We conservatives love to grumble about the indoctrination of children. I know I do. And why wouldn’t I? Every other week, there’s another headline about this dreadful thing and that horrible thing happening in a classroom somewhere, followed by another outraged post or podcast about how schools these days are poisoning our children.
Trust me, I get it. I’m frustrated, too. It’s why I do everything in my power to serve and maintain our tuition-free Christian school here at Our Savior in Hartland. I figure that apart from caring for my own family, the best way that I can help is to provide an alternative for the community—and not just a substitute, but something truly exceptional that puts Christ and His Word front and center as the chief interpreter to all that we are and will ever be.
That said, there remains an uncomfortable truth that everyone else out there is afraid to say out loud. Public schools are shaping our children because parents stopped doing it first.
We wring our hands over what the public schools are teaching about sexuality, identity, history, morality, or whatever. But the average Christian home spends more time watching Netflix in one evening than it does talking or teaching about Christ in a year. We shout at the school board about why our children are disrespectful, but the school didn’t raise them. We did, along with that glowing rectangle that’s been in their hands since they were two years old.
There’s a vacuum. The world is only doing what the world does to fill it. That’s not hard to see. Still, we take some strange comfort in blaming a system that’s true to its nature rather than taking a long, hard look at the parent in the mirror. We let the world form our children. And why? I think it’s because we’ve forgotten how. Or perhaps worse, we’ve decided we shouldn’t have to. Moral formation has become a subcontracted task—outsourced first to the church (if we have time to attend one). But for the most part, we leave it to whoever stands in front of the classroom—or the most popular TikTok influencer. And when the results disappoint us, we demand reform.
How about parental repentance first?
I just read a study saying that American parents, on average, will spend ten hours a week driving their kids to sports, at least four hours scrolling social media, and maybe—just maybe—a minute or two discussing what they learned at church—again, if they even go, because only around 22% of Americans attend church weekly. Only 33% attend at least monthly.
I think the truth in all of this is really pretty simple. You cannot demand values you yourself have never been willing to establish and maintain. You cannot expect anyone or anything to build character on a foundation you never laid.
I began this rant talking about public education. If you haven’t figured it out, that was just the lead-in to my frustration. Although, don’t get me wrong. I’m not excusing the failures of public education. It’s a hellscape of dreadfulness in many paces, filled with ideologies that are sending our children into moral and conceptual death spirals that many simply cannot escape. But that’s mostly because they cannot navigate it. Ultimately, that translates into any parental outrage without serious self-examination being nothing more than self-deception.
So, how about this… Before you get an itch in your craw to do all you can to tear down a Marxist curriculum, how about you also work on rebuilding the family dinner table? Before you demand traditional moral character formation in the classroom, how about you monitor the morality of your own mouth and behavior in the living room? Using the F-word in front of the kids, if ever at all, is not good parenting. Sorry to have to break this to you.
And so, before you go off to fight for your kids’ souls in a public forum, how about shepherding those souls at home? If we want a different outcome, we need different parents. Period. It’s not just that the schools stopped teaching our values. It’s that we stopped teaching them first.
I had an interesting conversation with my soon-to-be 20-year-old daughter, Madeline, a few weeks ago before leaving for the office. Wondering what she had planned, I asked her about her day. She’s in school. She’s also nearing the end of her efforts toward a well-earned private pilot’s license. That particular day, she had a lesson at Bishop Airport, followed by an evening shift at work. Knowing she was close to finishing, I asked her if there was a final test of some sort. She said she’d already aced the knowledge tests but that she’d soon go up with an instructor who, apart from testing and observing her skills, would put her through a barrage of questioning. In her words, she said, “It’ll be like the Great Confession, except it’ll be a lot harder because I didn’t grow up in it.”
First, by Great Confession, she means what I put our young catechumens through prior to Confirmation. In other words, to be confirmed, you must present yourself for interrogation before the congregation, and I’m the chief inquisitor. It happens the Saturday before Palm Sunday, with the Rite of Confirmation occurring the very next day. Essentially, I ask the catechumens questions—a lot of theological questions—and then, if they answer them sufficiently, they must each recite Article IV of the Augsburg Confession. Article IV iterates the doctrine of Justification. It’s crucial that they do this. Justification has been long understood as the doctrine by which the Church stands or falls. If the Church gets the doctrine of Justification wrong, it ceases to be the Church.
This is the Great Confession, and to be confirmed at Our Savior Evangelical Lutheran Church in Hartland, Michigan, you must endure it successfully. Some haven’t, and they weren’t confirmed; not many, but some.
Understandably, the kids preparing for the Great Confession get a little worked up over it. Of course, I’m not questioning them in a way that seeks their failure. I want them to succeed. But I also want them to dig deeply, think through, and confess what they believe before taking their place at the Lord’s altar to confirm that same baptismal faith. Too many kids are confirmed just because that’s what mom and dad want or because that’s just what happens in their church at this age. Not here. There will be kids of various ages, some much younger than you’d expect. There will be kids who’ve been at it longer than others. This year, there are five students. Next year, there could be as many as sixteen. But no matter how many present themselves for examination, none will be confirmed apart from this process. It has proven itself reliable, and I have no plans ever to change it.
