Do Not Be Daunted

A sermon I wrote for four children, ages 13, 10, 10, and 8, to preach in worship at First Presbyterian Church of New Haven on December 18, 2016.

For context, much of the congregation had recently read the book Faithful Resistance: Gospel Visions for the Church in a Time of Empire (compiled and partly written by Rick Ufford Chase). The Gospel reading of the morning was Matthew 1:18-25. Shortly after the reading, the children acted out a play which elaborated on the text, and the play led directly into the sermon. Find the scripture passage here.

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L: “Do not be daunted by the enormity of the world’s grief.”
A: “Do justly, now. Love mercy, now. Walk humbly, now.”
M: “You are not obligated to complete the work--”
R: “--but neither are you free to abandon it.” *

A: Did you know that Jesus was Jewish? This is something that surprised me when I first learned it. When we read our Bible as Christians, we don’t want to make it sound like God left the Jewish people or thought their faith was not good enough. Joseph and Mary were Jewish, too. That’s why in our play, Joseph makes a point of telling his sister that he still loves God and Torah, which is the Hebrew Law.

M: Later on in Matthew, Jesus even says that he has come to fulfill the Law, not to abolish it. Sometimes it isn’t really obvious, but most of the things that Joseph, Mary, and Jesus do are in light of their faith, not in spite of it. In today’s text, Joseph has a decision to make. What does the Law require of him?

L: “What does the Lord require of you? Do justice. Love kindness and mercy. Walk humbly with your God.” Micah 6:8. His faith would have taught him to honor both justice and mercy.

R: The Bible says Joseph planned to “dismiss Mary quietly.” We don’t know what really made him decide that, but we do know he didn’t want to hurt her or shame her. A public accusation would have done that. So why isn’t it good enough for Joseph not to hurt Mary? Isn’t that both justice and mercy? Why does he decide to stay with her, and what difference does it make?

M: “Do not be daunted by the enormity of the world’s grief.”
R: “Do justly, now. Love mercy, now. Walk humbly, now.”
L: “You are not obligated to complete the work--”
A: “--but neither are you free to abandon it.”

R: The Harper Collins Commentary tells us what it means for Joseph to be a righteous man. Besides valuing justice and mercy, Joseph is also “open to divine revelation that corrects his traditional way of thinking.” In other words, Joseph is open to God telling him something that Joseph wouldn’t recognize as holy without God’s help. This too is righteousness.

A: Joseph dreams that an angel tells him who Jesus will be and what his birth will mean. This is the Messiah the Jews have been waiting for. This is Emmanuel, “God with us.”

M: Faith does not only challenge us to be more just and more merciful. Faith challenges us to stay with God and the vulnerable people God loves.

L: When people are in danger or pushed to the edges of power, even if the threat doesn’t affect us directly, it still changes our lives. It must.

A: “Do not be daunted by the enormity of the world’s grief.”
M: “Do justly, now. Love mercy, now. Walk humbly, now.”
R: “You are not obligated to complete the work--”
L: “--but neither are you free to abandon it.”

R: Faith changes how we witness crisis and pain. The Global Bible Commentary tells us not to ignore the political implications here: “Having hope is a political act of resistance against death-wielding powers.” These powers might be government, economics, social norms, or religious convictions.

L: In our play, Joanna shows us what’s at stake for Mary. Mary agrees to help bring Jesus into the world, but even if she tells people the whole story, they might not believe her. Because of social and religious customs, acting on her hope could put her in danger.

M: Brian Merritt writes in Faithful Resistance that salvation is not something a person can own. Instead, “we understand salvation to be resistance that pushes … toward equality and compassion for all living creatures.”

A: Along with Joseph, we might also learn that there is more to loving people than sparing them from harm. Sometimes faithful resistance means being a friend or companion to someone other people wouldn’t blame you for ignoring.

L: Merritt writes, “This is why direct action and mutual aid are so central to our own spiritual growth. These actions put us at risk in ways similar to the constant condition of those who are oppressed. It may be our only opportunity to find Christ in this world.”

A: Remember, Joseph is not the Savior here. Jesus is.

R: And God’s salvation work will happen whether Joseph decides to participate or not.

