Sundays with SpongeBob

I’m not sure whose idea it was to get the Children’s Liturgy children to do the offertory procession but I’m starting to think it was a bad idea. We are milling about at the back of the church, this small gang of preschoolers and me, but we shouldn’t be here. At least, not yet.

Here’s how it goes: twice a term, I stand at the front of the church while a group of children emerge from the congregation and we move off to the room at the side. We read the gospel together and have a discussion. This involves me trying to talk about God’s plan for creation and the children telling me about Spongebob and broken dishwashers and actually did you know my aunty is staying in my house she is actually from Singapore but she is actually staying in my house and she’s staying for two weeks?

Luckily, the kids haven’t seen the coloured wool and icy-pole sticks, so we can line up by the door as if this was always the plan.

Marina is my assistant. Marina’s job is to keep an eye on Mass through the window in our door, and to shoot me an occasional look of solidarity. Because here’s the thing: we don’t know how long our session needs to be. Sure, we always go back after the homily, but how long will that take? We’ve been having supply priests lately. Sometimes you can guess the length of a priest’s sermon just by looking at him, but you can never be sure and you need to be flexible.

I’m about to start our activity, but Marina is flapping her hands. That was a really quick homily! Luckily, the kids haven’t seen the coloured wool and icy-pole sticks, so we can line up by the door as if this was always the plan.

Marina walks at the front and I walk at the back as we coax this small posse from the side of the church to the back of the church. Usually the collection is happening at this point, which disguises our disruption, but they don’t seem to have started.

It is not until we reach our spot at the back that I realise. The short sermon? There was a reason for it. Another man, a man in a suit and tie, is standing at the lectern. He is saying words like ‘fiscal’ and ‘projection’ and ‘parish’ and ‘outcome’. He has a slide up with a pie chart. All nine children begin to wriggle as one. What do I do?

Children’s ministries are an essential yet sometimes overlooked part of the Church’s mission. Whether they are programs held within Sunday Mass (like Children’s Liturgy of the Word, children’s choirs, Little Sprouts and Godly Play) or programs held at other times (like Catechesis of the Good Shepherd, parish-based youth groups and Sacramental preparation classes), these ministries provide education, connection and ways to enter into the life of the parish.

Sometimes the best approach is to minister to the entire family. What are the barriers preventing young families from attending Sunday Mass? How can the parish support and encourage families with young children who already attend?

It is my hope that the creation of World Children’s Day will enrich parish children’s ministries in the same way that World Youth Day enriches youth ministries.

Safety, always, is paramount. If a parish wishes to claim a genuine commitment to the Gospel, then it can’t settle for anything less than a strict commitment to child safety. In a similar way, staff and volunteer helpers need to be adequately supported to avoid burnout. This doesn’t need to be a complicated set-up, but it’s important that clear and sustainable processes are in place.

In Rome this year, on 25–26 May, Pope Francis has instituted the Church’s first ever World Children’s Day. Children from all over the world, together with their families, are invited to come to Rome to celebrate Mass with the Holy Father. In his letter to children, Pope Francis writes ‘All of you, girls and boys, are a source of joy for your parents and your families, but also for our human family and for the Church, in which each of us is like a link in a great chain stretching from the past to the future and covering the whole earth.’

I am intrigued by this initiative. It is my hope that the creation of World Children’s Day will enrich parish children’s ministries in the same way that World Youth Day enriches youth ministries.

The man at the lectern is now gesturing to a picture of a question mark inside of a lightbulb. Marina and I do our best to keep everyone quiet and still. Back in the side room, there is a whole basket of tricks I could have used to keep the kids engaged for this extra time. We could have sung songs. We could have done an activity. But we are here now. And moving this group back and forth is more complicated than it sounds. No, it looks like I will need to keep this rabble quiet here at the back of the actual church. Things could get ugly.

My decision not to give Max an article to carry is vindicated as he shoots down the aisle like a rocket, leaving the rest of us in his wake, as if the offertory procession were some express delivery service.

Finally, Suit Man returns to his seat, so I turn my attention to the offertory procession, specifically: who gets what. Do I trust Benedict with the cruets? What if he spills them? Why is Evie lying down? Frances is too young to carry the ciborium, but she is incensed that her older sister has been given the job. And someone will need to carry our children’s lectionary back to the lectern. Maybe if I give it to Phoebe, she will stop trying to excavate the contents of her left nostril and focus more on the task at hand.

The musicians have started playing. Father is ready at the other end of the aisle. I shift the preschoolers into some sort of logical order and begin shepherding.

My decision not to give Max an article to carry is vindicated as he shoots down the aisle like a rocket, leaving the rest of us in his wake, as if the offertory procession were some express delivery service. He seems to realise his mistake halfway down, stops, and pelts back. As we approach the altar, it hits me. Not Max, at least not just Max, but an insight hits me too.

This is what it’s actually all about.

Children’s ministries are wonderful and important, but they are a means to an end. For all my strategies and theologising and carefully prepared craft activities, I don’t have the power to bestow faith on these children. That’s not my job. I am but walking beside them at the beginning of their faith life. All I can do is guide them to the altar and try not to get in the way as they meet Jesus. The rest is his job. And perhaps if I am humble enough, I might learn something too.