Whom he loveth . . .
Sam and I have been attending a Sunday School class at our new church. I haven't attended anything called "Sunday School" since I was a kid because the churches I've mostly attended as an adult tend to favor terms like "home group" and "small group," which are typically informal meetings where everyone sits in a circle and does things like answer ice-breaker questions and talk about the past week and share prayer requests in addition to Bible study.
This Sunday School class is much more traditional, with chairs in rows and a teacher at a blackboard. We raise our hands, and not in the charismatic way. The teacher asks questions, and we answer. People comment on one another's remarks, though comments tend to be directed at the teacher because we are all facing him. Still, there is genuine interest in thinking through things, and I've been impressed with the seriousness and depth of the conversation and the degree to which everyone takes these things personally rather than simply intellectually. The teacher is the most-widely-read-in-18th-century-American-theology layman I think I've encountered (I realize how elitist that sounds, but there it is. I've met lots of people who've studied Jonathan Edwards seriously in graduate programs or in seminary, but not a lot who read him for fun). So, even on weeks like today where neither Sam nor I really feel like going, the class has been a blessing because it causes us to pause meditate in a serious way on theology, and the meditations are guided in a way that is worthwhile.
Today we were talking about the purposes of God's admonishment, and how we should welcome it even when it comes from our enemies. I was thinking about how hard it is to welcome criticism, but how criticism from an "enemy" should be viewed as a gift if it is the voice of God in correction. Part of my mind was distracted by how wrong it is to have enemies at all, but another part was following the discussion. Someone asked if God is more pleased with us when we do good things, or if he is infinitely pleased with us because he imputes the righteousness of Christ to us even though we are sinners (my take: atonement means we have the standing of Christ before God in terms of judgment, but it seems obvious to me that he still sees our continuing sinfulness and wishes for better). We talked on, and I thought about how I want to say that I love my children unconditionally, whether they behave well or poorly, but I do feel surges of affection for them when I see them act kindly or generously or selflessly in some way, and that caprice is my limitation as a human person. God, on the other hand, has infinite love for us when are behaving well or poorly, but that love takes different forms--pleasure or sympathy or grief. And all of those are forms of love: not only his acceptance but also his grief over our sin.
This led me to think that as a parent, it's part of my job to help my children learn that love is both unconditional acceptance AND the kind of admonishment that says, "I want better for and from you than this." Unconditional acceptance is kind of the theme of contemporary parenting, so it's not hard to build in. Admonishment is a little trickier--there's old-school parenting that emphasizes submission and authority for its own sake, and that's often equated with discipline. But it's not just that I need to discipline--it's that I need to teach my children to understand that my discipline is a product of my love--it's that link that I am responsible for illuminating. It's not even enough just to discipline in love--it's important to teach that discipline is love. This is hard because discipline is often most called for at the moment when my child is acting most (dare I say?) irritating or infuriating, but if I don't learn to help her equate my admonishment with love, then I risk the possibility that she will not learn to hear God's voice in that way also. And that is a very rich and important way in which he speaks to us.
But maybe Allison Clare kind of gets it instinctively anyway. Later we were on our way to a birthday party, and since it was just the two of us, I asked her, "Do you know why Mommy and Daddy correct you?" And she said, "Why?" And I said, "Because we love you." And she kind of scoffed affectionately and said, "I knew you were going to say that." Then I said, "What do you think is our job as parents?" (I was truly curious to hear what she'd say.) And she said, "To take care of us and help us grow up to be smart and kind."
Please, God, let me not let her down.
This Sunday School class is much more traditional, with chairs in rows and a teacher at a blackboard. We raise our hands, and not in the charismatic way. The teacher asks questions, and we answer. People comment on one another's remarks, though comments tend to be directed at the teacher because we are all facing him. Still, there is genuine interest in thinking through things, and I've been impressed with the seriousness and depth of the conversation and the degree to which everyone takes these things personally rather than simply intellectually. The teacher is the most-widely-read-in-18th-century-American-theology layman I think I've encountered (I realize how elitist that sounds, but there it is. I've met lots of people who've studied Jonathan Edwards seriously in graduate programs or in seminary, but not a lot who read him for fun). So, even on weeks like today where neither Sam nor I really feel like going, the class has been a blessing because it causes us to pause meditate in a serious way on theology, and the meditations are guided in a way that is worthwhile.
