I planned a full schedule of boating, swimming, amusement parks and baseball games. My mother made one simple request for the week--that we attend church with her. My parents were anxious to have their church friends meet the kids. It seemed reasonable that my mother made this request. Okay so maybe there'd be just a little bit of stress in this vacation.
My parents attend a Baptist mega-church in the South--attendance of 3,000 at each of 3 services, choirs that top 300, multiple pastors and fantastic programming. But it was a Baptist mega-church in the South.
My kids attend church just about every Sunday. While they don't always have perfect behavior they at least know the basics. It didn't cross my mind to be concerned about their behavior. I was worried about mine. (Remember, I walk out of churches--see the blog titled: I Am A Promise.) At 5 and 3-years-old Peyton and Bennett were familiar with the rhythm of worship.
As we walked in the front doors of my parents' church, Bennett put on the skids. He refused to move. He pointed out that this was not his church and that he didn't want to be there. He was three and very skinny so it wasn't difficult to pick him up and carry him on my hip despite his protestations.
As we sat down and tried to get settled, Bennett continued to tell me that he didn't want to be in this church. He wanted his church. My mom pulled out her bag of tricks: Goldfish crackers, candy, crayons, gum. I found this just a bit odd since her bag of tricks when I was growing up was a dirty look and a promise of a spanking if I didn't behave.
Three thousand people singing a hymn can easily drown out a whining boy. During the announcements and prayer requests, there were enough audible "Amens!" to drown out Ben's small voice. But we had to pray at some point. We were instructed to bow our heads. I'm fairly certain that no one was praying harder than me. It was unreal that 3,000 people could be that quiet. Bennett waited until the sanctuary was absolutely still before screaming: "I hate this church and I want to get out of here now!!"
Never has one of his requests been honored so quickly. I'm pretty sure I ran over the tops of pews in my effort to get out of the sanctuary. We found our way to the cry room. It didn't take long for the mothers of fussy infants to clear out of that room also. Everyone was giving Bennett a wide berth.
As if the heavens opened to provide me with new wisdom, I suddenly understood something my mom used to say when I said or did something she found inappropriate. "I wanted to dig a hole and crawl in it." Oh...that's what she meant.
While I was embarrassed, I couldn't be mad at Bennett. The truth is, I was feeling the same way, I just didn't say it. Somewhere between the ages of three and forty-two, I learned that throughout my life I would have a lot of thoughts and sometimes those thoughts should just stay in my head. Sometimes I remember the lesson. Sometimes I don't.
There are times when situations are so unsettling and so troubling to me that I have to speak out. It is as if the words start out as a slight grumble down in my toes and by the time they reach my lips they are a full, glass-shattering scream. The fact that I can speak and not scream is some sort of physical wonder.
It isn't easy for me to figure out whether I'm speaking a truth that needs to be heard or if I'm just screaming out in a proverbial quiet sanctuary. Maybe if I were not a person of faith it might be easier to decide what is appropriate or not. I know it's important to speak the truth. I also know that I must speak that truth with love. It's that "with love" part that gets me. Every time.
As part of my volunteer life I participate in a lot of meetings. I listen to presentations, pitches and pleas and then I'm asked what I think. Sometimes I look around the room hoping someone else will take on the job of telling the emperor that he is naked. When no one else speaks up, I feel that grumble in my toes, the scream is forming.
When speaking the truth, I wish I were always mindful of speaking with care, with concern, with love. I wish I could make the "love part" as evident as the "truth part." I am not so good at this.
Ben was being honest. He was speaking his truth. Because of his delivery his message was discounted, brushed off as the outburst of a petulant toddler. Even if he had calmly explained his position and made clear the things about that church that he found unsettling, I'm not sure I would have listened. Best case I would have listened but probably not acted on his request to leave.
So how do we learn whether or not our truth should be told? How do we know if we are being petulant toddlers or a prophet in the wilderness? How can we be mindful that the things we are saying are said with love? Maybe that's a lesson I will get in my next 4o years.
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