M: But through the dream, God tells Joseph exactly what it is he has the chance to do. And just like with Mary, God already knows what Joseph’s answer is going to be.

R: “Do not be daunted by the enormity of the world’s grief.”
L: “Do justly, now. Love mercy, now. Walk humbly, now.”
A: “You are not obligated to complete the work--”
M: “--but neither are you free to abandon it.”

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*Citation: This quote, used here as a refrain, is commonly attributed to the Talmud and appears to paraphrase/be influenced by a few voices, such as Rabbi Rami Shapiro.

Teaching Kids about the False Gender Binary

Today, Kim Frizzle wore a pin that reads "Challenge False Binaries" and began class with an unmarked picture of an American child who lived about 100 years ago.
"Do you know who this is, or when this picture is from?"

"No."

"That's okay. What CAN you observe about it?"

"She has a white dress/a hat with a feather/an interesting haircut... I'd guess she's about 3 or 4 years old... It must be an old picture, not just because it's in black and white but because she's not smiling and usually today photographers get kids to smile for pictures..."

"Great! Yes, this picture is probably from 1884, so the person was about 2 years old. This was one of our country's former presidents: Franklin Delano Roosevelt. See? Here he is all grown up."

"...waaaaaat."

"Do you have a question?"

"Why was he in a dress?!"

So we learned the history of a few cultural norms, including the tradition of dressing boys and girls in white dresses until about age 6 basically just because white was bleachable/thought to be a "kid" color, and how pink and blue emerged (and eventually swapped) as color "codes" around the WWII era.

We looked at the pictures from the Lumberjanes series and noticed how different all the girls look - their body types and hairstyles and fashion choices, quite different from what we're used to seeing in, say, Disney movies.

We talked about frustrations we feel when we're shopping for new clothes and it feels like a lot of choices have already been decided for us.

We learned what "inclusive language" means (they knew the phrase from around the church, but not what it meant). We recalled the Doxology we sing and how in this church instead of "Father and Son" we say "Creator and Christ." (Later on, the kids silenced our activity room just to be able to listen for these words during the service.)

We studied several feminine images for God used throughout the Bible, and talked about the kids' perception (one they brought up) that girls are encouraged to look up to men and sometimes to emulate traits considered masculine, and boys are comparably less encouraged or actively discouraged from looking up to women and emulating traits considered feminine.

We read an article from a mother talking about her 5-year-old son, who agrees vehemently he's a boy and also loves painting his nails and wearing dresses. We learned from this mom that some of the best ways to love people are to listen to them, to use the pronouns and names they ask us to use for them, and not to assign them a label based only on our perceptions of them. (I revised an excerpt from the full text at this link; I removed some major portions and some otherwise significant terms for both time and clarity suited for where they're at right now.)

We learned that sometimes it's good for kids to learn cultural lessons from adults about "how things work" and "why things are," but they should also trust their inner sense of who they are.

And then we spent the rest of the time making fashionable people cutouts to adorn the bulletin board beside the Pride flag. The signs we'll post with them read: "God is gender fluid" with a definition below it, and: "WE ARE ALL MADE IN GOD'S IMAGE."

This is one of the ways I followed up with the kids who asked me about a month ago, 'Why can't boys wear dresses?' Question-led lessons are my favorite lessons.

If you are also an educator/caregiver and any part of this lesson plan would be helpful to you, you are welcome and encouraged to use it.

Coloring as Spiritual Practice

This morning the kids shared another Children's Ministry Moment in worship -- a group speech followed by passing around baskets of crayons to everyone in the pews. We also included the image below as an insert in the bulletin with the heading:

MEDITATE. CREATE. LET YOUR SPIRIT PLAY.

This Lent, we tried different spiritual practices.

[Some of the kids] taught us a body prayer that their class does in Sunday school. There's a pose for each line of the prayer.

And Kimberley showed us how to be mindful of our breathing. We breathed in God's goodness and we breathed out fear, sadness, and anger.

But our favorite spiritual practice is the one that came most naturally to us: coloring! Did you know coloring is a spiritual practice for people of all ages?

Coloring can improve focus, reduce stress and anxiety, and provide a means of self-expression beyond words. Mandalas are particularly good for meditation because symmetry and repetition center the mind and spirit.

