Sacred Memories part 5

This morning I am choosing to continue remembering the sacred memories I hold from years of ministry with young people despite the fact that I have a rather virulent rant regarding gender stereotyping growing inside of me. I sense that reflecting on the former will be of more benefit at the moment, though I will likely not cease reflecting on the latter. Hopefully the virulent rant will have subsided before Alicia gets home or she will have to hear all my new thoughts on the matter along with all the old ones yet again.

So today I am remembering a beautiful Sunday school class in which we were studying the story of Abram, Sarai, and Lot. As a class we gathered together and again did a bit of guided imagery to get into the scene of the story. 1/2 of the class made up Lot and his family while the other half was Abram, Sarai, and their household. Each child carried a stone and as we traveled from location to location we piled our stones together as an altar, marking our new home, and God's presence with us. We also carried our God lantern as we traveled (a God candle would have been far harder to transport). Here again, we lived the story and the kids got deeply involved, scouting out the land for good places to set up our home. We concluded our travels in Abram and Sarai's tent up in our classroom. I had set up a tent of sorts with hanging sheets from the ceiling, a challenge to make one large enough for our sizable class. Gathered together in that space we ate pita and raisins and reflected on the story.

Much to my amazement the children really liked dry pita and most liked the raisins as well and for over 10 minutes they reflected deeply on the experiences of Abram, Sarai, and Lot while sharing this meal together in their tent. Reflections began with how they thought the characters felt about one another, about fairness, about what it must have been like to travel so much and set up their home in so many places and ended with where they noticed God's presence in their own lives. I could never have guessed what they shared with me that day. Sometimes we have stereotypical understandings of kids that lead us to think that their experience of God would be about getting things that they want (new toys, their own way), or about playground squabbles. Yet what I heard was of a far more universal quality. Being invited by a brother to play, when another brother has rejected you, or speculations regarding God's presence while we were still in the womb.The reflections ranged from the immediate and personal to the existential.

At the conclusion of our class we exited the tent and joined together in a prayer provided by our curriculum which asked us to pray standing in all four directions, drawing from the words from our scripture text. My heart felt full as I saw the children plant their feet firmly each time they turned and speak loudly their prayers, their declarations of faith.

I wanted the children to each be able to take a rock from our altar home with them, and with the number of rocks that we had it was possible for them to each take several rocks, but I wasn't sure how to do it. Just taking all the rocks out of the bag and putting them on the floor seemed like a recipe for disaster and as I pondered this small dilemma, one of the boys in the class came up with a brilliant solution that seemed to have been strongly influenced by our discussion earlier (I was quickly learning that this young man had a gift for creative problem solving, one that was perhaps often overlooked due to his rambunctious nature). So each child lined up and one at a time took a stone, and then went to the back of the line to start again. This seemed fair to each one, even though normally there probably would have been much arguing about who would go first and get the best rock. What was fair that day seemed to have undergone some alteration. Fair was not just about me, and what I want, but neither was it only about you and what you want. Fair had become what is best for us together.

A couple of weeks later one of the children shared with me that she had built a small altar on her bedside table as a constant reminder of God's presence with her as she went to sleep.

There is nothing as remarkable as seeing children connect with God, and with the image of God that resides within them. There is a peace that shines from deep within them, a peace that is not about happiness, or being able to please someone else, or get their own way, all the things that we stereotypically associate with a child's emotional expression. In these sacred moments, I have witnessed children releasing their fears about not being good enough, their anxiety about disappointing others, their need to prove themselves or bolster their own self esteem and simply rest in the presence of God and the knowledge that they are loved beyond all understanding.

Sacred Memories part 4

I have incredibly fond memories of one particular Sunday that actually followed the previous memory in part 3. At the close of our Sunday school class we gathered together in a circle in the center of the room for a time of prayer. That day we were sharing prayers with one another and after each one we all said in unison "Thanks be to God" or "Lord, hear our prayer." The kids in my class never had any trouble coming up with things that they wanted us to pray for and I was always amazed at how much they seemed to notice in their daily lives, especially if given an opportunity to reflect and offer prayers. This particular week started off with a bang as the young girl from the previous week shared a prayer of praise (the previous week she wanted us to pray because her grandpa was ill). I opened our time of prayer with a few words and the first prayer that came from the group was a loud "praise the Lord, my Grandpa's been healed!" She was so filled with joy and the rest of the kids responded with a hearty "Thanks be to God." I could have sworn I was sitting with a group of liturgical charismatics rather than fairly reserved Mennonites! The rest of the prayer time was likewise animated as joys and concerns were held up before God in our small community of faith.

