I step into the choir loft for worship prepared to see my son sitting with friends while Anna and her father serve as acolyte. Instead I see my daughter sitting huddled up in the corner of a pew, her big white bow shaking with each sob. She greets me with the most pitiful pout she can muster then averts her eyes to the floor to continue her cry. Despite my maternal instinct to rush to her side to comfort her or at least discover why she's sobbing, I'm pretty sure my choir instructor wouldn't approve of one member rushing into the congregation, white robe billowing behind, so instead, I attempt to communicate sympathy with my eyes and a smile.
A has taken up so much of my attention that it has failed to register that her dad and brother are no where to be seen. I glance toward the narthex to see A's best friend, Lucy in a white robe holding the cross. Directly in front of this sweet angelic vision is a small boy with mussed hair, wearing a bright green zip-front hoodie with the Teenage Mutant Ninja turtles displayed proudly on front and he's holding a bronze stick with a lit flame. Wait a minute! That's C, holding a flame, wearing a ninja turtle hoodie. Again, I fight the urge to rush through the congregation to the side of one of my children. His father stands behind him, grinning, as if this is one of his proudest parenting moments. Clearly, he finds it funny that our acolyte is dressed like a ninja turtle. A's distress is beginning to make sense, and I sit in the choir, trying to figure out why she is in the pew while her brother marches down the aisle with a live flame.
I watch uncomfortably as my son proceeds proudly up the aisle of the church, smiling broadly. Time has morphed into slow motion as I watch C turn his head and acknowledge everyone in the church, flame following his sudden, jerky motions, as he marches slowly up the aisle. Behind him, T strives to subtly wrest control of the taper from C's hand, sensing as I am, the distinct possibility of hair all across the church going up in flames. C insists on carrying by himself....jerk....T attempts to grab the taper back under control....jerk.....I attempt to slide under the pew.
Finally, they make it to the altar, and I watch, mouth gaping, as C and T continue to battle over control of the flame, T quietly fighting to light the candles without setting the church on fire. My little boy marches proudly into the choir loft and spots me. His smile widens. His dad tries to guide him up the stairs to the candle that sits behind the choir. C, with his eyes fixed on me, lunges toward the first step and tumbles to the floor, flame and all. His dad gracefully grabs the taper with cat-like speed. C, from the floor, shouts, "I'm ok!" and clumsily clambers back to his feet. Giggles erupt, which further fuels C's silly antics.
The last candle is eventually lit and C and his dad make their way to their place in the congregation. I watch as my daughter sticks her feet up so C can't get through. A small scuffle ensues between my two children. Please don't lose sight of the fact that I'm in the choir loft, getting ready to sing the call to worship and oh, yes, we're in the middle of a worship service. A defiantly crosses her arm and leaves her feet out, so her brother is unable to get to his seat. As if all eyes weren't already on the ninja turtle acolyte, now my children decide to entertain the congregation with A Tale of Two Siblings. My friend and fellow choir member chooses this moment to break my tension by signing the attendance register for me, listing my family as Turtle Mom and her hatchlings. A finally gives in and my son sits down to wait for the children's sermon, where the minister asks that the children, "Join him reverently at the advent wreath." I think that's the first time I recall him using the word reverently when introducing the children's sermon, but I'm sure it has nothing to do with what just happened.
I don't think it is any coincidence that today we lit the "Joy" candle. While I was writhing in my seat, battling my maternal duty with my choir duty, the church was treated to the absolute, unquenchable joy of a little boy thrilled to have the responsibility of acolyte. While some may say it distracted from worship and ultimately from God, and that's a valid argument, I believe it reminded many of God's joyous gift of children. C insisted on wearing his ninja turtle hoodie over his dress clothes because it brings him joy and he really felt the church needed to share in that. His behavior wasn't necessarily as silly as it was joyful. He was part of leading the worship of God and in child-like faith and wonder, he tended to his duty with delight. Even A got in on the act at the end of the service when she took over her brother's role as acolyte. I think I even saw a smile on her sweet face as she stepped into the same spot where her brother had fallen earlier.
Once I overcame my initial embarrassment, I thought about how Jesus scolded the disciples for keeping the children from coming to him and exclaimed, "Let the little children come to me! Do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these." Jesus delighted in the unpredictable, lovable, faithful joy of children. While we may not know what to expect when they participate in worship, it's a reminder that we are to approach God with the faith of a child, and it also allows children the honor of not merely attending worship but of also participating, which ultimately makes the act of worshiping God more meaningful to them. Watching children delight in worship reminds me, as one who sometimes goes through the motions of worship, failing to be mindful and present in the presence of God, to approach my loving, heavenly father with wonder and awe. Like my children, who are often surprising and wild, so is the love and grace of God.
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