The children came into the WorshipArts room noticeably energized on the morning of April 23rd.  It was “Holy Hilarity” Sunday and there were several elements I thought they might comment on, but clearly Mike Horner’s “Grocery Gospel” was upper most in their minds!  While a couple of references seemed to have escaped them, they caught many details and were wholly enamored with the story of Cheezits – his life and his death.  Rolling away the Tombstone  was a highlight for them. (“I bet that pizza was really stale.”)  And the response to doubting Thomas – “I can’t believe you’re not butter” – was probably mine!

More than anything I’m guessing it was the disarming and uniting nature of humor Rosi referenced that really created the emotional stir I sensed in them.  They were buzzing – (literally, as one child still  had the kazoo that was handed to all during the service) – and a spirited child leapt out of his chair and said, “It’s like the real is ridiculous!”

And so I asked, “Is it okay to laugh in church?”  Suddenly they were very serious.  “It depends,” one voice cautioned.  There was some silence as they thought about this.  “Sometimes joking about something feels kind of like bragging a little bit,” came a hesitant response.  “It might be mocking just a little,” another explained.  “How can we tell?” I queried.  Again some thoughtful silence.  “At the end of a joke, everyone is laughing.  But at the end of mocking, the other person isn’t laughing,” came a wise explanation from the same young voice.  “So it’s ok to have fun, but not ok to make fun?” I questioned.   “It’s ok if that person is laughing too,” they concluded.

I think it is safe to say that everyone seemed to be laughing during the service that Sunday.  Young and old, we were united through kazoos and groceries; through love and laughter; through the ridiculous and the real.

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One by one the children poured small cups of water into the baptismal bowl during Children’s Time on Sunday.  “Just simple tap water,” Renee told them.  And yet this ordinary water becomes an agent for transformation through hands and hearts in the sacrament of baptism.

As an adult onlooker, I was touched by the baptism that took place in the service that morning.  I was especially moved by the inclusion of congregational children in the acts of preparation.  In the Mennonite tradition, baptism is indeed a community affair – marking also church membership and the personal choice to “wrestle” together with others in following Jesus as a way of life.

During WorshipArts, following the service, the children did not have much to say about the baptism ritual.  However, they worked with intent and care as they used watercolor paints to wash over the self-portrait outlines they had created last week.  As the colors transformed their images, they noted (with surprise and sometimes dismay) the unpredictable ways the wet paint flowed and changed the identities they had fashioned.  They, of course, didn’t appear to consciously associate this with the earlier baptism they had witnessed, but I couldn’t help but feel grateful for this subtle, yet valuable, contribution these children were bringing to my own understandings of  Believer’s Baptism in the Mennonite faith.

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Those lifted up in Ruth’s prayer on Sunday included children, “who are still learning and shaping their identity.”    So true.

In September our Worship Arts explorations began with names – perhaps the first and foremost identifier for each of us.  The current worship series, Being Mennonite, opens exploration of another facet of identity that many of us may (or may not) see as part of who we are.  At what point in our lives do each of us begin to claim various identifiers as our own?

This week we began creating self-portraits as a stepping stone in this overarching – and ongoing – process of asking, “Who am I?”  Not an easy task… but clearly one that is taken seriously by these young congregants, as evidenced by a recycle bin full of false starts before yielding a tabletop full of promise!

One of our stated goals for Worship Arts is, “Facilitating authentic participation in the worship service.”  Time and again I have been so grateful to Ruth and the worship team for the creative and varied ways children have been naturally woven into the fabric of the service or an extension of the service at Rainbow.

On Sunday we shared an “anthem” with the congregation.  The origin of WorshipArts at Rainbow really began as a children’s choir program, but for a variety of reasons, through the years this has morphed considerably into the program that is practiced today where singing is only a small part of how we spend our very brief time together between Worship and Sunday School.  And so it is with deep gratitude that we often enlist the support of others to help us broaden the possibilities when we offer our voices in worship.  Thank you  Melissa, Vickie, Christina, Jan, Linda, Amy, Becky, Natasha, and Janelle for joining us in song this week.

