Monthly Archives: September 2008

September 28, 2008–All of our Sunday School classes are focused on a creation story. Some focused on the Creation (Genesis 1) story, some on the Adam and Eve story, some both stories side by side, and still our oldest children heard about the creation or beginning of our church, St. Martin’s.

The two creation stories found in Genesis don’t necessarily explain each other. They sit there side-by-side, and many, if not most, people don’t say “What’s up with this?” I don’t know how folks deal with this when debating Evolution theory textbooks, but I digress… Once again, children seem to be perfectly comfortable with these two stories being held together.

Among the many jewels in each story, if I took a favorite pearl from each, they would be this: when God looked upon creation, God saw it was good and we are created in God’s image, to have dominion of the earth. So it is established in Genesis 1, that God liked this creation, so much so, on the seventh day God rested. Probably laid in a hammock for a few million years smiling about how wonderful it is. God loves each bouncing atom, smiling face, gurgling volcano.

And then we go on to find out we are made to be LIKE God–imago dei. So much so, we have dominion or in other words, are to be God-like over the creation. The precedent is already set, what it means to be God-like—to love, to care, to revere, to rest over this wonderful creation. Each bouncing atom, smiling face, gurgling volcano and you. As this great big story unfolds, God’s people learn what that really means.

How have we responded in our classes to caring for God’s Creation? Our Godly Play classrooms have been “green” as we can be for about five years. We use reusable cups and cloth napkins. This action was taken after a child noticed how much trash we put in our trashcan after one “Feast.”

It is these types of responses I live for in a circle of children learning about God. These types of responses are the surprises, the ah-ha’s that take your breath away and shift your paradigm. “Bouncing on the bread and swimming in the wine” was a response by a five-year-old boy to the wondering question “where are you in this story?” The story before us was the Godly Play story, the Faces of Easter. The card he pointed to was the picture of Jesus at the last supper.

The picture doesn’t appear to have any dancing, bouncing or swimming. The looks on the faces before us aren’t especially joyful. But somehow, the boy saw himself in that painting, and he was joyful, playful–bouyant even. So much for unleavened bread, not much bounce.

The truth was the little boy’s life wasn’t too rosy either. His mom was recovering from emergency brain surgery. His worry over what he knew and what he felt like he should know, showed on his face in the weeks prior to this response. His little friends in the circle around him prayed fervently and out loud for the mom. They gave him a break on the playground, in the lunch line–they took care of him. However, this day mom was better, definitely on the road to recovery. It felt lighter, the air, that day.

So his comment shouldn’t have blindsided me like it did, but I love these blindsides. This response, and similar amazing words from children, seems to point directly toward God–just as God says “peek-a-boo.” There seems to be an ability, seemingly unique to the childlike, to place the hard stuff of life and the joyful play of life together like a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

This past summer, Souls, Young and Old, at Play and in Story gathered at a like-named international conference in Berkeley, California. Presenter and theologian, Dr. Rebecca Nye, compared her concept of the “reflective soul” and the “refractive soul.” She offered that when presented with concepts spiritual, perhaps children “refract” instead of “reflect.” Those who sit beside children learning religious language, walk beside children in the woods or rest beside them reading a bedtime story could probably support this hypothesis. They can blindside us with their (refracted) insight.

So maybe that is why Jesus mentioned welcoming children at least eight times in the Gospels. If we could somehow be like them or at the very least welcome them, maybe we could have just a bit of this playful clarity. Maybe we wouldn’t think of God as either the commanding puppeteer pulling our strings or the disassociated Creator, watching this creation spin out of control. Maybe we could join the game of peek-a-boo? Maybe we too could bounce on the bread and swim in the wine.

I wanted to begin by telling you about this photograph and what it has to do with minstry and children. It is a vacation photo from a family trip a few summers ago to Assateague Island in Virginia (inspired by a two generation fixation with the book, Misty of Chincoteague).

This is the last photo in a series that chronicles an afternoon of playing on the beach. I started drawing a giant labryrinth in the sand. That is an easy task if you have a few miles of pristine beach to start over if you mess up. However, this one, I took my time. I thought about it. The rest of my family ran here and there, dancing with the waves. I was really concentrating, so I didn’t notice my youngest daughter, about four, starting some little creation of her own several yards away. She didn’t bother me and I didn’t bother her. We just kept our heads down working.

When I finished drawing I started walking around the labyrinth. When I came to the end, and looked around a bit, I saw my daughter’s own little spiral, both whimsical and serious, just a short distance from mine. She walked her labyrinth, too. Then the whole family joined in, walking around and around the spirals. (I’m sure we looked a little strange from a distance.) Then my little daughter, carefully and seriously walked around the big labyrinth I had drawn. One path in, one path out–no way to get lost. When she came to the center, she threw up her hands and “click” my husband snapped this photo.

Dr. Jerome Berryman, creator of the Godly Play movement, offers children’s response to the expanse of the ocean. Children, when faced with a view of the ocean, so vast and awesome, they turn their backs and dig their own hole, their own little ocean. The daughter, when faced with her mother’s labyrinth, will make her own–and maybe walk her mother’s path in her own way and time.

Walking beside children on a their spiritual journey is a profound honor. Adults feel the need to model a Godly life, guide toward the best ways to live, steer away from things dangerous. Do we think our own path, directs our child’s feet? Maybe instead, it is their skipping, kicking and dancing on our well designed paths, that change us, not them. This joy and fearlessness in the face of the great expanse of ocean, in praise and thanksgiving for the One that creates, redeems and sustains it all–isn’t that the real path?