Sacred Memories part 3

During one of my Sunday school classes we spent some time responding to our story for the day with a time of prayer by journaling our questions and thoughts in a letter to God (at least I think this is how we were praying, we might also have been praying in colour). I had set our hour glass to time us for 10 minutes so the children would be able to monitor their time on their own. I was a bit worried that 10 minutes would be too long to spend "talking" with God. For the full ten minutes the children were completely occupied and soon the hour glass had almost run out and so had our class time. Just before our time was up one of the girls crawled over to me (we were on the floor), and asked if we couldn't have another time of prayer because she wanted all of us to pray for her Grandfather who was sick. It was amazing to see how important prayer was becoming to our class, not just as a personal conversation with God, but as a practice that we did in community.

Sacred Memories part 2

Years ago I taught Sunday school to three-year olds. Each year my class had varying numbers ranging from 5 to almost 10 children, I believe. And each class was beautiful in its own way. Each Sunday during story time I would light our story candle and begin the Bible story. The children, for the most part sat quietly, listening carefully to the story (most parents are totally shocked when I tell them this, especially that their children sat on the floor next to an open flame!). During the time of wondering about the story there were always some amazingly insightful comments as well as a smattering of random comments that came, seemingly, from out of nowhere. You know the ones. "Teacher, teacher, I have the Lion King movie at home." I was totally used to those kinds of comments and usually with a small amount of redirection we were right back on track wondering about the story, or there was an opportunity to connect their experience of the movie they watched with the story.

One particular day though I had a comment come out of left field that totally baffled me. I had no idea what to say or do. I think we all just sat there quietly for a bit. I was telling a story about Jesus, and I have no recollection which one, but in the middle of the story a boy all of a sudden called out, "I ain't afraid of no Jesus." Oh, wait, I did say something. I think I told him how wonderful it was that he wasn't afraid of Jesus or something like that. But I'm still left pondering what led him to say those particular words. Often the more random comments are not as random as we think. The kids are usually just thinking about something else, their minds are wandering, just like any adult's mind wanders. The only difference is that children say what they're thinking and adults have learned to keep those things to themselves so that nobody knows that they're not listening. The Lion King comments make sense to me, even if they are seemingly unrelated. But I still wonder about "I ain't afraid of no Jesus."

Sacred Memories part 1

For me, one of the hardest parts of being an unemployed pastor is not having the opportunity to pastor children. I very much enjoy ministering to adults and youth, providing them with resources and tools to live out their own callings is a great joy for me, but nothing in the world touches my spirit like ministering to young children, witnessing the sacred moments that permeate their faith. The other day I realized that I hadn't done a children's time, prayed with or told Bible stories to children etc. in 8 months. 8 very long months.

And for good reason I think. I'm not currently settled in a faith community and it would be irresponsible of parents and caregivers to simply hand over their children to a person that doesn't belong to their faith community, a person that they don't know and have no reason to trust, pastor or not. Or perhaps that is my understanding of how things should be. I certainly haven't made any great attempts to insert myself into the lives of children in the congregations I have attended. Perhaps congregants would have been all to ready to have me step in and take responsibility for their children, though I hope not. I also have too much respect for young children to simply jump in and try to minister to them without giving them a clear understanding of who I am and what my place is in their lives. It's one thing for them to know that I'm a visitor telling them a story this one Sunday, or a student who will be around until she graduates, or that I'm their Sunday school teacher, or that I'm the pastor in their congregation. It's quite another to simply slide in and out of their lives unable to share with them why I am there, or for how long. It's hard enough for adults to have people wander in and out of their lives, let alone for children. If you've only been alive for 4 years, having someone enter into your life for 6 months is a significant chunk of time. 

So in this space in which I find myself, this space of waiting, this space of random ministry if you will, I have decided to take the next several posts to remember some of the sacred moments that I have experienced in ministry. I will intentionally be leaving out names or changing names to respect the children involved.

So for today I want to remember one of my all time favourite Sunday school classes. Our lesson for the day was the story of Joseph being re-united with his brothers. My co-teacher had agreed to be Joseph, set on a throne of sorts up in our Sunday school room. The rest of us were on the main floor of the church getting in character. I had written out the story as a play and each child was a brother of Joseph's (the girls were a bit annoyed that they had to play male roles AGAIN), and one parent was Joseph's father. In order to help the children enter fully into the story they only received their lines when they needed to say them. There was no way to look ahead in the story, or to even know what story they were doing. They were simply a group of brothers in a land of drought. We did a bit of guided imagery to get ourselves situated and then moved into the story. The brothers, clad in dishtowel headgear, all made the trek to Egypt to seek food, leaving their father and youngest brother behind.

While traveling my students began to ad lib, trudging through a violent sand storm, dishtowels over their faces to protect themselves. Approaching the Pharaoh's right hand man each of the brothers fell prostrate before him explaining their plight. Joseph feigned ignorance as to the brothers identities and accused them of being spies with so much conviction that the brothers began to babble, even without their lines that no, no, they were just looking for food because they were starving!

