On Holy Week Worship with Kids

(Adapted from a message sent to my congregation's parents and grandparents)

Dear Parents and Grandparents,

Just a word about Maundy Thursday and Good Friday services as it relates to children:

I have no childhood memories of Good Friday or Maundy Thursday. Of course my understanding of the story of Jesus involved the Last Supper, his death, and the cross, but my tangible, communal experience of Holy Week moved from the playful joy of the Palm Sunday processional to the redemptive celebration of the resurrection the next Sunday on Easter.  Other than my mom’s private prayerful practice of fasting half the day on Good Friday, that day didn’t register much for me.  

In retrospect, the experiential, communal, church story of Holy Week for me was mostly positivity and cheer.  It wasn’t until much later that I came to experience the darkness of the cross: the experience of God with us coming into our suffering and bearing it with us. The powerful recognition that the shadows are as much a part of our journey as the light, and that in Christ, the place God most promises to be is in those places of sorrow and suffering.  Truly, we are not only not alone, but God brings life out of the death of us.

The world is filled with fearful things. Kids do not miss this. They feel life’s pain and see it in the world around them.  That Jesus takes all suffering into himself, and into the heart of God, is a promise for all of us, no matter what age.  

My family has been coming to Good Friday service since my children were very young.  At LNPC the service is multi-sensory and moody. We read through the end of Christ's earthly life contrasting the seven last words of Jesus with the seven days of creation.  Many people in the congregation stand to read scripture, and our readers are all dressed in black. It feels different in the sanctuary than it does on Sundays, or on our cozy, warm, candlelit contemplative Saturdays. There is a somberness and solemnity to the evening, it's sad and a little bit uncomfortable, as we extinguish candles one by one and end in darkness. The service ends with a loud bang, and we all leave the sanctuary in silence. 

For my kids’ whole childhood they have attended Good Friday service, and since they were in car seats, we have driven all the way home from church in silence (beginning by hilariously reminding a toddler each time she'd forget - every 90 seconds or so...). We don’t speak until we set foot in the house.  A few years ago, I forgot this.  My kids met me silently at the church door and we walked to the car without speaking, and then I remembered, and felt grateful that they'd held the silence when I’d forgotten.  

 

We’ve talked this Lent about the “liturgies” that shape us (here, here, here, and here). The counter-forming practices of our faith tell us the real story, when so much around us tells us a different story.  God comes into all of it alongside it, to bear it with us and for us. God is not just there when things are going smoothly, or when we feel happy and upbeat.  God comes into the scary and sad parts of life – we are not alone.  This is the real story.

 

I want to encourage you not to avoid bringing kids to Maundy Thursday or Good Friday services, no matter their age. We absorb stories by experiencing them alongside others.  And Easter Sunday feels far more significant when witnessed and felt within the context of our whole salvation story.  

We are all church together, and we worship just as we are, however we are.  These worship services may open up interesting conversations in your family. At the very least, they offer a shared experience that speaks to us in music, darkness, scripture, ritual, and communal practice.

 

Blessings this Holy Week.

 

Kara

A Way to Pray: 40 Days Towards Love

A year ago, I was preaching at Collins Street Baptist Church in Melbourne, Australia, just after the US Presidential Inauguration.  Before I got up to speak, I looked out into a congregation of faces filled with empathy, and was asked this earnest question: 

"America is facing a time of great uncertainty with a change of leadership. There are many rejoicing and may grieving at the change. How can we best pray for you and people like you seeking to live the gospel in these times?"

And then these people on the other side of the globe committed to praying for my congregation throughout the year.  I was so moved by their care and their prayer that I was inspired to begin a weekly service of Prayer for the Nation.

These services took shape around a practice with 80+ Prayer Hearts, all bearing names of different people, groups or realities in our country. Every Friday morning, I sit with one or two others, and we hold a few of these hearts in our hands and feel our own hearts open toward God, our neighbors, and those we feel divided from.

This practice has become a significant spiritual discipline for me.  At the end of the week, sometimes the news, arguing, rallying, blaming, finger-pointing and fear-mongering feels like it has built up on my skin in dirty layers. My spirit is knotted tight in my gut and I feel weary and drained.  

But when I sit in this place for a half hour, my heart open up. 