Many Christians and people of traditions around the world design and color mandalas. Today, there's one in your bulletin for you to color during worship and take home with you.

We've got crayons for everyone, too. So go ahead and color. Not that you need it, but you have our permission!

God Is the Child in the Backseat of the Car

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When I first met Frog Girl, she was old enough to be in Girl Scouts and young enough to need to ride in the backseat of the car.

As we drove, we talked.

At times I lived vicariously through her, seeing the world anew through her eyes as she navigated school and extracurriculars and a family and a social life.

And at times her questions and insights forced me to reflect on my own life - past, present, and future - in a way that I hadn't anticipated. She talked to me like I was Someone Who's Gone Before, like I had wisdom to impart, but so many of her ideas encouraged me, entertained me, and made me appreciate being alive.

While I waited for her to finish gymnastics or swimming, I would sit and muse about whatever wise, witty, funny, wonderful things she had said so far that day.

When I had a pen handy, I wrote them down. I did the best I could to capture her words and the inflections of her voice on a scrap of paper that couldn't do her justice.

Sometimes she'd said so many clever, quotable witticisms that day that I knew I was forgetting some of them.

One day during my time working with this family, I thought back on my experiences of God - and, more specifically, my experiences of the silence of God. I had been struggling to make sense of a dark night of the soul that defied easy explanations. At first I'd known little except that it was somehow part of my journey.

Maybe, I thought, God is not so unlike the child in the backseat of the car who surprises me day after day with her interest in my life and her sense of humor and her thought-provoking lens.

When there are lulls in our conversation, the silence is still companionable. Just another part of our travels. No less real or appreciated.

And besides, it gives me a chance to savor all the gems I want to remember.

Children's Ministry Moment for MLK

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As the kids lined up at the Communion table, I introduced our Children's Ministry Moment to the congregation:

"I believe how we tell history, especially to children, is important. This weekend, as we celebrate our nation's hero, Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., it may be tempting to condense the breadth of his life and work to the famous words, "I have a dream." But when we reduce this great man to a dreamer, we neglect to remember all he did and said for the here and now.  We forget what he challenged not just the nation but the Church to be and do.  Today we'll share part of his Letter from Birmingham Jail -- words that are difficult to hear, but that I hope we will hear with an open mind and a ready spirit."

Then the children presented this speech I adapted from The Year They Walked by Beatrice Siegel and Letter from Birmingham Jail by Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. I've shortened just a few sentences from MLK's excerpts; mainly the punctuation has been simplified for the children's ease of reading (fewer quotation marks and no ellipses). In our preparations the previous week, we talked about any vocabulary that was unfamiliar to them and they tackled it all with grace and persistence.

R: As a young minister, Reverend King was patient and cared for the needs of his church. His deep passion for social issues had not yet been tapped, but he knew some things for certain.

A: He wanted freedom and justice for all African-Americans.

M: He also knew that violence was not an answer to their problems.  Violence was not the way of God.

L: But Reverend King’s nonviolence was not passive.  He was patient, but also persistent.  He did not believe in waiting for justice and equality to come in their own time.

I: Some ministers and rabbis said they believed in justice and equality, too, but that Reverend King was going about it the wrong way.  They wanted to wait until a more “convenient” time.  Reverend King wrote a letter to them from jail.

M: You spoke of our activity in Birmingham as extreme. At first I was rather disappointed that fellow clergy would see my nonviolent efforts as those of an extremist.  But as I continued to think about the matter, I gradually gained a bit of satisfaction from being considered an extremist.

L: Was not Jesus an extremist in love? “Love your enemies.  Bless them that curse you.  Pray for them that despitefully use you.”

A: Was not Amos an extremist for justice? “Let justice roll down like waters and righteousness like a mighty stream.”

I: So the question is not whether we will be extremist, but what kind of extremists we will be.  Will we be extremists for hate, or will we be extremists for love?  Will we be extremists for the preservation of injustice, or will we be extremists for the cause of justice?

R: There was a time when the church was very powerful.  Early Christians suffered and sacrificed for what they believed.  The power structure convicted them for being “disturbers of the peace.”  But they went on with the conviction that they had to obey God.  They were small in number but big in commitment.

