Kids in the middle

A photo from Kids' Night

When Jodi pitched me the idea about spending a lot of time with kids this summer as part of my role in this new church, I was hesitant, to say the least. Having spent many summers working at a camp in SK, I felt burned out just thinking about doing more kids programming. Surely this was a stage in my life that had ended, and I was ready for more "adult" things.

So it came as a surprise to me when I looked back and realized that some of the most life-giving moments of this summer were spent with children. Some were at the Ray-Cam Community Centre, where, mercifully, the "programming" was done for me, and my only job was to hang out and get to know the kids. I also had some great moments during our weekly Kids' nights at Solheim, as kids of various ages poked their heads out their windows, saw us playing in the courtyard, then came and joined the fun. But most of these great kid moments happened during our Sunday gatherings in the park.

As a church sent to welcome and serve families, we have spent the summer experimenting with "intergenerational" services. I had paid lip service to the idea of intergenerational services for quite a while, but until this summer, I hadn't rightly estimated the cost, or the reward, of doing this.

It is costly. It requires more creativity to think about how kids can best participate in the worship and teaching, a greater investment of energy during the service, and willingness to be flexible when kids are cranky or distracted or when our plans just aren't working.

But the rewards are huge. Adult-oriented worship and teaching times can be inspiring and thought-provoking at the time, but to be honest, I rarely remember them in years to come. But I'm pretty sure I'll never forget the Pentecost service when the kids ran around us with shimmering pieces of red fabric, recreating the wind and the flames of fire that descended on the apostles. Or our refreshing water balloon fight on a hot summer Sunday following our reflection on Jesus as Living Water. Or the kids' entertaining reflections on differences between a "heart of flesh" and a "heart of stone." Also, because the kids join me on bells, maracas, drums and shaky eggs, I'm never the only instrumentalist during worship.

Unforgettable montage of Ezekiel's vision of the four-faced angel (Ezek. 1)

Our series on Ezekiel has been full of "aha" moments as kids pull items out of the "story bag," act out Ezekiel's dreams, and later ask "wondering questions" with the adults. Kids think of questions that adults wouldn't even dream of, and the lessons are so much more memorable when they come through the mouths of children.

Another Vancouver church plant doing intergenerational services posted this quote by John Witvliet on their website recently: "How ironic that children, of all people, should be treated as second-class citizens in the church. Jesus not only welcomed children, but told us that children are our teachers. Children model what true faith is like. When children are cut off or set apart from the worshipping community, both children and adults lose the opportunity to learn from each other."

Calum's drawing of the dry bones being given flesh (Ezek. 37)

It has been a privilege to learn from the kids in our church this summer. We're still experimenting with our liturgy, feeling out what "fits" us as a community, but whatever shape our worship and teaching take in months and years to come, I hope the kids will stay central.

New Members

I am pleased to announce that our church has grown by two members:

Christal, 4 lb 2 oz.

and Elena, 2 lb 13 oz.


They were born at 8:30 this morning to Chanel and Christopher, in an exciting and unanticipated home birth, aided by several paramedics and firefighters! Mom and babies are doing fine - please pray for them to continue to be healthy. Congratulations to them, and to grandparents Genevieve and Terry, and uncles Brandon, Bradley and AJ!

A very good sign

Hello from Beth, to my Kits Church family and any others reading this. This is my first time writing as part of this blog. For the last month, I've been spending twenty or so hours of my week helping to water and nurture this recently-planted-in-a-park, yet-to-be-named church plant. I have been delighted, challenged, and generally overwhelmed with all sorts of new thoughts and emotions. So many times over the last few months I've wanted to share these new experiences with you, to tell you stories about our little community. Here is my first attempt to do so.

I want to tell you about one of the most exciting Sundays we've had together so far, a Sunday only a few weeks after our church was born, early in May. That was the Sunday when Julio and Lisa Hernandez visited from Washington, DC.

Many of you know that Julio and Lisa are really the roots of our new church. They worked both in Strathcona and at Kits, building bridges of relationship. Most of the church plant people were originally introduced to us through Julio and Lisa, before they moved to Washington.

So when we heard they were coming to visit, along with their newborn baby, Dinita, we spread the word and prepared for a party. By 2:00 that Sunday, there were about 30 people gathered at our site in the park, many of whom we had never met before, including plenty of kids who knew and loved Julio and Lisa. But the guests of honour were late. Finally we saw them coming from far away, and a bunch of kids ran to meet them. There were hugs all around, and even some tears of joy in the kids' eyes. Everyone wanted to look at the new baby, an incredible blessing in the Hernandez's lives after many miscarriages.

We started the service. I played the guitar, as the kids accompanied on maracas and hand drums, and we sang songs of thanksgiving: "every good and perfect gift comes from You." Jodi told us some stories about "Nobodies" who God turned into "Somebodies" in order to set His people free... from Moses, to Gideon, to Julio & Lisa. The highlight of the service was the end, when Eunice, an elder, gave gifts to Julio and Lisa, then sang and played her drum to bless baby Dinita, as some of the other First Nations women joined in, arms outstretched, hands cupped, in a gently swaying dance.