I see all these names of people and places before me, and I feel my spirit soften. 
I choose 4 or 5. Sometimes they are ones that make me ache with sadness and longing, sometimes they are names that make me bristle with defensive anger. Often, it's a mix of both.  When I hold them in my hand and pray, I can feel the layers begin to melt away.  I release anxiety, fear, worry and frustration. I most often leave feeling peace.  It makes me ready to begin again in vulnerability and openness, to practice the belonging to God and to all others that changes the world.

Lent is just around the corner. And suddenly last week my friend Lilly, (who is an amazing Worship Curator), had an Epiphany - we should create a Lenten Prayer experience with these Prayer Hearts.

So we did!

And my congregation is going to use it through Lent.

It is not time-consuming to do, but it is challenging, because it gets underneath our defenses and labels to our own hearts, and seeks to let God move us towards love.

Our 40 Days Towards Love Lenten Prayer Tool is a downloadable resource that comes with a Leader's Guide and the 80+ prayer hearts, and is available in versions for individuals/families or communities/congregations, and in US or International formats.  It includes lots of bonus materials, like optional weekly action steps, prayer stations, Good Friday and Easter ideas, and ideas for using them beyond Lent. 

This kit is designed to use the Prayer Hearts for Lent, but these Prayer Hearts can be used ANY time, in LOTS of ways, (they could even be used in non-religious settings).

I loved creating this with Lilly, and I am thrilled to be sharing it with you. I hope it can be as meaningful for you, your family or congregation, as it has been for me.


See the 40 Days Towards Love Congregation Version
See the 40 Days Towards Love Individual/Family Version

Sabbatical is a-comin'

In a few weeks I will begin my three-month Sabbatical – my extended Sabbath. Sabbath is time and space dedicated to being instead of doing.  At LNPC we talk about Sabbath as stepping outside of all the things that layer on and around us, so that we can remember whose we really are and observe who we truly are. And God declared it necessary, because without Sabbath we slip into a mindset of slavery, and a relentless pace of fractured and scattered half-living, instead of a cohesive existence of wholeness and fullness, rooted and grounded in love. But like the Israelites released from Egypt, when faced with freedom, it makes us very nervous.

OK, I’ll own it: it makes me very nervous.

I love being a pastor. I love my job. It is deeply integrated into who I am and I have great joy in fulfilling my role alongside and with my congregation. I am comfortable in my routines, responsibilities and I can see how I often measure how successful my days and weeks are by how much I’ve done, produced, or contributed, how many tasks are checked off my list. Take those things away, and what might I find?

 If I am too much in silence, what loud things might come screaming out of me? 

If I have too much time to rest or play, too much space to think and dream, what will I find out about who I really am? 

What will God and I have to say to each other when we’re not talking shop?

What might happen in stopping…

I’ve stopped in an extended way once before. When Andy and I traveled around the world for six months in 2000, we put our lives and student loans on hold, gave up our apartment, put everything we owned in storage, and stepped off the grid (sort of), to travel. The first two weeks were vacationing and then we spent three months in Australia, living in a small flat on a university campus while Andy worked on his ThM from 9-5 each weekday and I did…well…nothing. I went from a lifestyle of constant studying, working, learning, doing, to having exactly two standing appointments a week: one with a professor to discuss a book I was reading, and one with his brilliant wife for an agendaless cup of coffee. I knew nobody else in the city. I had no other obligations, expectations or responsibilities. I was free to explore

and wander. To visit the outdoor market and downtown, to sit in the park and read, sit in a coffee shop and journal. But at first this freedom made me crazy. 

Looking back, here is what I observe about my first time of extended stopping, my accidental Sabbath:

Phase one: Detox.

For three weeks I was antsy, itchy, irritable. My freedom felt terrible; I was lonely and bored and overwhelmed. I craved structure and duty. I had trouble sleeping and woke early, sure there was something I should be doing, wracked with guilt. I obsessed over whether I had really earned this and was frantic to have something to show for it. I found books to read, made up papers to write, sought out preaching gigs and emailed in the library as much as I could. I could almost feel the adrenaline addiction rev to a frantic pace and then gradually begin to abate.

Phase two: Release.

Inside of just over a year, I had gotten married, finished seminary, been through the divorce of both my own parents and my husband’s parents, said goodbye to my classmates and friends, coworkers, apartment, and the life I had lived for three years, given up my home and set out with my husband on a journey around the world. And suddenly I felt it. All of it. All the confusion, pain, loss, exhaustion and exhilaration from the past year of my life began coming up and bubbling over. I started journaling frantically every day in the coffee shop on the corner, going for long runs and longer walks, talking out loud to God in the city park like a crazy person. I cried a lot and slept a lot and kept my two appointments a week.