L: Things are different now.  The contemporary church is so often a weak, ineffectual voice with an uncertain sound.  It is so often the arch supporter of the status quo.

M: Far from being disturbed by the presence of the church, the power structure of the average community is consoled by the church’s often vocal sanction of things as they are.

I: If the church of today does not recapture the sacrificial spirit of the early church, it will lose its authentic ring, forfeit the loyalty of millions, and be dismissed as an irrelevant social club with no meaning for [this] century.  I meet young people every day whose disappointment with the church has risen to outright disgust.

A: I hope the church as a whole will meet the challenge of this decisive hour.

The Children's Advent Prayer

Although I wrote this prayer specifically for the Fourth Sunday of Advent in 2014, it can easily be prayed during other seasons with little adjustment.

In our service, a different child prayed each paragraph. The prayer is suitable for most ages, but it's quite moving in elementary and middle school children's voices. Our readers ranged in age from 6 to 17.

Take care to teach children words that may be new to them, like "abiding" and "incarnate," but don't hesitate to have even your youngest readers tackle such phrases, especially if they like to read. It's a wonderful chance for them to feel accomplished and expand their vocabulary at the same time.

You may use this prayer freely in your own worship and nonprofit materials. If you print it or repost online, please cite it to Kimberley Fais (2014).

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Let us pray.  God, even in this season of Advent, waiting for Jesus to be born, we remember that You were a child once.  You know what it is to hunger and thirst. You know what it is to have joy and sorrow.  You know what it’s like to be held in loving arms, to grow up in a community of faith.  So today we pray for the children.

We pray for the children whose voices are not heard.  God of Truth and Patience, sometimes we need Your help to speak up, and sometimes we need Your help to listen.

We pray for the children who are hurt because of the color of their skin.  God of All People, give us the courage to recognize injustice.  Help us to be a community where we don’t hurt each other for the ways that You created us.

We pray for the children who experience violence and fear.  Abiding God, grant us Your peace.  Make us instruments of Your peace to everyone we meet.

We pray for the children who don’t know what tomorrow holds.  Companion God, journey with us.  Guide us when the future seems uncertain and we can’t find our way.

We pray for the children who are waiting.  Waiting for news, for a diagnosis, for a change, for a reason to move forward.  God of Anticipation, prepare us for then, but wait with us for now.

We pray for the children who are sick in body, mind, or spirit.  God of Life, bring healing and strength, hope and relief.

We pray for the children who must grow up too soon.  Playful God, rekindle our wonder and awe.  Even in the face of a troubled world, let us witness Your creativity.

We pray for the children who lead their communities and the world to new horizons.  God of Wisdom, give us the courage to lead and the humility to follow.

We pray for the children who seek forgiveness.  Gracious God, wrap us in Your unconditional love, and empower us to love just as fiercely as You love us.

We pray for the children who hunger and thirst.  Incarnate God, help us to nourish each other’s bodies.

And we pray for the grownups, who are still Your children.  Eternal God, remind us who we are, and whose we are, so that wherever we may go, we can always find ourselves in You.

Now let us pray together the prayer that Jesus taught us to pray…

(Continue with the Lord's Prayer as your denomination knows it.)

Amen.

Children in Worship

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Children remaining in the sanctuary. I have long respected, even preferred, that way of involving children in worship.

Once upon the 1980s, I was one of those church babies passed around between churchgoers. I'm told infant-me spent many a hymn entertained by shiny keys.

As I grew in everything but attention span, I brought crayons and dolls and figurines and God knows what else to play with in the pews. I knelt there on the floor and poked my head up to sing and, only with time and curiosity did I learn, prayer by prayer, sermon by sermon, what else people "do" at church.

For children's sermons, all the kids were called up to the front where we learned that the answer was almost always "Jesus" except when it definitely wasn't. As I recall, we didn't leave the sanctuary. We returned to our families in the pews, to dolls and figurines, to crayons and markers that were not modern-magical and could have made marks on non-paper surfaces like nineteenth century wood.

How did you learn church? That's how I learned church.

I marveled at the operatic voice of the woman who sat in the pew in front of us. I grew to have a favorite hymn to request when requests were requested (even though the deciding powers ruled that Go Tell It on the Mountain was not a hymn meant for summer, which is true but dumb).