After the service, we all headed down the alley to Jodi's house for a BBQ. In a matter of minutes, the house was full of people - our numbers doubled to about 60 (food does have that effect!). Terry assumed the important role of hamburger-barbecuer on the back porch, and Jodi boiled hot dogs on the stove. Kids were everywhere, running in a steady stream from the back door through the house and out the front door, then around back again. I passed out punch and tried to learn everyone's names. Baby Dinita was making her rounds, being held by everyone in attendance.

Later, as the crowd thinned, I wandered to the sun room in the back. Eunice was sitting there with some other women, her drum beside her. I commented on the beautiful patterns on the surface of the drum. She picked it up and played another song, one that the women seemed to know well. As she finished, we heard a clap of thunder, a rare occurrence in Vancouver. Moving quickly from a ceremonious seriousness to characteristic tongue-in-cheek First Nations humour, Eunice quipped that she had perhaps drummed a little too hard. Our laughter was interrupted by a shout from outside: "It's an eagle!" Everyone rushed out to watch the huge bird circle, silhouetted on the dark clouds. We stood in hushed awe. Eagle sightings are especially significant in the First Nations community, a good sign - a very good sign.

The whole day seemed like a very good sign, a sign of God's grace to all of us, a sign of the legacy Julio and Lisa left for us, a sign of something new being birthed among us.

This is how a church is born

On Good Friday we gathered on the north slope of the Georgia Viaduct, the first official gathering of this church-to-be. Children played in the "forest" and we all helped make a cross with pine cones gathered from the ground. Twenty one of us were there, from 9months to 60 years in age, from First Nations bands, New Zealanders, Croatians, Cambodians, Scots, Chinese, Americans and Canadians, a good representation of the neighbourhood.

As we gathered pine cones I marvelled at what God is doing in this place. I wondered what God's dream is for this place, knowing that in seed form it was beginning here as we gathered around the cross of Jesus, and wandered through the neighbourhood asking, if Jesus were from this neighbourhood rather than from Galilee, where would he have walked on his journey to the cross? Where would we have stood?

We finished off our walk with a beautiful dinner at Hastings and Jackson, prepared by a friend, venison stew and bannock may become this community's Good Friday tradition. Another 20-30 friends joined us there for dinner, kids played foose ball, teenagers played pool, old and young sat talking and eating. This is how a church is born.

Holy Week

Learning to walk in this neighbourhood

So I am discovering that I need to re-learn how to walk in my new neighbourhood. My whole life I have walked with purpose (though a bit like a duck) and prided myself in my ability to move at a good clip but in my new neighbourhood that causes problems. The biggest being that people think I am a cop.

I want to say, "No, I don't work for the man who locks you up. I work for the one who sets you free", but maybe that is a bit cheesy. Instead I am trying to learn from Jesus who moved into the neighbourhood and was seen as a neighbour, not an authority (though he was), not someone with an agenda (even though he had one), but as a friend...or an enemy, but certainly not as an outsider.

As I learn to slow down and to match my pace with the pace of my friends here I find more people who want to talk. Most days, when I slow down, people ask me to pray for them. I don't quite understand why, but hopefully it is Jesus walking in me.

Conceptions and Misconceptions

"Church planting, church plaaaaan-ting", she sings to the tune of some old superhero theme song. "Jodi, what is church planting?" said my friend Aria someone quite new to the idea of church not to mention to the insider language of church culture.

In conversation with my cousin the other day she said, "I hear you are building a church?" "Well...no, perhaps starting a church, but not building a building, we will probably rent a space that already exists" I replied. "Oh, my Mom said you were 'church planting' and we figured that must mean that you were building a church."

That all has me thinking about language. Why do we call starting a new church, "church planting"? I don't know who first started using this language, but every church that currently exists was once either planted (beautiful intentionality), or it was the result of a church split (the dark ugly side of what happens when we do not play well in the sandbox with others). But as I walk around Vancouver as spring fights to come early I think I like this language of planting.

Planting speaks to hard work, tending to soil, working in compost, testing the nature of the soil you have, the amount of sun you will get, where you are in the biosphere and what will grow well in this place. Then you plant, and by faith you put these tiny seeds in the ground, and you wait. And wait. And wait. Tempted though you may be to dig up that little seed, and see how it is doing, is it growing? Will it make it? And in the dark ground that you have tended, there is an unfolding mystery that you cannot control. The mystery of a seed dying in order to break forth into fragile, tender life, a green shoot that is hard at first to distinguish from a weed. A garden emerging which will feed multitudes. Fruit that will hang heavy one day on these tender vines.

This is the mystery of God. Church planting.