate.  Please?

I promise I'll give you back the same grace when your kids/grandkids, wound up from bouncing off the walls in nursery and children's church, run shrieking through the parking lot without watching for cars, and I will refrain from running them over.  Ok?

Phew.

This was a rant, and I'm sorry; it's a frustration that has been building since my daughter was born and decided that the umbilical cord never should have been cut.  I actually have some positive strategies for keeping kids quiet in church that I'm excited about--I found a felt Bible story set, for instance--but I had to get this off my chest first.  Thanks.

And now back to our regularly scheduled blogging.

Cheers,

Breanna