30 years later, I came back to attend that church with my own children. I am blessed that they take after their mother. The older folks still like to tell them stories of “when your father was your age…” I am glad that they still accept this sinner as one of their own even if I am a fundamentalist stuck in a liberal church. Peace. Num.6:24-26.

She’d had a piece of chocolate before the service. And she’s usually the sweetest little girl!

My cousins were raised…umm…with spotty discipline. They would regulary take toys to church..not hotwheels and such. But what ever they wanted…in mass quantaties. The weekly grocery bags of goodies would have cap guns, fire engines that make noise, litterly anything they wanted to take. They would climb under pews like soldiers and shoot people.

Our church services are recorded and broadcast now. One week not long after service started there was a odd noise in the sanctuary. Something like a bird sporadically singging. This went on for a little while before the pastor just stopped preaching and asked “What is making that noise?” Turns out a monkey was in a cage in the second row!

Last week a family was dedicating a new child so the entire family was present. Everything was going well until halfway through the service. The youngest started crying at the top of his lungs. Mom quielty got up and was taking him out. About half way down the isle the older brother began screaming…but was sure he would not be outdone by his brother he let loose and bellowed to the best of his ability as dad took the walk of personal humiliation…from the front row of a 2000 person capicity church.

I cant wait to have my own kids….

My brother is pretty sensitive to sound, and as a young guy on the autistic spectrum, he was slow to pick up on some social cues. So whenever this particular Older Lady sang her solo, while the whole congregation winced and waited for it to be over, he stuck his fingers in his ears with his elbows pointed straight out. (I was the discreet older sibling- I kept my elbows at my sides.)

In general, we have well-behaved kids in my current congregation, but we have some challenging homeless guys who don’t always arrive sober. I vividly remember one Sunday when, in the middle of the pastor’s sermon from Ephesians, we were suddenly treated to an entirely different sermon, apparently out of Revelation, being slurred from the pews. Whatever the man was dreaming about, it certainly sounded exciting.

I am Catholic and I like seeing and hearing the little kids in church. It’s reality and if I want to be quiet and alone to “commune with God” I can do that at home. I come to church to celebrate with the community and to receive God in a different way than I do the rest of the week. The babies, the little kids, the teens, the parents, the elderly, the mentally challenged…that’s all life and it’s good to see. We should see us as a large family. Families are sometimes noisy!

As a mom of five who’s husband was usually up front leading the service, I have to say that we do the best we can as parents of little ones, but they are still little ones.

I have often found it amazing that the harshest must ungracious things can be said by the people who are demanding absolute quiet so that they can “worship the Lord.” I can promise you, there is nothing worshipful about humiliating a mother of small children for the fact that her children dare to be small children.

She is trying the very best that she can…and God takes little to no pleasure in those who shame her so that they can “commune” with God. What they are communing with is not God, but their own self-righteous concept of what Sunday morning should be.

How grateful I have been for those who glanced at me sympathetically, especially those who offered to be a special “buddy” for one of my kids—so that I wouldn’t have to juggle all five in a pew all by myself, but instead have one sit with this person, one sit with that person…

How grateful I have been for those who patted me and told me how wonderful the children were, choosing to overlook the various baby squeaks and burps and rustling papers and loud volumed attempts at “whispering” from the two year old… I only have so many hands.

I got to where I hated church, and I agree with the mother way up there who said she began to be ashamed of herself, when she placed her “act like an adult” expectations on her child to such a degree that she was overly harsh. Been there, done that, repented. I now expect my children to act like children. That means, I expect them to try hard but not to magically transform into little robots. And I refuse to recieve shame from those who prefer robots.

Jesus doesn’t prefer robots, and anyone who thinks worshiping Him corporately requires children to morph into robots desperately doesn’t understand what Jesus was all about.

All that to share my latest story (there’s always one every week…*sigh*).

We started going to the Episcopal church this last year (and I *love* it) and so on Easter, my youngest was baptised there. His three year old self was SO delighted to get to take Communion afterwards…FINALLY…and as he dipped his wafer in the wine and then ate it, he smacked his lips loudly and exclaimed at the top of his lungs, “MMMM! That was GOOOD!”

I thought the person holding the chalice was going to drop it, she was laughing so loud…

It was sweet and good and so totally totally true from a theological perspective and an experiential one. God is delicious.

Not having nurseries is one of the most ecclesiologically significant things about a Catholic parish and deserves an entire book, I think.

BTW, IMonk, out Lutheran Church has no nursery either….