Today we were talking about the purposes of God's admonishment, and how we should welcome it even when it comes from our enemies. I was thinking about how hard it is to welcome criticism, but how criticism from an "enemy" should be viewed as a gift if it is the voice of God in correction. Part of my mind was distracted by how wrong it is to have enemies at all, but another part was following the discussion. Someone asked if God is more pleased with us when we do good things, or if he is infinitely pleased with us because he imputes the righteousness of Christ to us even though we are sinners (my take: atonement means we have the standing of Christ before God in terms of judgment, but it seems obvious to me that he still sees our continuing sinfulness and wishes for better). We talked on, and I thought about how I want to say that I love my children unconditionally, whether they behave well or poorly, but I do feel surges of affection for them when I see them act kindly or generously or selflessly in some way, and that caprice is my limitation as a human person. God, on the other hand, has infinite love for us when are behaving well or poorly, but that love takes different forms--pleasure or sympathy or grief. And all of those are forms of love: not only his acceptance but also his grief over our sin.
This led me to think that as a parent, it's part of my job to help my children learn that love is both unconditional acceptance AND the kind of admonishment that says, "I want better for and from you than this." Unconditional acceptance is kind of the theme of contemporary parenting, so it's not hard to build in. Admonishment is a little trickier--there's old-school parenting that emphasizes submission and authority for its own sake, and that's often equated with discipline. But it's not just that I need to discipline--it's that I need to teach my children to understand that my discipline is a product of my love--it's that link that I am responsible for illuminating. It's not even enough just to discipline in love--it's important to teach that discipline is love. This is hard because discipline is often most called for at the moment when my child is acting most (dare I say?) irritating or infuriating, but if I don't learn to help her equate my admonishment with love, then I risk the possibility that she will not learn to hear God's voice in that way also. And that is a very rich and important way in which he speaks to us.
But maybe Allison Clare kind of gets it instinctively anyway. Later we were on our way to a birthday party, and since it was just the two of us, I asked her, "Do you know why Mommy and Daddy correct you?" And she said, "Why?" And I said, "Because we love you." And she kind of scoffed affectionately and said, "I knew you were going to say that." Then I said, "What do you think is our job as parents?" (I was truly curious to hear what she'd say.) And she said, "To take care of us and help us grow up to be smart and kind."
Please, God, let me not let her down.
posted by Tara | 6:36 PM
2 Comments:
Such an interesting post! Thanks, Tara. This weekend the boys were at their toddler baseball class (!) and they were among the least likely to follow instruction. Or maybe it just seemed that way to me. I wondered if it was because only one of them really enjoys baseball; because of personality and age traits; or because I am more permissive than the typical parent. In some ways I know I am more permissive, allowing more mess, exploration, and experimentation than busier parents have time to deal with. But I do feel like I usually require them to do what I say at the time I say to do it. At dinner time everyone must go to his her chair and stay there, etc. So, I dunno. I'm not as consistent as I wish I were; I focus mostly on a few large issues (caring for one another and their things and responding quickly to urgent parental requests) rather than correcting them for every little thing. But sometimes I wonder if I am doing them a disservice by how much I allow to happen. Sometimes it's so hard to know how to love one's child well. Tangentially related, I know.
Erin, this doesn't seem tangential at all. I think the mess-making and exploration are a delightful part of your parenting, and you have incredibly creative and resourceful children because of it! I sometimes feel like I nag my children about all the wrong things, like cleaning up after themselves, when I should be focusing on much bigger fish that need frying (like Allison Clare's exasperated sighs in our direction, a disrespectful behavior that we try to quash but that seems to be cropping up a lot lately, and that I fear is a harbinger of much worse things).
Post a Comment
<< Home