I learned to say prayers I didn't write and to say prayers no one else would ever know but God. I came to enjoy the fellowship of the people around me without the company of miniature figurines and homemade paper dolls.

Having said all that, this is not the style I've adopted in leadership. I've found something that works for me and the community I've been serving as a lay staff member as of August.

My approach is what First Pres has done before my time here, adapted slightly to suit my current understanding of children's ministry. We have what we (they) call Children in Worship -- yep, a designated gathering of a child horde. So here's how it goes.

No children's sermon in the sanctuary. Just a mid-service invitation (read: exuberant parade) for kids to come together in the next room, where we can still hear the murmur of laughter and music but also each other's quietest voices, a place where we have direct access to the outdoors if we want fresh air and sunlight as well as a wide-open warmth inside if that's all we need.

One of the co-pastors (a husband and wife team who alternate their preaching and other responsibilities) joins us to get to know the kids better and share the gospel. Sometimes we hear the same illustrations that the adults are hearing at that very moment, just in a different way, like that one Sunday that multigenerational families went home and discovered they'd all heard a biblical application of Finding Nemo.

Here in our own little un-pewed space, the adult worshippers are not spectating, so the kids have just as much time as the adults' sermon experience to ask as many questions as their hearts desire (without a roomful of grownups' unabashed giggling, because hey, some kids do fully intend to be funny, but some of them just want to know, you know?). They voice their own prayers, sharing joys and concerns that range from announcements to profound expressions of sorrow and excitement. We listen to as many as we can.

We pray with our mouths and our bodies. We invite bowed heads and clasped hands and raised heads and hands open to receiving and meditative poses and peeking eyes and closed eyes and lying on our backs with our eyes focused on origami birds. We say the Lord's Prayer by rote, letting the rhythm of the words soak into our bones, but even this same prayer looks different in each body's language.

And we stretch our bodies often to remind us that it's good and right to move around, that there is a time to "be still and know" and there's a time for dancing and wiggling, and they're both sacred.

On Communion Sundays, the kids teach each other about Communion (!) -- what it means, what it looks like, and how we'll celebrate it when we return to the sanctuary.

Then we help the kids to develop something to share with the congregation during a later worship service, encouraging them to be inter-generational teachers. The children experience the sanctuary as a place where they not only sing and listen but also lead on a regular basis.

I have, at this stage in my ministry, no use for in-sanctuary children's sermons where the adult speaks to the children and the rest of the adults spectate or participate peripherally. If adult parishioners "get more out of" the in-sanctuary children's sermons (as some universal parishioners say, fairly enough), maybe the adult sermons aren't doing quite what they're supposed to do.

If the messages aren't just for the children, why are the children so often the only ones called up front and quizzed (yes, okay, even in a friendly sort of way)? Why not let everyone stay where they are and let the leader say something so interesting and clear that it makes little heads pop up from the pews or wander forward on their own to get a better look? And if the messages are just for the children, why isn't there nearly enough time to let them ask questions and share more insights and responses than those that are prompted directly?

I've known some excellent pastors who speak beautifully with the children, who manage their limited resource of time with both wisdom and grace. But I've also seen a lot of shy kids who'd rather fall through a hole in the floor than be put on the spot in front of strangers and friends, a lot of good questions shut down too soon, a lot of potentially serious answers drawing ripples of laughter from mentors and role models, a lot of lost opportunities for meaningful conversations that were right there within reach.

No, I like this sacred space, away from grown spectators. I like this sacred time when a worship agenda doesn't get priority over curiosity and necessary time for processing and application. I like worshipping God in the spontaneous, childlike movements of the Holy Spirit.

And, when they feel good and ready, after they've had some time to ponder and practice, I like to hear the children speaking in the sanctuary, teaching their elders like the little boy Jesus in the temple.

If they are truly respected as people, not trained like circus animals or even just constantly called on for answers like grade school students, I think many children will grow -- in knowledge, in confidence, and in faith -- more from teaching others and being heard and known than they ever will from being talked at.

Even if we're good at it.

The Psalm of Margaret Wise Brown

Is there anyplace I can go to avoid your Spirit?

    to be out of your sight?