Phase three: Waking up.

And then I started sleeping deeply, and tasting my food, and noticing birds and insects and flowers and people. I felt light and strong and adventurous and curious. I would go to the Queen Victoria Market twice a week and walk through the stalls and stalls of fresh vegetables, fruit and meats and dream about how I could combine them in our little kitchen with limited spices. I would ride the tram downtown, sit at an outdoor café, and come home with my produce in a bag and a loaf of French bread sticking out the top and a bunch of fresh flowers in my lap. I visited bookstores and art galleries and strolled along the river. I sat in on a two week class of pastors meeting to talk about authentic Australian Christianity, power structures, identity and faith and found myself fascinated and filled by the freedom to ask these questions as an outsider, to see myself and my own context anew and through different eyes. I laughed a lot, took a lot of photos, got to know interesting people and journaled more.

The rest of our trip around the world I felt present, conscious, alive. I learned more in those six months than I ever could have imagined and had experiences that shaped me forever.

Sabbatical’s Stopping

Based on my mixture of anticipation and terror, fatigue and excitement, I suspect I will go through similar phases in this extended Sabbath, which may look like this:

Detox: Adrenaline withdrawal from my multi-tasking, plugged in, juggling life is sure to kick off this sabbatical. I have gotten really good at doing lots of things almost all the time, and the momentum builds up. Coming to a screeching halt feels scary, even dangerous. I already feel the demons hovering, ready to descend: What if I waste it? What if I haven’t earned it? What if I squander this gift? What would make this time the most worthwhile (e.g., what should I be doing/producing)? 

Release: What have I been avoiding facing? What do I need to grieve? To celebrate? To pay attention to? To let go of? To embrace? Where will vulnerability hit me?  And how in the world will I survive missing out on all the fun going on at LNPC without me?!?

Awake: (I am excited for this part). What will I learn? What will I notice? What changes will occur in me? What integrations and invitations will I sense? I know gratitude is a big part, and simplicity, and presence, and I crave being fully present.

How will I spend my Sabbatical Time?

I've dreamed up some plans for stopping, which include:

• seeking to limit, as much as I can each day, multitasking. focusing on being fully present in each moment
• an epic scenic family road trip 
• meeting regularly with a spiritual director
• reading novels
• reading theology
• sleeping
• playing with my children
• playing with my husband
• retreating
• a pottery class, or a mosaic class, or, or…
• getting together with mom friends and lifelong friends
• writing, and meeting with people who write to talk about writing
• laying in my hammock
• gardening a little, baking a little, some yoga, some walking…
• ?

But I am trying to hold all of this loosely, in the spirit of Sabbath – with freedom, without obligation. 

I keep reminding myself that even if all my best laid plans fall through, God will meet me in this time set apart. And I know part of it will be hard and uncomfortable, and part of it will be glorious. And I know I will return changed and opened up to meet God, and my congregation, more fully and wholly.

So I am a little nervous, this is true. 

But mostly I feel awe and wonder, and grateful anticipation. 

What do you have up your sleeve, God?

Sabbatical, here I come! 

One month away.  

The countdown has begun...

This article (expanded) - and several others, appear in the "Current Word", LNPC Newsletter - Sabbatical Edition.  (You should read them - super smart and insightful people are part of our quirky little crew at LNPC, and the Sabbatical Task Force in particular!) I am so thankful for my congregation, and their breathtaking support of me and preparation for a sabbatical for the whole congregation during this time.  The anticipation and synergy is infectious!

"Innovative Children's Ministry Happens Where..."

The following is an article I wrote for the Winter 2012 APCE Advocate, "Trends and Innovations."

My children’s summer highlight is vacation Bible school, when 100 children and 70 adult volunteers come together for a memorable week of exciting activities and experiential Bible lessons.  My children sing the VBS songs  practically daily clear through Christmas. The only thing is they can never participate in the closing worship the weekend after VBS is over. They are nine miles away in our own little Presbyterian congregation, instead of

at the large Lutheran church where they attend mid-week choir and summer VBS.

We are not unusual in this. In my neighborhood, kids might be signed up for several VBSs in a summer, weaving them in between swimming lessons, Little League and multiple week-long day camps. Children are now often as booked, scheduled and programmed as their parents, if not more so. And there is little loyalty to one congregation—or even denomination— as families “shop around” for the best programs for their children.

