Children’s Sermons after a tragedy

Because so many of those who show up at my site come looking for children’s sermons, and because the recent Newtown shootings are likely to send more than one pastor scrambling for resources to help the children in their churches cope, I would like to direct you to this excellent piece by Rev. Jeremy Smith, who offers not just one, but FOUR possible children’s sermons in response to the recent massacre of young children in Newtown, CT.

Click here for Rev. Smith’s article on his blog, Hacking Christianity.

I will add that, because many parents (especially those who do not live in Connecticut, and do not have friends who do…) will have chosen not to tell their children about the shooting, and because it is especially these younger, more sheltered children who make up the average children’s sermon audience, attend to the way that Rev. Smith allows the children themselves the space in which to bring up this particular incident.  The message of the children’s sermons are valuable enough on their own without reference to the incident, but if the children are to hear about it from one of their peers, best for it to happen with their preacher on hand.

With that in mind, as a reminder of how pastors can be helpful or unhelpful in a crisis, I am also sharing this article about 5 things to say and 5 things not to say in a crisis.  Hint: Don’t pretend you know what God is up to.

The Rev. Emily C. Heath on Dealing with Grief, in yesterday’s Huffington Post.

And finally, a friend of mine who is a seminary professor found singing the Coventry Carol to be therapeutic for her yesterday.

May the Peace of Christ be with you all.

Born and raised in the Briar Patch

I am beginning to understand that worship planning is my briar patch.

I wonder how many of you remember the stories of Br’er Rabbit – a trickster figure in the stories of African Americans in the southern United States, Br’er Rabbit stories are rooted in the storytelling traditions both of the Creek (Native American) and African peoples.  In one of the most famous stories, Br’er Rabbit is captured by Br’er Fox and Br’er Bear, who are tired of his trickster ways.  Br’er Rabbit begs them, “Whatever you do, PLEASE don’t throw me in the briar patch.”  Naturally, that is just what the two larger animals do, and Br’er Rabbit squeals so loudly that they are sure they have killed him – until they realize that he is not squealing in pain from the thick tangle of thorns, nor from fear at being lost in the darkness under a dense maze of branches – instead he is squealing from laughter!  Br’er Rabbit finally manages to gasp, “I was born and raised in the briar patch!”

Like Br’er Rabbit’s briar patch, worship planning seems to have little (but necessity) to recommend it to many pastors.  The task can seem overwhelming!  Simply writing a sermon that stays on message, bears some obvious connection to the selected scripture passage, and fits in the allotted time can be daunting.  Now let’s see if we can keep that sermon free from heretical error, avoid unintentionally snarky references to parish business, and avoid embarrassing our spouses or children with a story that is too personal.  While we are at it, it would be great if we could preach something that is easily digested by  a newcomer, without being boring for a long-timer.  Now we just have to select the hymns, write the call to worship, select or write a few prayers… Oh no!  The children’s sermon!  We forgot the children’s sermon.  And a baby threw up on our alb last week and we forgot to take it to the cleaners.

Phew!  Now all we have to do is go up and lead this thing for an hour without any mistakes, or at least to make our mistakes gracefully. Don’t get shaken up when that kid on the sixth row screams during the sermon, waking the guy in the pew in front of him.  Can we locate the encouraging faces of the few smiling nodding parishioners? Great!  As for the rest, let’s find that point just over the tops of the heads of the majority who will be frowning in hopefully deep thought.  Uh-oh, we looked one if them in the eye.  Are they angry?  Maybe they are just misunderstanding.  And now we are just rambling from the pulpit until that one person finally nodded and released us – thank you Jesus!  And now we are running late again.  The organist will want us to cut a verse from the last hymn.  It doesn’t save more than a minute or two, but it makes a big psychological difference – it helps the congregation understand that we do notice that they are disapprovingly aware of the time.

But above all, we must be open to the movement of the Spirit!  If we can somehow dial back the volume on those other 30 concerns that are swirling through our heads.  Such as forgetting to announce whatever that very important announcement was that was told to us just before we walked down the aisle.

Worship planning!  Sermon writing!  Sunday mornings in the pulpit!!! The dread!  The horror!

So why is it I squealed with delight when I opened up the lectionary in order to list all of the Psalms that didn’t make it in, in order to find ways to include them at other parts of the year?  Picking hymns – and finding a way to lift phrases and themes from each hymn in order to more clearly tie them to my sermon – that weekly activity was like play!  And children’s sermons?  Don’t get me started!  I loved doing those so much that I even did them at a church that had no children!