Illustrator: Clement Hurd, The Runaway Bunny

If I climb to the sky, you’re there!
    If I go underground, you’re there!

Illustrator: Clement Hurd, The Runaway Bunny

If I flew on morning’s wings
    to the far western horizon,

Illustrator: Clement Hurd, The Runaway Bunny

You’d find me in a minute—
    you’re already there waiting!

(Text from Psalm 139:7-10, The Message)

1 Way to Focus a Reluctant Student

Sometimes you need to improvise.

One day, during a stint as a tutor in an afterschool program, I worked primarily with one fifth-grade girl who was at first very reluctant to open her New York State history book, explaining in no uncertain terms that she did not want to study New York.

At the time, I was studying American Sign Language, and what otherwise may have been a verbal battle of convincing the kid that she did want to crack the book and get to work took a turn for the lighthearted and stress-free.

"New York?" I asked, signing it into my palm. "I'm from New York. Are you?" As I signed the rest, her eyes lit up in a way that I hadn't seen before. She mimicked my gestures. I broke down the signs for her to repeat.

"What language is that?" she finally asked, and when I told her it was American Sign Language she simply smiled and opened her book.

I'm fascinated that teaching a distracted or reluctant student something new and somewhat unrelated can potentially help her focus. Why did it work? Was she simply ready in her own time, or was it just enough of a break in tension to ease her back into her studies?  Whatever it was then, I stand by the idea now that learning is best when we engage our senses of curiosity and play.

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A revision of an entry in my service-learning journal, October 2009.

Puzzle Wars

"You're blessed when you can show people how to cooperate instead of compete or fight.

That's when you discover who you really are, and your place in God's family."

-Matthew 5:9 (The Message)

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Today the kids of our Children's Church enlisted in the Puzzle Wars.

First they divided themselves into two groups.  Actually, I divided them into two groups which slowly shifted on their own--and I let them.  The genuine alliances formed in unspoken rebellion made the fight all the more fierce and the activity all the more meaningful in the end.

I found this collection of 24-piece children's puzzles and used two with similar color schemes for our two groups.

Available for purchase here.

Each group received an array of double-sided puzzle pieces. They inferred very quickly that this was a race to see which group would solve their puzzle first.

Partway through the activity, the kids in one team questioned one of the pieces in their assortment. It didn't seem to fit into their puzzle. They asked me about it, but I was nonchalant and they pressed on, grappling not only with the strange surplus but an underlying feeling that they were also missing something.

The other group soon reached the same critical moment.

And the same solution.

And the same results.

Finally, in the midst of their questions and petitions, both groups had an epiphany. They realized that I, their leader and the original source of their materials, didn't physically have the missing puzzle pieces in my possession. I had already given them all away.

They needed to communicate with the people on the opposite side of the room--the same people they had all but ignored entirely once the Puzzle Wars began, save for appraising glances to judge their competition's progress and periodically declare their own superiority.

What followed was something of an informal détente. It was an incongruously peaceful moment during the Puzzle Wars.

It could have been awful. It could have been rife with pillaging and sabotage.

But instead it was an exchange more mutually giving than any negotiation or transaction. It seemed there was no doubt in their minds that their opponents' need was just as great as their own, and that they would quickly and gladly produce the pieces for each other.

And then, with one picture completed, all of the children gathered around the other puzzle to collaborate and finish it together.

And the Puzzle Wars ended with two things:

Collaborative and joyful destruction of the puzzles--the work that, as it turns out, maybe didn't matter so much after all...

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...and the natural emergence of one beautiful, cohesive team that will hopefully matter to them for years to come.

A Litany for Father's Day

I wrote this litany as part of a worship service with a United Methodist congregation on June 16, 2013.

It is loosely inspired by a litany for Mother's Day by Amy Young over at The Messy Middle. Her litany is called The Wide Spectrum of Mothering and included in her "open letter to pastors (a non-mom speaks about Mother's Day)" - which is a great post in and of itself. Click here to check it out.

Image Source (with Free Craft Tutorial)

One: To those who have welcomed a child into your hearts and homes—
All: We celebrate with you.

One: To those who long to be fathers, but who have no children of your own—
All: We long with you.

One: To those who are expectant fathers—
All: We anticipate with you.