As the story unfolded the children became more and more invested in the characters it seemed. They looked genuinely upset at having to leave one of their number behind as collateral and hungrily grabbed the small amount of food that they were allowed to take with them eating their pita bread as if they hadn't eaten for days.The kids all continued to read their lines when they received them, but also added, very appropriate actions, reactions, and other lines throughout the story. And when Joseph finally, almost in tears, revealed his identity the brothers were in shock. At this point, I realized that I had forgotten to assign anyone the task of running to get their father, yet when Joseph told them to hurry and get their father, almost everyone of them leaped to their feet and ran to find him.

Minutes passed as we waited in anticipation for Joseph's father to be re-united with his long lost son.  Finally the brothers ran into the room, panting, and we asked where Jacob was. And loudly several of the brothers announced that he was on his way, he was just getting a coffee!

It was amazing seeing this story lived out by this group of children. They entered into the story so fully and afterward reflected so deeply on the emotions they felt, and that they thought the characters had felt as well as where they saw God moving in the lives of this family. Definitely a class that I won't forget.

Fun with Preaching

The last few months have been a bit of an adventure for me. Still unemployed, but suddenly getting a lot of random invites to preach or speak at various locales. Preaching has never been the greatest of my ministry gifts, but I would say that I`m competent. I was never sure exactly what I had to offer as a preacher, except perhaps a day off for the pastor of a particular congregation!

However, recently I`ve begun to notice some things about the way I preach, or rather, about the types of responses that I`ve received following my sermons. One, I am often approached by older women who respond to my messages with quite a bit of emotion. Two, I hear comments about how the hearer has gained a better understanding of the biblical story. 

I grew up hearing primarily male preachers, but occasionally female ones as well. It wasn`t uncommon to have a female pastor speak and my family has never taken issue with women in ministry so I grew up thinking that we didn`t have a female pastor at our church because none had applied. Now, the situation is far more complex than all that, but suffice it to say that I didn`t experience a great deal of tension surrounding women in ministry during my childhood and teenage years. And I don`t think a whole lot about the fact that I`m female now when I`m preparing a sermon either. However, the last time I preached I remember thinking, wow, these are interesting sermon analogies and stories that I`m sharing. I`ve never heard stories like this from the pulpit before. I had no sports analogies, no stories about my children or my spouse, no stories about construction or building projects and certainly no Simpsons references. And I started to wonder about what I had to offer as a preacher, not in terms of my gifts of oration, but in terms of my life experience. I am single, I am female, I am...me. I have a particular history, a particular family, and particular experiences that shape how I interpret scripture, that shape how God speaks to me and how I am led to present the Word of God to others. And perhaps who I am, speaks to particular persons in the pews. 

At least, this is what seems to happen. Almost every single time I have ever preached I have been approached by older widows (usually over 80 years, either members, or visitors) and thanked profusely for my message. Many have tears in their eyes, many comment on the sermon content, or how they have been challenged, or how they appreciated the way I used the biblical text. I get responses from others as well, but for some reason I seem to speak to the experience of older, single, women. At first I thought, wow that`s a pretty small demographic to be addressing in sermons, shouldn`t I be aiming for a broader audience. And then I thought, hell no! These are cherished members of our congregations. Members that are often overlooked. I wondered how many sermon illustrations they had listened to over the past 85 years that didn`t speak to their experience and I thought surely these women should also be able to hear the Word of God in terms that resonate for them. 

To clarify, I am not intentionally trying to speak to only this group of people. In fact I put a pretty concentrated effort into trying to listen to scripture through the lens of many different people when I prepare a sermon. But if who I am connects with these women, then I am only to happy to serve as God`s conduit through bun baking analogies, something I`m rather passionate about. 

The second comment I have heard occasionally after I preach is that the hearer has a better understanding of the biblical story. And I have to say that I have never experienced any comment that made me feel prouder of the work that I had done. I was taught to preach starting with a text (even better, a story)...always. This is not to say that one can never do a sermon series on a particular topic, but that when drawing out the message that God has for us  we always start with the text, not with what we want the text to say. I love the analogy that I once heard from Thomas Long at a preaching seminar, that the act of preparing a sermon or engaging the biblical text is like going into a strange cave. The preacher goes in, wrestles a bear, and then if she lives to tell the tale, stands behind the pulpit on Sunday morning and bares (no pun intended) witness to what she has seen and heard. This is how I experience the act of preaching.

I am passionate about the biblical text and believe it can speak powerfully to our whole being in profound ways...but only if we tell it. There is no way for God to speak to us through the biblical narrative if we leave it lying there, black words on white pages propped up on the Communion table. Some of the most glorious sermons I have heard have come from preachers who loved the biblical story and allowed it to take root in them. They did not have the funniest jokes, or the most fabulous analogies. What they had was the Word of God, the living and dynamic biblical narrative and the willingness to allow it to speak through them in authentic ways. 

I don't aspire to be a fabulous preacher. I don't feel that God has particularly called me to a preaching ministry and as I said earlier, as a preacher, I am merely competent. But I do know that I have been called to tell God's story and in this particular time and in this particular place it seems that that means being a traveling preacher. Somebody get me a horse.