pondering church change

Our nine year old - the third of four and the oldest of the girls - has always been the most opinionated of the crew. The most strong willed. The most vocal.  The nonconformist.  I try to value this in her, recognizing that what makes my life harder now will serve her well in her own life, later. 

On the way to school this morning, seemingly out of the blue, she asks,

"Are we ever going to go back to our old church?"

Sigh. Here we go again.

I remind her that we've been through this - that I'm sure we'll go back sometime, but it will be to visit.

The flood gates open.

"WHY??? It was FUN there!! Not just the kids' stuff, even the grown up service was fun!  I hate this new church! You can't force me to like it there!"

Oh, the drama...
I draw in a deep cleansing breath... hold it a moment... then blow it out slowly, before I respond.  I'm getting pretty good at this.  Thanks (mostly) to her.  Whew.

I remind her, first of all, that when we were still attending there, she complained - every single week - that she didn't want to go.  Once there, she'd enjoy it - yes - but the entire morning leading up, we had to listen to her balk, just like we do now (she has a true gift for selective memory).  I also point out that she's (we've) been a bit spoiled; that the point of church isn't to "have fun".  Our family LOVES to have fun, but we choose to spend one or two hours a week focusing on worship.  I concede that yes, we're shifting gears - big time - from a hip contemporary service to a more traditional one.  But, I add, it's good to develop an appreciation for a different style.  I mention how small the congregation is, how kind and welcoming they are, how good they've been to us and to her.  I remind her how we go forward for communion every week, now, how we share the peace with one another, and how we all hold hands to recite The Lord's Prayer - that these are special, meaningful practices.

She's not buying it.

I decide not to mention that her Dad and I sometimes miss the music at the old church, too, but because her oldest brother has a form of autism, it had become impossible.  He could hardly stand to be in the sanctuary during services, the loud music and the lights were so overstimulating for him.  So we were spending Sunday mornings out in the lobby, watching on a big screen from a sofa (wondering why we'd bothered to come at all, since we have a perfectly good sofa and TV at home).  The calmer environment and more predictable liturgy at our new church are much better suited to his needs, and that's been an important factor in our decision making process.  But I definitely don't mention any of that to her right now - no point in adding blame for big brother to her repertoire of grievances.

Growing exasperated, I pull the "There are some things you just can't understand right now, you'll understand when you're older" line, hoping to end the discussion there.  But she's not buying that, either.  I seem to have forgotten who it is I'm talking to!  This girl doesn't let things go.  Besides, hadn't I sworn to myself that I wouldn't condescend to my kids that way?

"Just tell me, mom! Tell me why!"

This girl is no fool.  She knows there's more to it.  We loved it there, it was home - she knows what that meant to us.  We have memories there, and we love those people - deeply.  So it must have taken something serious to push us to make a move like this - something more than size and style.  

She senses all this.  And she is right. 

"Okay.  Here it is."  (another of those deep cleansing breaths)

"You know how, when Dr. King was marching during the Civil Rights Movement, there were white people who marched with him?  They didn't have to.  They could go to school wherever they wanted, sit wherever they wanted on the bus, drink from any water fountain ... But they stood with their black brothers and sisters.  They did that because they wanted to identify with their friends who were being marginalized, who weren't able to enjoy the same benefits and freedoms they did."

She doesn't answer.  She's trying to keep her "I'm mad at you" face on, but I can see she's thinking...

"Well, that is a big part of why we are going to this new church.  Remember a couple of weeks ago, when Pastor Nancy baptized baby L?  Remember how she had us gather round, up close to the basin so we could all see?  Remember how tiny he was?  You know, L has three older brothers, cutest little guys you ever did see, and he has two dads.  Remember how we talked about that?  They love God and they love each other and they love their kids, very much.  They want their kids to grow up in the church, learning about God's Love and worshiping together with others, the same way Daddy and I want that for the four of you."

I stroke her cheek with the back of my forefinger.  She glances my way, waiting for more.  

"Well, here's the thing, baby ... L's dads probably wouldn't have been able to baptize their son at our old church.  Their family would not feel welcome there.  I've been thinking and praying about this a lot, and I ... I'm just not okay with that anymore.  We can go to church anywhere we choose, but they can't - and I think Jesus wants us to identify with our gay friends and their families, right now.  This new church is a place where everyone is truly welcome, no matter what.  And that's really, really important to me."

Granted, there are other contributing differences - stuff I've pondered on this very blog - and I'm sure one day she and I will talk about those, too.  But this - this is tangible, it involves real people she can see.  And maybe I should have talked to her about this before now... I probably should have talked to all of them about this before now, but I've been hesitant to.  The last thing I want to do is paint our friends from the other church as bad people.  They are not bad people.  I love those people.  I have no desire to sever relationships with them - none.  And yet, awkward and even painful as it is, there's no way around the divisiveness of this issue.  I wish it weren't like that, but it is. And we have to deal with what is ... at least until what is becomes what will be.  (oh blessed hope!)

She is quiet.

"Hey?  I know your heart, baby - I know your compassion. But I also know that right now, you wish we could stay at the old church.  I get it - I do.  And we can talk about this as much and as often as you want.  But ... (I swallow hard) ...we aren't going back."

She sighs, and finally speaks again, "Well, can I at least help in the nursery every week? I really liked playing with the babies and little kids." 

I smile and tell her I don't know about every week, but that I promise to look into it.  I remind her how much she loved playing Mary in the Christmas pageant, and offer a few more ideas about how she might participate.  Since it's a small congregation, kids her age are encouraged to be involved in a variety of ways - one lady there has already told me she's been known to alter the acolyte robes so children can wear them. And I've already read about an upcoming Mardi Gras celebration!

She shrugs, signalling, "I'll think about it."

We're at the drop off point now.  She gets out of the car, but turns to face me before closing the door.  Her eyes have softened.

"I love you, Mom."

"I love you, too, baby - very much!"

A smile as the car door slams.

A quick wave bye.

And she's off,

to do some pondering of her own...