As parents, we seek to give our children enriching experiences that strengthen skills or expose them to a variety of activities or perspectives. In the past, church could be the majority of a child’s educational or entertainment extracurricular activities, but we live in a culture where the opportunities for children far outstrip what churches can provide. And yet, we continue to try to compete against soccer and Girl Scouts.

My children attend VBS at a large church that can still pull off being a programmatic

center of excellence, when most mainline churches are shrinking and families’ obligations are growing. So we wonder, How can we do a good children’s program? How can we get families to come, choosing church over track meets or language camp? How do we “reach out” to families?

But perhaps these questions are the wrong questions.

I am fascinated instead by questions like: How can we be the church together for this time and place? Where is God’s Spirit moving among us? Who has God made us, this specific congregation, to be? What do our children, our people, our communities need that we are already equipped to provide?  At a time when families are busy, disconnected and tired, can the church offer rest, relationship and support? 

A few years ago our little congregation went through a time of intense reflection and dramatic transition, and we asked ourselves those questions. Among other things, we quickly realized that in an age when many people live far from extended family, our sanctuary is packed with grandparents and great grandparents, and our congregation is something of a stable “nest” for people who come and go. And while people are age-segregated in almost every other area of life, here we had young and old, readers and nonreaders, floor-sitters and wall-standers, all together in the body of Christ. 

We decided to stop competing with the rest of culture. Our younger families know where to get good programs and enriching experiences for their children and will continue to do so, with our blessing. We can be the people with whom these children have their belonging. 

With us they are free to ask questions, to voice their thoughts and fears. We will be the people that stand by them, listen to them and give them chances to lead. We can do faith together, seeking God in doubt and joy, all of us. Now shared meals, shared worship and shared prayers anchor our life together, and shared themes guide us. In children’s and adult classes and worship, we draw from the same well. Instead of lamenting that we can’t pull off age-segregated Sunday school classes, the children learn together in one group. In addition to exploring scripture through fun and varied means, they might prepare a prayer to lead later in worship. We’ve also flipped the “children’s time” of worship on its head, asking children to teach adults what they are learning, so that we can all learn together.

In our sanctuary there is a children’s area with quiet crafts at sitting and standing tables to help children participate in worship, and a rug for playing babies to hang out but also hear hymns. Instead of a staffed nursery, we have “children’s hosts” who assist families in worship, and can also leave for a spell with any kids who need a break from worship for a walk or time in the playroom with toys. 

For communion we all stand in a circle, serving one another—young and old—looking into the eyes of one much taller or much shorter than ourselves, and saying, “The Body of Christ, broken for you.” 

Last summer we held our second annual intergenerational vacation Bible school. All ages gathered together for story, music, and hands-on activities exploring God’s love. It’s a delightful experience for children to be in VBS with their grandparents, and for single people or those with grown children to share in the excitement and energy of learning and exploring with children.

Our congregation practices sabbath two Sundays a month. We set the day aside as a day of rest, meeting the evening before for worship and a meal that inaugurates our sabbath time. My young children have grown up with this three year-old pattern, and sabbath Sundays are one of the greatest gifts in our family’s life. We play, rest, and connect with each other in a different way than we do the rest of the week, and we say no to whatever might impinge on that time. 

I am grateful for our congregation, which lives faith in a way that runs counter to the craziness of our culture, and which nurtures people of all ages in seeking to participate in God’s love in the world.  Frederick Buechner said, “The place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet.” It could be said, then, that innovative children’s ministry begins by noticing where your congregation’s deep gladness and clear gifting meet the deep hunger and real need of the children and families among and around you. Then your joyful task is to adapt practices that live from this heart of God’s ministry that beats between and through you in this time and place. 

Kara K Root is pastor of Lake Nokomis Presbyterian Church in Minneapolis, Minn., a Christian community that shapes its life around worship, hospitality and sabbath rest.  She has a M.Div. with a concentration in spirituality/spiritual direction from Fuller Seminary, and is a Minister of Word and Sacrament and Certified Christian Educator in PC(USA). Being mom to two entertaining children and wife and proofreader to a wily theologian spices up her vocational calling and keeps her fully immersed in life. She’s written for Sparkhouse “re:form” curriculum, Homily Service Journal, Working Preacher, Clayfire Curator and Patheos, and blogs

about ministry and motherhood at “in the hereandnow.”