One: To those whose fathers are ill in body, mind, or spirit—
All: We sit with you.

One: To those who have lost your fathers or who never got to know your fathers—
All: We grieve with you.

One: And to those who have fathered us by giving us life or teaching us to live—
All: We honor you.

The Santa Claus Quandary

The first fight I ever remember having with a friend was a not-so-philosophical debate regarding the dubious existence of the man, the myth, the legend: Santa Claus.

It was my best friend, and at five, that was a considerable portion of my world.

But the other sizeable portion, of course, was my family. And my family had told me that Santa was real, and in all my years of barely cognizant life I had never known them to lie to me, so I believed them.

Then one day I came home from kindergarten with this dramatic story about the argument with my friend and how I had defended our family honor. My older brother couldn't bear for me to lose a friend over the dude in the red suit, and promptly took me to the closet in my parents' room to show me the gifts that would have been from Santa that year.

My parents might have been able to convince me, even then, that it was their own stash and, Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus, but they agreed with my brother - it wasn't worth the loss of a friendship, and it was time for The Talk.

The thing is, my mother - being a bit flowery with words and charmingly poetic in her perceptions of all matters of life - still believed in Santa Claus. At least, she said, Santa Claus' spirit was real.

I find it pertinent at this point to note that, future theologian or not, as a child I thought Santa Claus was like God's brother from another mother. I mean, I think I had a good idea about what was in Jesus' job description, but who was God to me at that point?

He sees you when you're sleeping; he knows when you're awake. He knows if you've been bad or good, so be good for goodness' sake!

Sure, God was more powerful (all year long!) and less materialistically affectionate than Santa seemed to be, but it was difficult to differentiate them enough to understand why my spiritually-inclined mother would explain to me that one exists (sometimes as Spirit) and the other does not exist (except in spirit).

As most "emerging adults" evaluate decisions their parents made in order to form their own parenting philosophies, I have since wondered: if I ever were to have children, would I tell them that Santa Claus is real - in spirit or otherwise? For the most part, I believed that I wouldn't.

Sometimes religious families don't share the Santa story because they consider it a "secular" tradition or because it seems to teach - eventually - disbelief, especially disbelief in a seemingly omnipotent, benevolent being basically hailed as Divine around some Christmas trees.

Despite my own initial difficulty separating out the "characters" of God and Santa Claus, this ultimately was not a major problem. Atheists and cultural theists may not entirely understand what I mean when I say this, but by the time I had a personal experience of what I understood to be God, the difference was abundantly clear: Claus could feasibly still exist in whatever form people please, but I can't attest to that so long as I have no experience or reason to affirm it for me. Sort of the way I don't blame atheists for not seeing sufficient evidence for God. I think it would be worse for someone to lie about what they believe or don't believe than not to get the facts straight, whatever they may be. The reasons I have for a belief in God are sufficient evidence for me, and to be the most authentic person I can be, I can only attest to what I believe to be true as genuinely as I can.

Thus the concern I have is not that a child would equate Santa and God, or that their inevitable Santa-crushing moment may shake their faith. I believe in a God who is revealed and made known in various ways, and I believe that faith-shaking moments too often lead to spiritual growth to want to ward them off entirely.

Rather, my concern is simply this: I don't know that I can tell my child that I believe something I don't. It may be a fanciful, wonderful story; the spirit of giving may be alive and well indeed; but Santa Claus as he has come to be known and shared throughout the ages is not a tradition in which I'm that sentimentally invested.

I suppose I could imagine telling stories about Saint Nick, and presenting it that way, or even simply asking children what they think and letting them go through a natural progression.

Last year I saw the Finish film called "Christmas Story" about the orphaned Nikolas, who begins delivering toys to the children of the families who have taken him in year after year, and finally to children throughout the locale. I enjoyed it in its entirety, except for the ending, at which point (SPOILER ALERT) jolly old Saint Nikolas flies off into the moonlight on his inexplicably airborne reindeer-drawn sleigh, waving and winking and whooping out Macy*s Santa belly-laughs. And I know it was obligatory - any kid-friendly film can't risk spoiling the Santa industry for a young viewer. But it would have been such a beautiful movie even without it, and I sort of wish they had let it be.