In a service where we heard about Mary’s Magnificat song, it felt right to hear women’s voices behind us.  In a service where we were surrounded by the pink color of Joy and Inclusion, it felt good to contribute an anthem.  And in a service where the children’s time focused on all the colors of emotions, I had to wonder what color “gratitude” might be?

Just to be sure, we write this post as a Rainbow-colored thank you to all those supporting our song!

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We didn’t have time during WorshipArts on Sunday to talk about what we noticed in the worship service that morning …but WOW!  The setting was rich with sensory stimulation.  The child in me was enveloped by the sanctuary transformation- starting with the wreaths and carved ornaments accenting the vibrant blue entry doors and culminating in the magnificently arresting deep, layered, nightscape gracing the front of the sanctuary.

Details, including the colorful ornaments inspired by Ruth’s word cloud, contributed to the conversation the environment was creating.  It felt as if the surroundings were speaking – contributing to the whole.  By the time composer Paul Rudy’s sound meditation was heard, first separately and then as accompaniment for the choir, I was filled with gratitude for the creative hearts and minds that fill this space; that fill these pews.

“What does peace feel like?” was the question asked during Children’s Time.  What does peace look like?  Smell like?  Sound like?

Perhaps like artists and musicians, writers and readers, crafters and technicians… who stir our senses and deepen the dialogue.

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*If stormy clouds should hide the stars,                                                                                                                        no fearful thought is mine.                                                                                                                                          Far beyond, far beyond all earthly shores                                                                                                      The stars, the heavenly stars still shine.

We used our time on Sunday to learn these words – the 2nd section of the piece we are planning to sing in worship during the Advent season.  (“They’re called lyrics.  I know because my dad is in a band,” one friend told us.)

As we turned our attention to singing, a small voice interjected, “What about our Q?”  Not sure I had heard her correctly, I asked, “Did you say you want me to give you a cue?”  “Like this,” she affirmed, lifting her chin in a gesture most musicians would recognize.  Yes, we explained, a cue is a signal.  In this case, a signal so that everyone will know when it is time to start singing by taking a breath together.

Collective Breath.  Such a beautiful image!  Such a difficult reality!!

During our WorshipArts time, speaking for the adults, I’m sure we are giving numerous cues.  The intentional ones may include cues to promote engagement, cues to provoke reflection and critical thinking, cues for behavior expectations.  And it is true that the children are also giving cues – often physical cues that may indicate, “I’m thinking – give me time,”  “I’m confused,”  “I’m excited,” or “I’m bored.”  Cues that may indicate, “I WANT ATTENTION,” or “please don’t call on me.”

With the wide age-range in our group – and a somewhat non-traditional format – we do sometimes struggle to meet all the needs and our intentions at the same time.  What happens when needs and intentions are in conflict with each other?  Mutually exclusive even?  What happens when it feels like there isn’t enough time to see our ideas through?  How do we honor the voices that are heard and the voices that are not always heard… or even absent?

Several years into this, and I still don’t know the answer.  But week after week, we lift our eyes… or a chin – and start with a collective breath.

                                                                             *anthem lyrics by Pauline Delmonte

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During Children’s Time on Sunday, jars of peanut butter and boxes of baking mix were lifted overhead in the pews.  The children scattered throughout the sanctuary gathering them up and bringing them forward.  These contributions for Crosslines Christmas Store are destined to help someone in need this holiday season.

In WorshipArts we closed our eyes and tried to think about a time when we really, really wanted something that we didn’t have.  Maybe a time when we really, really wished something would happen – but didn’t know how to make it so.  What does it feel like to want? Can we even imagine need?  (One child recognized that his desires were shaped by the things that others already seemed to have.)

In her first ever sermon, Renee spoke about – and shared her own personal lament.  “What did that sound like?” I asked the children.  “I think she was talking to God,” one responded.  I wondered, aloud, how children lament?

