From the Bench

LOST CRAYONS AND LONG SERMONS

Many years ago, humorist Robert Benchley wrote an essay entitled, "Kiddie-Car Travel." His lead sentence was memorable. "There are two ways to travel, first class and with children." The same could be said for worship services.

One of the primary necessities for surviving a long or dull Sunday morning sermon with small children is crayons. Crayola should be enshrined in the "Church-going Parents Hall of Fame."

And if there isn’t such a memorial to victims, there should be.

I remember a particular Sunday morning many years ago. As the service began, my wife asked, "Where are his crayons?" "He" was two at the time.

"I thought YOU brought them," I answered.

"No, I got him ready, wrote the check, and filled out the offering envelope. I can’t do everything." She gave me a look that said, "If you want ‘Amazing Grace’, big boy, you’d best look in the hymnal."

Things got worse. I reviewed the program. The sermon topic was, "The Ten Commandments." Surely, he’s not going to cover all ten at one sitting, I thought. This is a sermon for January…..not May, with a forecast of sunny and eighty degrees. Days like this need "Love and Compassion". Fifteen minutes at most.

It was not to be. By noon he was only on number six. Cracks in my faith began to appear. "Is there REALLY a just and merciful God?" By the time he got to ten, my stomach was growling, "God is dead."

As our son grew, in stature if not wisdom, new problems arose. There was the children’s sermon, with its myriad possibilities for calamity. What if he gets lost down front and comes back up the wrong aisle? When he can’t find Mama, he gives voice to his frustration.

How will he act in front of all those people? Will he pick a fight with the little girl next to him? Will he scratch himself in inappropriate places? Will he blurt out something about his Uncle Jake, who drinks too much?

It is not conducive to a worshipful mindset.

More perilous times came when he discovered the balcony, where we were condemned for the next five years, when he separated himself from us forever.

A church balcony is a wondrous place for a small boy. From there he can see almost everything and everybody. What he can’t see becomes visible if he hangs over the railing and stretches out, coming perilously close to giving a dynamic illustration of the fall of man.

Doctor and Mrs. Burton had occupied the same pews for twenty years, directly under the balcony, until we began to perch above their heads. The morning they moved, Dr. Burton looked up at my son, and I could see the question in his eyes, "Is there REALLY a just and merciful God?"

Children test your faith in many ways, none more forceful than first-hand experience with your own. Recently my son was complaining about the behavior of one of his children in church. .

I didn’t say a word. I just smiled at him. He thought he had read my mind perfectly. Well, not quite.

My faith had come full circle. "Yes, there IS a just God."