Witness Talk -- Children's Liturgy of the Word

Ellen Morris-Knower

September 23, 2007

Thank you all for being here.  It is your continued presence that keeps me coming and praying with the children.  I’ve been processing out with children for CL for a long time, first in Ann Arbor, Mi and then here at St. Catherine’s, and I still get nervous.  So before I go, I’ve adapted the prayer we say before communion, “Lord, I’m not worthy to be here, but only say the word and I’ll get to work.”

I first participated in CL because I had wiggly young children. But this morning I went despite the fact that my children have all outgrown CL. I went because I love to pray in this way, to share stories and sing and ask questions. The children’s trust is a big responsibility, so I in turn have to stretch my faith. Every time.

Liturgy is of course ritual-making, and that ritual is our prayer.  Diane Schafer emphasized in her training all of us children’s liturgists that children’s liturgy is not catecheses, it is prayer. We follow the normal rites of readings, psalms, gospel, homily, creed and petitions. But when I first began I’d agonize and over-prepare, choosing five songs when there is barely time for 2, search the Jerome commentary for interpretations of the readings. You’d think I was writing a thesis each week with the added challenge that four year olds were going to ask really complicated questions, like, ”what does that mean?” And even with all that preparation, I’d still arrive worried that I wasn’t ready, and usually late. Somehow I had in my head a saying from St. Ignatius, “Pray as if everything depends on God, act as if everything depends on you.”

Well, one Sunday in Lent I had over-prepared, with lots of songs and sorry prayers and the gospel broken into dramatic parts, and I was running late and cranky with at least one of my own children as well as myself. But the thing about CL, and mass in general, is, you never know who’s going to show up. At that time we had a priest from New Zealand named Fr. Larry and he’s calling on the kids, asking questions with his very funny accent, so all the little boys especially like to come up and the whole lot of us leave the church in giggles.  And we get to the little chapel and I ask them all to sit down on their bottoms and do some quieting ritual, lighting candles, some somber thing, but there’s a trio of boys who haven’t quite made the transition to, umm, reverence.  But it takes a long time to settle down, so I skip the psalm and go right to reading the gospel. But this trio is still in hysterics, punching, poking and joking, with very sassy answers to what was supposed to be reflective questions, “what did you hear in the story, children? Who were the main people?”

I was still me, anxiously trying to do too much, and be in control. In my best Catholic school teacher’s tone I called for actors and I told the trio that they had to shape up if they wanted a part. I gave the Jesus role to a girl, and then I needed the great prophet of the Word, Elijah, and that went to a girl, and then Moses, the great prophet of the Law, and that went to a girl, and I sent the prophets out of the room.  Well the boys were noticing this unequal treatment, and complained, and I said, well if you think you can behave, then you can be the apostles.  You be Peter, you John and you James. 

“But what do we get to do?”

Pretend to be asleep.

Well they did.  Jesus showed up with the prophets, we shared the story of the Transfiguration, of going up the mountain to watch the meeting of our tradition of the Word meet with the tradition of the Law. Peter staggered up at the right moment to mumble something about building an altar, and fell instantly back to sleep. The children, even the sleepers, were drawn into this mystical experience. And I watched our story meet with our rules, and felt Jesus smile, forgiving all my clumsy attempts at control.

Well, I think I got the Ignatian edict backwards.  I think it is, “Pray as if everything depends on you, live as if everything depends on God.”

Because, this is a call for me, a vocation to be a steward of parish spirituality. And I pray as if it is my responsibility to bring others to God’s door whether they are 6 or 60.  But here I am, knowing that it’s all in God’s hands. I can invite you to pray over your own role in our parish community.  I can point out that if you need to find a reason to read and reflect on the scripture at its most simple and mystical level, you might want to consider helping out with Children’s Liturgy.  I can ask you, whether you have or don’t have children between the ages of 3 and 8, to come pray in this very special liturgical way, and talk to one of my friends at the door with clipboards, signing people up to help. But I’m not really the one to get you to do it. I’ve found joy here, and despite that I’m always late, and I talk too much, and I often sing off key and forget the words halfway through the song,  I’ll try to share that joy with you

But God’s the one who’s going to get you to do it.