Chaotic Peacefulness

 

Just what were we thinking? We were thinking that there is much in the world that needs our prayer, especially the war in Syria. So we planned a brief prayer vigil this evening at our church. We hoped it would be a time for folks to pause and pray for peace in community.

What we weren’t thinking about was the children, namely our own. With Nathan leading the prayers and me being there to help lead some hymns a cappella, our children would need to be there as well. And so as it has been before and will likely be again, our children were the only children present.

We thought an intimate setting would be ideal, so Nathan arranged chairs in a circle in the front of the worship space, between the altar table and pulpit. It’s a lovely space for singing. He put candles on the floor and colorful crosses. The setting was a lovely combination of cathedral and living room.

There were just enough chairs set up for the number of people who came, including two for our two boys (the toddler’s seat was free: my lap). And as you can imagine, without pews to spread out on and being up front near all the cool churchy furniture, the kids went a little nutso. Many moments were frustrated and I had to leave the circle more than once.

Yet as I reflect more on this half hour of chaotic peacefulness (I do think that juxtaposition is possible), I realize just how much these children added, not detracted from my prayer.

Yes, my five year old squirmed and ran off, but he danced. In so many cultures, music and dancing are the same word; they cannot be separated. So when Luke left his chair and started dancing around the altar, I wonder if he gets something the rest of us have forgotten.

Yes, the toddler cried, but she sang.  When I sat her down on the pew and gave her a hymnal, she opened it and sang a song without words for two entire stanzas of FINLANDIA (and bobbed her head in rhythm for emphasis).

Yes, the seven year old was unfocused much of the time, but he prayed. During the Lord’s Prayer, his boy soprano voice could be heard clearly, a needed balance to our adult monotones.

Yes, the seven year old interrupted the pastor (dad) before we sang Psalm 46. But he participated. He just wanted the rest of us to wait until he found his page and took off his coat because he was hot.

Yes, they interrupted peace, but they shared peace. Our shy eldest hardly ever wants to share the peace of Christ in worship by shaking hands. In this small, intimate setting, he freely shared it.

Yes, it is hard taking children to worship. I was reminded of this reading a line from a mentor, Paul Westermeyer, this evening:  ‘The discipline of worship, like training for a marathon, requires stretches of boredom if there are to be moments of insight and the deepest joys and sorrows”  (Rise, O Church: Reflections on the Church,Its Music and Empire, Morningstar Music Publishers, 2008), p. 20.

For parents with children, worship can be more frustration than boredom, but like training for a marathon, we can be worn out. Especially when caregivers of children get the sense that children need to be “seen and not heard” so that the adults, the important ones, can get on with what’s important.

But then there are these moments when we get our second wind, a generous dose of the Holy Spirit.  It’s in such moments that I am reminded of why Jesus welcomed the children. They teach us about how the Spirit speaks/sings to us in distracted moments of chaos as well as in prayers for peace.