Spring is one of my favorite times in Hilton Village. Not that it is Spring quite yet, but already, as we walk to school in the mornings, the boys have pointed out that there are markedly more, and different, bird songs than there were just a few days ago. There’s tufts of green here and there, and finally it’s warm enough to spend afternoons at the Ravine, refining their “fort” in the bamboo forest.
It reminds me of my first Springs here, in the years right after my children were born. I didn’t realize until I was thrust into part-time stay-at-home parenthood how much time I would be spending outdoors. We walked to the library, walked to friends houses, lingered at the playgrounds, and poked sticks in the Ravine creek with no sense of urgency. I started to memorize the musical soundtrack of the outdoors, and marvel at how much I had missed since the end of my own childhood, when I stopped spending quite so much time outside.
To my knowledge my children have never participated in a didactic presentation on Spring. They have simply experienced enough Springs now to know, and to know deeply, what Spring is. Walking to school this morning a quote came to mind, “faith is caught, not taught.” It’s a line I’ve heard before but was reminded of in a continuing education course I recently completed. I had braced myself to come away from this class potentially feeling overwhelmed by all I’m NOT doing in my role supervising children and youth ministries.
Instead I was filled with gratitude, realizing how much we are already doing, and doing well, here at St. Andrew’s. The professor of this course had recorded various reasons parishioners at her own church used to decline teaching Sunday School: “I don’t know that much about the Bible,” or, “I wouldn’t know how to handle the tough questions.” In other words, the barrier to teaching was content-based. Her argument, and what I see in action in our congregation, is that actually it’s the relationships that make or break how well any church is able to form children in faith.
I thought back to times I’ve lingered outside a children’s chapel classroom, waiting for a good moment to step in and share a song or two. Our children’s chapel leaders speak to our children without pretense, share in their laughter, and tell stories from their own lives. Teachers, and our parishioners in general, remember details about our children and engage with them beyond perfunctory small talk. Perhaps most importantly, our children are watching as we faithfully go about our lives of service and love. As we lay out the altar hangings each week, cook breakfast for everyone to enjoy, open our space to the homeless, collect Christmas toys and clothes to give away…our children are watching and learning: THIS is what it means to be a Christian.
This week I’ve had bouts of feeling, in the face of overwhelming suffering and fear in the world, like anything I could do to help is too small to make a difference. In a culture where producing some kind of tangible, identifiable result is the only way to measure worth, it can feel futile to get up and keep living our seemingly small, simple day-to-day lives. “Faith is caught, not taught,” has been a reminder that the way I live my life and conduct myself around other people has way more impact that I realize. Like the tulip buds about to burst forth in the next few weeks, our lives of service lead to profound change that we cannot yet see, or may never see. As individuals and more so as a faith community, our lives are the testament to our faith, and our hope for and love of this world. May the “caught, not taught” mentality, and the signs of Spring all around us, be a source of joy and hope for you all this week.
—- Ginny Chilton
