I don’t write much anymore. I talk less too. Well, some people think so. A voice in my head keeps telling me I don’t really have anything to say. But this morning I woke up way too early for a Sunday morning, and kept thinking about elephants. And I felt like writing, for the first time in ages. I feel timid though, so I’m writing it here on Substack - the platform of mine that has the least reach. It feels safer somehow.
Yesterday was our church congregation’s annual Christmas concert. A low key casual affair, with a hodge podge of fairly talented congregation members and a few friends performing. I went with low expectations, which is generally a good idea when it comes to these things, and was pleasantly surprised. More than pleasantly actually. I was moved. The weather outside was indeed frightful - with pouring rain and darkness all around, as is typical for our west coast climate this time of year, but I left feeling all warm and fuzzy.
However, there were some elephants. You know how sometimes the absence of something or someone is more noticeable than their presence? Well, these elephants were that kind. They crashed the party, so to speak. At least when I woke up this morning at 5 am.
It dawned on me that for the first time in 35 years, none of my children were in attendance. And if I looked at the families around me with young adult and adult children, the same applied to them to some degree or another.
Not attending a free, volunteer based and wholly unprofessional concert on a Saturday before Christmas is hardly a big deal. I know some of those not in attendance had absolutely valid reasons.
But the elephants!
Today, Sunday, the scene will play out again. Most of the families will be missing someone in the pews with them. Some due to work and illness or other obligations, for sure, but most because they just don’t come. Church just isn’t their thing anymore.
Their reasons are as varied and diverse as they are, but we don’t really know what they are, because we tend to ignore the elephants. We don’t talk about them, and we don’t talk about it with them. Not the elephants, and not the adult children.
Directly in front of me sat a young family with two beautiful children. (These elephants were actually present) A few months ago, after a lifetime of activity and service, they stopped coming. The young father looked self conscious and uncomfortable throughout most of the evening. His wife busied herself with the baby, so I couldn’t quite gauge her emotions, but I sensed a slight defiance. They were there to support family members performing, but not, I sensed, to engage with their church community more than abssolutely necessary. The parents of this young father have four grown children. Only one attends with any regularity. Like my family. I have four children too, and only one considers church an important part of their life. And I could go on. Five kids, two active. Four kids, none active. Six kids, two active. Three kids, none active. Five kids, one active…
I know these parents. I know their children. I have tended them in Nursery, taught them in Primary and Seminary, and watched them grow up. But I know very little about how and why they as adults no longer feel like church is a necessary part of their life. I also know very little about how these other parents deal with their children’s absence at church. How they handle it. Feel about it.
Because we don’t talk about it.
It’s as if it’s contagious. That if we address it, the elephants will just multiply. Or maybe we just silently blame ourselves for not having had more perfect Family Home Evenings or family scripture study, or family dinners. (It’s me. Hi. I’m the problem. It’s me.) Perhaps we are fine with it. Agency, you know?
Personally, I vacillate between all three of these. And a few more.
Yesterday I felt like reaching out and talking to this young father. Or just hugging him, and saying ‘I see you. I know it’s hard.’ In this particular scenario I happen to know there is some deconstruction going on. I’ve been there, I know how disconcerting and isolating it can be.
But I didn’t. I mean, what would it look like if a little old lady twice his age who has had almost nothing to do with him for years, suddenly seemed to care? (I do though.) And what difference would it make? Also, I shouldn’t make assumptions.
(Did you hear my covert narcisssim I disguise as altruism?)
Honestly though. Can we please start sharing our stories with eachother? Our fears? Our hopes?
Can we unpack our thoughts about what it means for our eternal families, if anything, that our children ‘step away’?
As for me, I have made a conscious choice to focus more on my relationships with my children here and now, than worry about the eternities. We don’t really know a whole lot about how things will be organized in the hereafter. There are a lot of opinions out there. None very convincing.
I just want to keep them close
Here and now, and forever. And for that to happen, they have to want to. And for them to want to be with us, we have to start now. Loving them. Respecting them and their choices. Celebrating them. Cheering them on.