Let Me Tell You a Story…
This feels like a disaster.
There were only five neighborhood kids, the ones who’d started to come back to our church connects on first and third Tuesday nights (Tuesday Nights Under the Trees).
There were only five but it felt like fifteen. Between hurried bites of taco, we were trying to regroup kids running in the sanctuary, asking a kiddo to not to karate kick the door bars, retelling and retelling kids not to play the instruments, and reminding kids to not waste entire plates of rice.
What felt like a disaster wasn’t just the kid’s impulsive behaviors, though that was definitely challenging. What felt like a disaster to me was that this was supposed to be better than the last time and felt like we were getting nowhere.
I had tried a discussion question that proved too abstract the first time, so this time, I put on my educator hat and tried to think of something more hands on and concrete. We did our Seed and Soil reading and invited everyone to cut out magazine pictures of what made them feel or remember still, illustrating Psalm 37:7, “I will be still and wait patiently for God…”
Only one of our friends wanted to do the activity. The others popped in and out of the room and under tables and chairs until we were able to invite them to help with clean up, where they got more engaged.
Already starting to troubleshoot the next time we’d be together, I slipped behind them in a row of pews with some alarm as they began pulling hymnals and Bibles from the pockets.
After a couple of reminders that we don’t throw and catch Bibles, something I never expected started to happen.
One little guy opened up to the book of Esther and began reading aloud. Within a minute or two, the others sat down and asked what page he was on. Everyone grew still. They called each other out on missing words, took turns stumbling over Nebuchadnezzar and Mordecai, marveled at the thin pages and shushed each other so they could hear the problematic beauty competition of the king.
It was past time to pack up, so I offered to quickly tell the rest of the story of Esther. It was using different muscles for me, telling the story orally, but they were rapt. There were “oh dang”s when Haman was revealed and commentary that gave me shivers, “Esther had two good choices because she loved God. She’d either have life, or she’d have heaven, so she could talk to the king.”
And then the questions poured out.
“Who were the Jews? Why’d Haman want to kill them?”
“Jesus was God’s people. How’d God have a son? Is Jesus God or different?”
“Is Mother Nature God’s wife?”
“Who were the first people? One was Amanda, I think? Are they a billion years old?”
“Is the Bible one story or a bunch of books?”
“Lucifer was an angel and then he thought he was king, right? So are God and Lucifer always at war?”
More and more questions. I did my best to channel Meredith Anne Miller (her podcast Ask Away is her answering kid’s questions about the Bible). I bumbled some of the answers and couldn’t keep up with some of the others, but it felt like something holy was happening.
“When can we learn more about this? Is church every Sunday?”
What. Just. Happened.
What felt like a disaster ended up being the longest spiritual conversation I’d had with anyone in the last year. Seeing the Bible through their eyes and hearing their sincere questions stirred something in me that has felt dormant for a while.
They don’t want a slick lesson or perfect answers or a night of programming like I’m apt to lean toward.
Kids are hungry for God’s word. For God’s stories. For a place to ask questions and interact with a sacred text that we often take for granted because we’ve heard about the characters a hundred times.
Andrew Peterson is quoted as saying, “If you want someone to hear the truth, you should tell them the truth. But if you want someone to LOVE the truth, you should tell them a story.”
Diane Setterfield, says, “When fear and cold make a statue of you in your bed, don't expect hard-boned and fleshless truth to come running to your aid. What you need are the plump comforts of a story.”
And there’s no better story than the story of God in this world. And kids, especially, want to be wrapped in the comfort of God in history, in Jesus, in songs and letters and parables. They want to know the God that partnered with humans to write sacred stories.
As I reflect the morning after what felt like a disaster, I have a few thoughts I want to capture. Do we need to have some planning for communicating boundaries and behavior expectations and how to best plan for our time together? Absolutely. We can always do better in shaping our times and spaces to be better for all and lessen the us/them dynamics that can form when we rub shoulders with actual neighbors.
But what I’m thinking most about this morning is what I observed last night between the pews.
1. Kids are hungry for God’s word. It is fresh to them. It’s mysterious and interesting and calls to their sacred God-image. There’s something holy about them getting to hold stories in their hand and catch whispers of the Spirit that breathes through thin pages.
2. Labor is not in vain (this one is for you, anyone who worked with Kids Club at Immanuel for years). As Paul says in 1 Corinthians 3:6, “I planted the seed, Apollos watered it, but God has been making it grow.” I could say Matthew and Theresa and Seth and Cristina and Melody and others planted seeds, along with grandmas and believing teachers and neighbors. I got to water some last night and God has been making these seeds grow. The kids shared stories they had heard at Kids Club and characters they remembered, and I could tell by their background knowledge that seeds had taken root. God’s word doesn’t return void.
3. We can let kids’ (or anyone’s) questions lead the way. We don’t have to have all the perfect answers, nor do we need to worry about correcting every misconception or misunderstood theological concept. We can brush up on the stories ourselves so we know how to tell them, we can share our honest, “I don’t knows,” and “that story is confusing to me, too,” and remind ourselves (and those with questions) that this is why we gather with other believers—to tell the stories and remember them and wrestle with them together. We can keep pointing to God, the real hero and let God lead hearts instead of wringing out applications.
This week, I will approach Scripture with my own children differently. I’ve missed opportunities to hear their questions and ideas because I’ve been worried about making the Bible exciting or understandable or relevant. Or I’ve had my doubts about how to talk about problematic passages or figures. Or, I’ve just been too busy or too bored with the Bible, if I’m honest, to make it a part of our day.
What beauty I’ve missed.
May we walk into the world this week armed only with stories of who God is, what God has done, and what God is doing today.
May we wade through what feel like disasters to note the quiet still moments where God breaks through.
May we continue to be faithful in planting seeds, finding sprouts where others have planted in the muddy places, and partnering joyfully with God who has all the answers the world needs.
