Multigenerational Worship this Sunday, April 4

I attended a “Worship for All Ages” workshop ten years ago. At the time my mother had been dead fifteen years, my grandmother ten years, and my father three years. The leader led us in a guided meditation. She took us back to our childhoods and asked us to visit a place that was spiritual for us. I went straight to the third pew from the front on the right in the Watts Street Baptist Church, Durham, North Carolina.

I could feel my legs, too short to reach the floor, swinging back and forth. I could see the play of light from the stained glass windows and the dark rich wood of the pews, so cool and smooth to the touch. The room felt simultaneously spacious and cozy.

Then, I saw what had been my view for hundreds of childhood Sundays—the view along the length of that third pew. There we all were….my little brother, my two younger sisters, my mother (always so beautiful to me on Sundays), my father (only time of the week in a coat and tie), and my grandmother (fur stole, both alarming and fascinating, with those little animals still intact. I didn’t want to see their beady eyes and tiny claws, but I couldn’t help looking.)

There we all were. I could see my father’s rough, cracked hands--no wedding ring, my mother’s freckled, generous hands with diamonds that sparkled, my brother’s and sisters’ hands holding pencils, doodling on their orders of service, my grandmother’s very soft, pale hands. When I sat by my grandmother, she played a little hand game with me. Two squeezes started the exchange—“Love me?” Two squeezes back replied, “Uh-huh.” Two again, from the initiator—“How much?”. The answer gauged by the strength of the squeeze…the harder squeeze the more the love.

There we all were. I could see us, feel us, touch the love that held our family as we sat, week after week, year after year, third pew on the right. I believe it was love that guided us to sit together in that pew, but I also believe that that love actually grew and deepened as we sat together in that pew, forging an anchor for my life.

This Sunday, April 4, Easter Sunday, we will worship as a multi-generational community. We will have nursery and preschool care, but children, kindergarten and older, will remain in the service, as we do several times a year. I wish we did it more, much more, every week, even.

I do know that these “multi-gen Sundays” are much dreaded by some, and rightly so. I get it that trying to meet your own spiritual needs while also monitoring your children--are they being quiet enough?...are they still enough?—is a rough row to hoe. It is hard work, plain and simple. I know that this is asking a lot of parents, and I admit that it may be too much. After all, it may be the one time during the week that you have some peace and quiet.

I also know this. I know that we only learn to read by reading. We only learn to pray by praying. We only learn to worship with children by worshipping with children. And our children only learn to worship by worshipping.

At whatever age we learned to read, we all began with stops and starts, unknown words, frustration, even tears. Imagine if, when we were learning this lifelong habit, we read just a few times a year. We would never know the joy and satisfaction of a good book.

Here is what I wonder. I wonder, if we could tough it out in the early phase of learning to worship with children, might we end up finding deep joy and satisfaction as families, sitting side by side, in worship? I believe that the hard work could be worth it. What if part of our mission at this church were to help family members forge the love that binds them into anchors for their lives?

Parents, you are not alone in this hard work, should you choose to take it on. You are part of a vibrant and loving faith community. May those of us without children, be patient with families as they are learning. May those of us who feel so moved, make it our mission to sit with children and families and serve as gentle guides in worship.

I hope to see you this Sunday, April 4 for our multi-generational Easter worship.