One day a few years ago my son and nephew were talking as the adults served up food for a holiday feast. Out of the din I heard my son ask “Who’s Jesus!?”
All eyes turned to me. All I could say was “Well…that was a major mom fail, huh?”
My five year old had NO idea who Jesus was. Now, don’t ask me why this was a surprise to me or my family. Sure, I was raised Catholic. I even baptized my oldest. But I don’t attend Mass regularly. In fact I only go to funerals at this point. I had a bit of a falling out with God and his representatives in the Church, so I wasn’t motivated to send my son to catechism class. I thought it was tortuous when I was younger, so didn’t have any desire to relive it through my son.
Well, for several years I’ve periodically heard him ask “Mom, what are we?” I’d mumble something about how I “used to be Catholic” or “uhhhh…I dunno. Christian?” He recently had an argument with a friend at school over whether he even believed in God, and he was very upset about it. He had told his friend that he believed in God. He explained to me that he would continue to say so just so his friend would stay his friend. That wasn’t okay with me. That’s not a reason to believe in God. But I also couldn’t explain to him why he should/could believe in God. I needed some experts.
I’ve always said I believe in God and believe Jesus to be His Son. I also want my children to decide for themselves whether they believe in God and which faith/denomination, if any, appeals to them. I think that to decide those questions as an adult, you have to be exposed to it as a kid. I needed to give my kid a foundation in some faith.
So, I called up a friend who’d been attending a local church and who knew my feelings on church, generally. She invited me to bring my son to the Sunday kids’ service/instruction and for me to sit with her during the service. I agreed.
The night before I told my son that we were going to church the following day. He was visibly excited; his younger brother, less so. I asked him if he wanted to come with us.
He asked, “What will we learn?”
“Stories about God.” I said.
“Will we also learn about slime?”
“Uhhhh…no.”
“I’ll just stay with Dad.”
Yes, clearly I have work to do with him, but let’s get back to the feel-good story.
I woke up dreading having to go to Church. I felt like the Universe didn’t want me to go. I mean, it was cold and dreary and raining and I’m not very church-y or god-fearing. I whined to myself, grabbed our umbrellas and headed out. I lectured my son, who loves to talk, that Sunday school was the time to listen. I expected a small circle of chairs around a teacher who would lecture about God and sin. I expected him to be bored.
I got to the church (well, the middle school they hold services at), and my initial thoughts seemed to be confirmed. People were super welcoming and friendly and chatty, and it was so early in the morning. These are all things that are not remotely like any experience I’ve ever had at church. Church services started, and I heard the pastor invite all the congregants to greet each other. Ugh! It’s the “Peace be with you” part of Catholic Mass!: my LEAST favorite part of church (i.e., direct interaction with strangers). But I did it. They played music and sang loudly. People were singing along, waving their hands up in the air and seemed to be lively and enjoying themselves. I glanced at the clock to see how long I’d have to endure this. Then the pastor began his sermon. But it was strange to me. He was dressed informally, like anyone you’d meet on the street or in the grocery store. He never once said “Thee” or “Thine” or “Thou”. There was no set time for everyone to respond to what he said. If and when they felt like it, they’d say “Amen”. The Catholic school girl in me wanted to shush people. And here’s the real kicker. I totally enjoyed what he said. I heard useful things to apply to my own life. He even made me laugh several times.
The end of his sermon came and I expected a lot of ceremony to indicate the service was over, but there wasn’t the pomp I was used to. I walked back to pick up my son who was with the other kids. They were all crowded around a table at the far end of the room, talking and doing some activity. It took a good 5 minutes for him to actually walk over to me because he was having fun! I asked him if he had a good time. “Yep!” I asked him if he wanted to come back next week and he answered “Yes absolutely!” before I even finished my sentence. So, I suppose we’ve found something to do on Sunday mornings for a while, at least.
This story is my gift to moms out there who think that they should be teaching their kid something and just haven’t gotten around to it. I’ve heard a lot of mom judging lately and I want to share my less than shining example and how it can still work out just fine. I’ve been procrastinating on finding this kid a church since he was 3! I wish I had a lovely epiphany to share with you about this. I just wanted to share this story with those of you who can identify with experiences like this.
