The laugh part of my process in kids’ ministry is the kid stuff. The Lego towers and Magna-Tile castles, the art projects that depart our children’s chapel searching as a tornado, blew thru it—telling the kids my favorite Bible testimonies, assisting them to make Advent wreaths, and hiding hundreds of candy-stuffed eggs for them on Easter morning.
The tons harder part of the task is stepping return and wrestling with some huge-photo questions. Why do mothers and fathers warfare to get their children to church? What case can I make for Christianity when kids have such a lot of appealing options? Why must young humans dedicate themselves to nonsecular things when their wider community views such commitments as quaint, obsolete, and even regressive?
When I became developing up, I never heard each person ask those questions. The culture that raised me turned into so tightly religious, so uniform in its beliefs, and so self-reinforcing that there was no want to ask why we did what we did. We went to church on Sunday mornings because that’s what Sunday mornings had been for. We professed religion in God because God becomes self-evidently actual. We pursued nonsecular matters because the very fitness of our souls became at stake in the pursuit. Faith turned into no funny story—we had eternal destinies to at ease.
