Ann
Ipock
Humorist,
author, speaker
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Georgetown
Times
Children’s
church where adults learn lessons
By Ann Ipock August
16, 2006
Children’s church: The very name implies special class time where
children are led by adults. At least, that is how it is supposed to work.
Hubby Russell and I signed up for this volunteer job several weeks ago.
We were told it was self-explanatory and that three of us would be leaders,
including our intern from Duke University, Rebecca Rigel.
I asked Russell just moments before we left the sanctuary, “Are
we assisting Rebecca or is she assisting us?” My wise and well-informed
husband answered, “Beats me!” When the time came, I led the
happy youngsters through the door and outside under the portico. Then
I said, “Where do we go now?” No one answered, so I followed
the happy chirping children down the sidewalk. I glanced back at Russell
and Rebecca, who nodded in agreement.
We walked upstairs and into the brightly painted classroom with tiny tables
and seats, bean bag chairs, and toys and games. That’s the last
thing I remember before the pandemonium. Sensing the children might be
out of control, I got really firm and in a very grown-up voice, “OK,
y’all! Ahem, what’s next?” Oh, don’t worry! No
one ran away, started crying or even tried to set the microwave oven on
fire — the latter actually did happen several years ago, scaring
the dickens out of all of us. It’s hard to believe, but that aforementioned
red-headed wild boy grew up to become a successful pharmacist. Who woulda
thunk it?
During this settling in period, I noticed Rebecca and Russell looking
around for something — what, I wasn’t sure (perhaps a window
to jump out of). Sensing my bewilderment, one very kind boy stepped forward
— Zachary, and explained the usual protocol for children’s
church. Suddenly, the busy but productive children each fulfilled a role:
One volunteered as crucifer and another as acolyte, just like we have
in “big church.” Another laid open the Bible. Candles were
lit and the wooden cross was placed upon the altar. Everyone grabbed a
soft, three-foot rug sample, laid it on the floor and sat down on it.
It was amazing!
The children ranged in age 3 to 7, about a dozen in all. Zachary, aged
9, explained he was there to keep his younger sister happy and not crying
(who, was in fact, crying and hiding under the table). Still, it seemed
we adults needed him more. I quickly reassured her, saying she could even
help brother Zachary, who was now handing me a pile of printed name tags
on cards. One of them said “teacher” but I tried to give that
one back. Me? Teacher? The huge responsibility! The awesome task! It was
too much. Next, our real leader, Zachary himself, announced we had a choice
of singing songs or watching a DVD. I looked at the song chart while Rebecca
and Russell rolled over the cart with the TV.
Zachary reminded me of the attendance log. I volunteered for the roll
call while Rebecca fiddled with the DVD player and Russell picked out
a movie. I started calling names from the enormous list of perhaps, 50
or so, thinking, “This could take a while!” I called out names
starting with A, B, C, D. No answer. Then, E, F, G, H and I. Then I said
“Here!” for Ipock. That’s when I realized no one else
had said “Here!” That seemed awfully strange. I looked up
to see that absolutely no one was paying any attention to me. Uh-oh! Pandemonium
had set in again. I heard, “She’s on my mat!” “He
grabbed my hair.” “When is the video starting?” I bit
my lower lip. Zachary stepped forward. He suggested I go around the room
and ask each child their name. “Yeah, right,” I said.
The movie was about to begin, but I really wanted us to sing. I had an
idea: I suggested we take a vote. The majority wanted the video, as opposed
to two of us who wanted to sing. Looking back, I think we grown ups got
the education today. Partially from the video: we learned about a buzzing
bee named Buzby (an Elvis look-alike with a John Wayne voice and Southern
drawl). Buzby didn’t follow the rules and got into big trouble —
he then apologized and behaved. The animated sermonette was followed up
by words from Max Lucado, a noted Christian author.
When the parents walked in, we’d barely finished watching the five-minute
video. Everyone appeared happy. We’d followed instructions (thanks
to Zachary). I even overheard one little girl say she couldn’t wait
to come back.
I learned something today: Children are often much smarter than we realize
and we often learn from them.