In spite of all of this, or perhaps in light of it, I admit I've been pondering this quandary from the other end of the spectrum lately. Why? Because I read this piece online and, besides my own mother's more in-depth explanations to me about why she became a firm Santa-espouser, it is perhaps the most beautiful pro-Santa 'argument' I've ever come across. Having read this letter from a mother to her child who demanded the truth, I might consider changing my own stance on what I would tell my hypothetical, nonexistent offspring - and when, and how.

Click here to give it a read. It really is rather beautiful, and it would make my Mama weep with happy Santa-spirit warm-and-fuzzies.

From the Mouths of Babes

Source

At an afterschool program in a rough Yonkers neighborhood, the children typically spent their free time outdoors in the parking lot on fair-weathered afternoons.

One day, two students picked leaves and grass and the odd flower from an incongruous bit of green encroaching on the disrupted pavement around a rotted out stump. One young girl took my arm and pointed to the stone wall topped with iron bars and railings, which enclosed their unequipped playground.

"Do you know why that's there?" she said; "Somebody was shot. They died." Then, without further explanation, she took some more grass back to her makeshift garden on the greenless end of the parking lot.

The children were not oblivious to the world beyond the protective fence, nor were they unaware of what was lacking in the small lot where they played.

They sought earth-space. They longed for an environment that could sustain life; sustain peace.

Father, Son, and Friendly Ghost

For Chris.

Was Blind But Now I See

Several preteen girls gathered in the family room of their shared cabin when a petty argument broke out between two. They were tired, frustrated, and still learning the art of peace-making.

Counselors settled the spat itself to the kids' satisfaction, but within minutes one girl wandered to bed in a huff. Before long, she was in silent tears under the safety of her covers, but her only explanations seemed to be issues originating outside camp. As her cabin-mates cheered her up, we found that her opponent had curled up in a quietly weeping heap on her own bed across the cabin. Counselors and campers alike moved to divide and conquer.

I sat with the second girl, who whimpered, "I miss my mom," and perhaps like Counselor Robot I sprang into action: "You'll see her in just a few days, and then you can tell her about all the cool stuff you've done." But Counselor Robot was not prepared for her reply: "She died when I was two."

Suddenly I realized that there was more to this puzzle than the image that I had superimposed on the box. I had sometimes envisioned there trenches of allies and enemies - cooperating and battling teens; campers who had unique and likeable personalities but were often in need of rules, guidance and constant reminders not to exclude someone or touch other people's stuff.

Somehow, their lives beyond camp - at least to such a "human" extent as familial death - had not crossed my mind or expectations. It was easy to arrive at a "camp for the blind and visually-impaired" and assume that vision loss, with its unfathomable physical and social complications, was the toughest meat on their plates.

As the cabin once again came together to comfort one of its own, the girl disclosed that she had never known her father, explaining that he'd misunderstood her albinism and had believed, despite his daughter's full black heritage, that she, with her fair skin and bright eyes, was perhaps not his child. My heart shattered as each trivial nuisance in my life disintegrated to nothingness.

There was little to be said or done to ease any of this, let alone to allow her curious peers to fully understand her sorrows, but finally an idea arose. Days later, she and a cabin-mate wrote letters to their deceased loved ones to toss into the closing campfire. Though I cannot tell to what extent this makeshift solution affected them, I hope that they have derived some healing and strength from their courageous step and in the future can find it a moment of growth in their youth. If nothing else, I wish for them to remember the efforts of their friends to comfort and reassure them that night; the night that several preteens put aside their egos and took up a torch of sincere empathy that I've so rarely witnessed in the age group.

This experience, most specifically, has caused me to realize that blindness is no more an impairment than a death ends the lives of beloved survivors. Each one is an obstacle; it may come in the form of a tragedy, but it has the potential to fortify. Blindness needn't be the death of sight, but a chance to overcome the loss or absence of vision. Where there is life, death cannot end all. Hope, at the very least, remains.

It is the hope that I see in a child who closed a letter to her deceased mother with the words: "See you later."

---

The gorgeous image used above was found here.

New Year's Challenge

This new year, take on a challenge and give it your all...



...even if it seems bigger than you are.

Good Work, Jesus

Keep it up!



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