And then we sang, briefly introducing the first stanza of this beautiful anthem we hope to learn in the coming weeks.

Stars are for those who lift their eyes.  We stand on a cloudless night and look and look up at a million, million stars.  So distant, so distant and so bright.  I wonder if the towering trees and mountains tall and white are reaching up, as our thoughts do, toward God who gives us light…

In days and nights of want …   and of plenty, I hope these children will continue to:

Lift their hearts in empathy

Lifts their hands in service

And Lift their eyes to the heavens.

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The conversation in WorshipArts took an unexpected turn on Sunday when Rosi explained that the congregation was staying in the sanctuary after the service in order to vote.  Curiosity moved toward concern when the children learned that the adults were voting on Ruth’s contract renewal.  Clearly the idea that a pastoral role could be up for debate had never occurred to them.  “Don’t we need two people (for a vote)?”  We explained that this vote was not a choice between two candidates, but rather a choice between yes-keep Ruth as our pastor for the next 3 years, or no-don’t keep Ruth as our pastor for the next 3 years.  “We should keep her forever,” came the swift and seemingly representative response!

“I want to vote,” said another.  And so we did.

An older child offered to make the ballots and we discussed how to mark their choice.  “Should we put our name on it?” one asked.  “Is this ana..ano..animos?” another chimed in.  Yes, voting is usually anonymous, we concurred.

They worked diligently and then we began to collect the ballots.   But the next question once again started a flurry of discussion…”Do these count?” a child asked.  Well, technically you have to be a member for your vote to count we told them.  “I want to be a member,” we immediately heard.   “I AM a member – I know because my whole family are members,” came a sure voice.   We wondered together about how old you have to be to be a member; do you have to be baptized to be a member?  Suddenly there were new questions; perhaps new frustrations.

During Children’s Time in the morning’s worship service, the young listeners had heard how all of their feelings mattered – even the difficult emotions.  They were told that adults in this church are ready to hear about the good AND the hard in their lives.  And together we listened to an adult congregant tell her own story of struggle.

As we concluded WorshipArts and tallied the ballots, I worried that the group left perhaps feeling disappointed in the realization that the ownership they felt in the church had been somehow diminished a bit through the membership discussion.

But I also hope they left knowing that in this church their voices count, even when their votes do not.

As for the WorshipArts ballot results … anonymous and unanimous.

It’s Ruth for the win!

Our task on Sunday was to share a bit about WorshipArts with the broader congregation.  During the Children’s Time, we did that… and the congregation joined in.  As we sang the story of God calling “Moses, Moses” – the voices in the pews responded, “Here I am.”

Perhaps you sensed our initial vulnerability.

We sensed your support.

Afterward, in the WorshipArts room, we talked about it for a bit.  “You were worship leaders today.  How did it feel?”  A child who also served as an usher talked about the somewhat uncomfortable sensation that everyone was looking at him – and yet, they mostly agreed, it was fun.

And so it goes in a church – we are called and we respond – with vulnerability and with love.

We took off our shoes as we entered the WorshipArts room on Sunday.  What did it feel like to hear those words, “Remove the sandals from your feet, for the place on which you are standing is holy ground”?  With the morning’s scripture verse in our minds, we wondered together about that mysterious concept – holy.

“God’s Land,” came the first, somewhat tentative attempt to define Holy Ground.  “Like the Holy Spirit,” and “a dove,” responded two others.  We struggled.  “I have it – but I can’t say (describe) it.”  They pressed on.   “Like holy cow! – it’s like you’re amazing.”  “It’s like Wow!”

Hmmm… Can you name something that you think is holy?  “A church,” was the quick response.  So we thought about our church and what about it seemed holy.  Thoughts of “quiet” and “beautiful” came forth.  “Because we are Mennonite and we think God is a good person,” offered another child. Rosi shared how the quieting moment between the rustling of the gathering congregation and the start of the worship service prelude often feels holy to her.

And then this…

What makes us feel holy?

“When we feel completed,” a child answered.    I had to pause.

Surely we were standing on God’s Land.