SermonStudio

I - along with other parents around the world - have learned so much about faith from the casual comments of my children. Their innocence is refreshing. Their easy style of believing without seeing is a great example. Their sincere faith is a testimony to others at times.

Our son, Andrew, always says whatever the pastor says at the altar. No matter if it is the greeting, the liturgy, the words of institution, or the blessing, my Andrew mumbles along quietly with the pastor. I didn't think it was so odd because their father is a pastor, and they have been to more than a few church services in their lives. Our daughter, Kjrstin, also "talks" along with the pastor - even at ten years of age. It sounds like they are whispering.

One Sunday, we needed to get away. Actually, my husband, a hospital chaplain, needed to get away. Ten of his oncology and critical care patients had died that week, and he was finding it hard to be pastoral. He was weary, he was sad, and he was getting melancholy. We decided to visit friends for the weekend.

We were invited to their church and were told we could choose from four services. They preferred the contemporary service and asked if we were interested. It was an upbeat service, Bill said, consisting of a band of thirty youth, lots of songs projected on a huge screen, and just a tiny sermon. Andrew thought it sounded cool. Kjrstin thought it sounded like a great idea.

The church was packed: 450 of us sitting on comfortable, padded chairs lined up in rows, facing a stage. A large group of young people were playing guitars, drums, and flutes and holding microphones. One boy was playing the violin, and another was shaking a tambourine. My children were truly attentive because they didn't know what was coming. The songs were very familiar, and there was much enthusiasm in the air during the service.

Our friend, Bill, one of six pastors at the church, led the service. He gave a little pep talk, we sang a lot, and we were sent away "to be a blessing to the world."

After church, back at the house, the adults sat around and talked and laughed and shared much with each other. The children were playing games downstairs, and it was an enjoyable afternoon. Soon, we were on our way home.

We asked our children what they thought of the service, and they both thought it was "cool." They liked the instruments (Kjrstin plays the viola and was very interested in the string section). Andrew liked the guitar player's "way cool" colorful strap. Kjrstin liked the girls singing up front.

The ride was over an hour long and soon the children were reading and playing and things quieted down. As my husband slept on the seat beside me, I glanced back at Kjrstin, who was reading her book. Andrew seemed to be talking to himself. I focused in on what he was saying. "The body of Christ, given for you. The blood of Christ, shared for you." He was playing with a Max Steel mountain climber, who was seated at the edge of his chair, holding a doll--sized cup in his hand. "The blood of Christ, shared for you," Andrew said.

"Hey, honey, did you say shared? Or shed?" I don't know why I had to interrupt his thoughts, but I was curious.

Andrew looked up at me. "It's shared, Mom. Jesus shared his blood."

"Honey, I think the word is shed, not shared. Could that be?"

Andrew laughed and looked at me with his big blue eyes. "Mom, you're so silly! Jesus isn't in a shed! Jesus died on the cross and shared his blood and went to heaven to be with God. That's how Jesus can live in your heart. Mommy, you're too funny!"

Well, okay. I had to think about it for a second. Andrew was dead serious and he turned back to his Max Steel. "The blood of Christ shared for you." He pulled out the rope and attached it to the back of his sister's seat.

Max Steel was going to climb a big mountain.

Mommy was going to forever hear the words of institution in a new light.