About a year ago, I was trying to kill some time, wandering around the mall, when I noticed these epic Converse high tops decked out with dinosaurs in bold primary colours. I could totally pull them off in my bold, ironic way. These shoes were obviously for children. Sometimes I can fit into the upper end of children's shoe sizes. However, a quick google search told me that this particular style had not been manufactured up to my size. I bemoaned this to my roommate when I got home, and her reply was, "are you sure you're not supposed to be a children's pastor?"
Hold that thought.
I like
kids. I like hanging out and goofing around with them, talking to them, finding
out how they see the world. But I'm an introvert. I need alone time. I don't
have a loud yelling or screaming voice. I'm definitely not the stereotypical
super-extroverted, high-energy ball of sunshine with a car full of pool noodles
and beach balls that is somehow also the church person responsible for the
faith formation of young people. (Nothing against these people, they're
freaking rock stars for being all of these things).
In my
post-graduation job search, I had not even considered children's ministry
because I didn’t think I fit the stereotype. Yet, through the whole process, my
prayer was that God would open the right door--not necessarily the one I
thought to be the best. I've now got wet ink on an offer for a family and
children's ministry position--and feel a wonderful peace about it.
So, how
did that go down?
My
seminary degree was in spiritual formation, which chiefly concerns the
question: how do we become like Christ? How do we know him? How do we follow
him? How do we hear the voice of God? How do we understand his work? How do we
do his will? Unknowable quantities of ink have been spilled by academics and
laypeople alike, grappling with these questions.
Much of
my childhood and adolescence was spent within what I now sometimes
affectionately refer to as the "Suzuki cult." Shin'ichi Suzuki was a
Japanese music educator of the 20th century who developed a method of music
education whereby the child is extensively exposed to and surrounded by music
before they learn to play their instrument. This exposure begins from a very
young age (I won't quantify it because I know there are different schools of
thought here), with instrumental instruction beginning at a slightly older age
(I was once told by a hardcore Suzuki teacher that I 'missed the boat' by
starting violin lessons at the age of 6). I could probably come close to
writing a dissertation on Suzuki philosophy, but I will not do so here.
During my
undergrad I took some Suzuki teacher training courses which enabled me to
critically reflect upon the impact that this methodology had had upon my life
and worldview. Also at this time, I became a Christian, after being raised
going to church, but not really espousing organized religion. I took a year off
after graduation to intentionally grow in faith--and teach violin.
I was
called to seminary for reasons that were beyond my understanding at the time.
Part of the objective of these studies, personally, was to discover what God
was doing in my life. How on earth were all this Suzuki training, a science
degree in kinesiology, and all of the other things and eccentricities and experiences that have
made me me supposed to come together for God's purposes?
I learned
about playing Bach as a spiritual practice--something I'd done long before I
intended to connect to God. I discovered how ancient Suzuki's principles were.
The shema is an ancient Hebrew song, and also a set of instructions for God's
people. Teach your children about your faith. Show it to them lived out in your
life. Tell them the stories of how God has been alive and active in the lives
of others, so they might begin to recognize the tracing of his finger in their
own lives. Help your children to understand that God's story permeates every
aspect of their existence, and equip them to follow his lead.
Children's
ministry hardly has the reputation of being the ultimate destination
for seminary's best and brightest graduates. Actually, it has sometimes been
the place where the most precarious volunteers are positioned, sadly justified
by a mindset which says "they're only children." Children's ministry
isn't sexy--it's not always where everybody jumps in to serve. It's
unfortunately often been seen as an afterthought of "glorified
babysitting" while the real stuff happens for the adults in the sanctuary.
Kids are
people, too.
God
desires relationship with all of his children--including those that are
actually children. How do we help them develop that intrinsic desire to get to
know their Shepherd, and who He has called them to be as His image-bearers? How
do we create opportunities for growing in a lived understanding of the Kingdom
of God, for those to whom it belongs?
Children's
ministry is also a crazy amount of fun. It requires intellectual elasticity and
creativity and vitality and enthusiasm. It demands a sensitivity to the
developing person, the world they need to navigate, and the Author of the map.
In working with children, one is never just working with the individual child,
but with families, communities, and systems in all of their intricacies and
balances and rhythms. The potential for influence is enormous, the stakes are
high, and I pray that I will never feel that I have to shoulder this burden
alone.
Children's
ministry, for some strange and wonderful reason, is where God is calling me to
serve for this season. I'm praying the Prayer of Abandonment every day (often
more than once), ready to give of myself, and also to receive--from kids,
adults, and God. What a freaking gift. Amen.
(And,
when Converse starts making dinosaur high tops up to youth size 5 to
accommodate my tiny-but-not-that-tiny feet, I'll be the children's pastor
wearing dinosaur shoes).
