When my little kids fussed at getting ready for church, it was sort of cute, and I felt like a good Mom when they all sat in the pew together, even if they scribbled on attendance cards and took off their shoes.

When older (or adult) children explain calmly that they don’t see the need for church anymore, it’s not so cute. It’s common to feel fear, shame, anger, confusion, or resentment at this declaration. Was I not a good Mom? Is this my fault? 

It feels like an existential threat. Was all my work worth nothing? If church can be tossed out so easily, is it even valuable? Why do I even bother?

Good question, actually. Why do I bother going to church?

The short answer: because I know that there is solid ground there. If sizable chunks of Scripture are read aloud, and if there’s space for recognition of sin and reception of God’s forgiveness, and especially if Jesus can reach me physically in communion, I bother. I must bother. To survive this world of shifting sand, it is most crucial that I bother.

If Jesus set up church - the place where our faith lives together - as the rock to stand on, I will by God’s grace be standing there as the madness of the world swirls around me no matter who comes with me. I will receive word and sacrament like a baby bird being nourished in the nest, even if I’m in my pew alone. Where else can I go? Especially if I’m fearing for my kids, or angry at their choices!

It is scary when our kids seem to drift away from church, but it’s Jesus’ church. He’s the Shepherd, not me. He’ll do the chasing, and the seeking, and the carrying back. He’s real, you know. He knows his lambs, and he’ll never stop pursuing them. 

Which is also true of you, lamb. The Shepherd feeds and waters and cares for you. “He gently leads those who have young.” Is 40:11 The world shifts, communities shift, youth programs shift. What stands is Jesus, as he is revealed in his word - given for you, for the forgiveness of your sins.

So maybe, if my kids are younger, I don’t give them the option. I’m going, and they’re coming with me. Maybe, if they’re older, I give my perspective on why church matters and with genuine curiosity ask them for their thoughts. But if I do speak, it can be from the safety of my footing on solid ground. I’m safe, and Jesus loves my kids. It’s ok to set the fear and defensiveness aside. I might even notice where the conversation is going, take a slow breath, say (in my mind) “Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me”, and relax my shoulders, handing the fear over to Jesus and trusting his timing. He knows his lambs: them and me. And you.

‍