Children died. It was an accident, a terrible, stupid, typical accident. And children died.
At youth group, we had a bonfire and made bad wiener jokes, told sketchy ghost stories, ate a multitude of hot dogs, threw away enough food to make the prophet Amos take notice, but we never, never once talked about the hurt, pain, fear, and grief that swallow up our neighbors.
A few individual conversations happened. Some wondered if a service of healing and wholeness should be held…led, perhaps, by youth of the church.
Probably not say parents. Kids live in two separate realms. School is school. Church is church. Kids won't want to mix the two.
WHAT ARE WE DOING? If our faith practice and children who die don't intersect, if that doesn't flatten us with concern and grief for each other, for the hurting inside and outside our doors, if we don't see that our witness to healing, new life, and a God fully present in these moments of extraordinary, unstoppable, unceasing pain is the gift we bring to the world…then why are we here?
"Christian formation invites [us] into this motley band of pilgrims and prepares [us] to receive the Spirit who calls [us], shapes [us] and enlists [us] in God's plan to right a capsized world." (Dean, p. 18)
There is no more important practice than understanding, articulating, and living this Christian faith as Jesus lived it. For our kids. For any of us. We must have, we must live, we must teach a consequential Christian faith.
Because children died.