I was born and raised in that briar patch.  My Dad, a United Methodist pastor, brought worship to the Sunday dinner table, asking us to think through how it had gone:  what was the sermon about?  What did we like?  What didn’t we understand?  How were the hymns related – or not? How were the scriptures related – or not?  Worship criticism (in the style of literary criticism) formed the main part of our conversation after church on Sundays.

Dad and I would go to other worship services together from time to time, and then would dissect them together afterwards, figuring out what made them tick.  Starting when I was about six.  And earlier than that, Dad would consult me when he was working on his sermons:  he would read me a bit of scripture or lay out a theological problem and ask me what I thought.   As I grew older and began to play piano, Dad would ask me to play the melody of a hymn he was unfamiliar with when he was planning worship – so that he could decide if he could pick it up easily enough to lead the congregation, or if it he would go find another hymn with words he liked slightly less well.  He would already have checked to see if it could be switched to a more familiar tune with the same meter – which is part of why I knew about the hymnal’s metrical index in elementary school.  Its existence was clearly a revelation to many of my seminary classmates, when it was pointed out by our worship professor.

I want to apologize for my incredulity in that moment.  And also for the time when I responded to a student pastor who was asking “when do pastors get their Sabbath?” with the insensitive remark that leading worship was not work, but the culmination of our work, in which we too were worshipping God.  Yeah, not so much for her.  I was wrong to judge.  I also owe an apology to those students that I implied were unprofessional in wanting to use pre-written prayers, instead of writing their own collects for each service.  I didn’t understand how – unusual I am.

Most pastors were not born and raised in the briar patch.  It is pretty uncomfortable to be thrown into a dark and tangled thicket filled with blood-drawing thorns when it is not your natural habitat.  I take my hat off to you pastors who wrestle each week with your worship preparation in spite of all the fear one or more elements of it inspire in you.  You are martyrs in the best sense of the word: you witness to your conviction that God loves you and your congregation and all the world – and that this love is so great that your very legitimate misgivings about worship preparation (this is, after all, very serious stuff!) are not worth comparing to your deep need to share this love.  Thank you for continuing to toil in the briar patch.

Saturday night spike

I love reading the search terms that lead people to my blog.  Defying the one-way dynamic of the writer-reader relationship, search terms give me insight into the people who find my blog.  Yesterday I read one that touched me more than usual, because the seeker poured their heart out to the query field with these words: “I am nervous about doing a children’s church sermon” – mystery reader, I pray you found something to set your heart and mind at ease.

Since I first wrote about children’s sermons this past May, I have noticed a trend that I call the “Saturday night spike”:  The most hits I get all week are usually on Saturday – many of them via internet searches having to do with children’s sermons.

At first, I was bemused, then concerned – why were so many people putting off planning their children’s sermons until they had less than 24 hours to prepare?  I was upset, wondering if they had just forgotten; if children – those about whom Jesus said, “to such belong the kingdom of God” – were an afterthought.  But yesterday’s “nervous” worship leader reminded me that thoughtlessness is seldom the problem – more often, it is thoughtfulness to the point of alternating panic and avoidance.

I know that when I procrastinate, it is because I fear the task set before me on some level.  I love children’s sermons, so I always start thinking about them right away.  But if children’s sermons don’t intimidate me, that doesn’t mean that nothing intimidates me!  There are plenty of things that I put off out of fear, counting on the panic at the last “do or die” moment to drive me more towards “do” than towards “die.”  Sadly, it doesn’t work out that way for everyone.  I remember learning in worship class in seminary that more pastors commit suicide on Saturday than on any other day of the week by far.  The message:  if you are feeling intimidated by any task that is set before you, get help early on – from a therapist, a spiritual director, a confessor… someone who can help you do your work without relying on last minute panic to drive you.

I wonder if my posts on children’s sermons are helpful.  I hope so.  Particularly given how often they are read on a Saturday night.  I pray that those who find themselves talking to the children on Sunday morning will discover joy in their work, and will rest in the assurance that God loves them very much – no less than God loves the children that they are charged with.

And if you are very nervous about talking with the children in front of the congregation, see if you can think of someone who loved and welcomed you when you were a child.  (And oh, how I pray you had at least one, and hopefully many people in your life as a child who fit that description!)  May their love for you give you courage, and their words and actions guide you as you find your own style of letting the love of God flow through you in your worship leadership and your work with the children.  Amen.