To understand why I’m sharing this requires returning to what Madeline said about it that morning a few weeks ago. She is five years past her Great Confession. Still, she remembers it. It was challenging. Still, she claimed that compared to her experience enduring the Great Confession, her final flight exams would be much harder. Again, her words: “It’ll be harder because I didn’t grow up in it.” Her point was that the Christian Faith has occupied her since she was born. This is true not only because she never misses worship and Bible study or because she attended her church’s Christian day school, but because she remains immersed in it all the other moments of her life—having conversations with her family at dinner, in the pool on vacation, out shopping with her mom, riding in the car with dad, and so many others of life’s usual moments. For her, whether it’s the Great Confession with her dad or a stranger’s casual interest, she can confess Christian truths as readily as tying her shoes.
But what about others her age who’ve fallen away? What happened? Perhaps their faith was never truly integrated into their daily lives. Maybe church and doctrine were compartmentalized—reserved for Sunday mornings or the occasional youth event—rather than woven into the fabric of their everyday experiences. Of course, suppose faith is treated as just one activity among many, or worse, a burdensome obligation rather than a life-giving necessity. In that case, it becomes all too easy to set it aside for what seems more important. The world is already relentless in offering distractions and alternatives that seem more appealing or more immediately rewarding. It’s certainly hard to argue the culture’s influence, with its constant noise and competing narratives.
Here’s something else to consider.
A 2020 study in “Education Week” reported that around 27% of public school teachers considered themselves ideologically conservative. Compared with another survey from Pew Research, about half of that same group considered themselves conservative Christians. A conservative Christian is defined as someone who attends worship regularly and believes the Bible is God’s inspired and inerrant Word. The assumption is that anywhere from 10% to 15% of all public school teachers are Bible-believing educators. When you figure that the average student with a bachelor’s degree had as many as 115 different teachers throughout their public school life, it’s likely that only 17 of those teachers were being steered by Christian faithfulness. However, studies also show that most Christian teachers prefer to remain thoroughly neutral, neither teaching to the left nor the right, while ideologically liberal teachers are twice as likely to insert their beliefs into their lessons. When these are the contours of our children’s learning environment, and we figure that a third of their waking life is spent in it, no wonder so many of our children end up in rainbow-colored ditches.
Continuing, someone asked me not all that long ago what they should do to help steer their adult child back toward the faith. With a few insights relative to the context, essentially, I gave this person the same answer I give to others who’ve asked the same question.
First, don’t lose heart. The Word of the Lord does not return void (Isaiah 55:11). The seeds of faith, once planted, remain, even if buried beneath the weeds of worldly temptations.
Second, are we talking about a baptized child of God? If so, then instead of despair, parents should almost certainly remain steadfast in prayer, trusting in the Holy Spirit’s work. One of the great things about baptism is the promise associated with God’s name. A child baptized in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, just as Jesus mandated, is a child upon whom the Triune God’s name has been placed. For starters, in the Old Testament, God explicitly ties His name to the temple, saying that where He puts His name, He promises to dwell (2 Samuel 7:13, 1 Kings 8:29, 1 Kings 9:3, 2 Chronicles 7:16). In Numbers 6:24-27, God’s personal name (YaHWeH) is invoked three times in the Priestly Blessing (unsurprisingly in a trinitarian way), and in so doing, He promises that His name is thereby placed on His people resulting in blessing.
All of this more than carries over into the New Testament theology of baptism. I don’t have time for all of it, but we certainly get the sense in Matthew 28:19-20, Galatians 3:27, and Acts 2:38-39. Even further, just as God placed His name upon the temple in the Old Testament, Saint Paul tells us that God places His name on His people, the baptized Church. We learn this explicitly in 1 Corinthians 3:16-17, 2 Corinthians 6:16, and Ephesians 2:19-22. Even better, this naming extends into the heavenly realms. God’s name is on people there, too, marking them as His own. Revelation 3:12 presents this. Revelation 22:4 does, too. Even better, I think it’s equally interesting that Revelation 7:14 describes these marked believers before the throne as those who “have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb.” That’s an interesting way to describe the people upon whom God’s name has been placed. I wonder what it could mean. Perhaps the answer to this rhetorical wondering is given elsewhere, in places like Acts 22:16, for example.
My point: a baptized child bears the Triune God’s name, and God isn’t so easily separated from His name. There’s hope in this divine reality.
Third, I recommend keeping the doors open. Engage them in meaningful conversations about life and faith, and most importantly, model unwavering devotion to Christ. If you go to visit for a weekend, start simply. For example, pray before meals. Make plans to attend worship on Sunday. Invite them to join you in both. Be a fixed point of faithful devotion to Christ no matter where you are or what you’re doing. They’ll see this. And then, keep in mind that the prodigal son returned because he knew where home was fixed, and he knew his merciful father was there waiting (Luke 15:11-32). Likewise, those who have been immersed in the faith, even when they stray, can recall the way home, especially when they see the way home through you.
Everyone has a catchphrase. By catchphrase, I mean something you say with regularity. In truth, you likely have more than one. If you asked those closest to you, I bet they could tell you what they are.
About a year ago, Jennifer came up with a great idea. She decided she would make bingo cards with our family members’ unique catchphrases. I liked the idea. It highlights each person’s originality. As someone who appreciates movie memorabilia, I assure you originals are always best. By comparison, my family is by no means a company of imitators. They’re valuable originals.
I haven’t seen Jen’s bingo cards yet, but that hasn’t stopped the family from playing the game. Interestingly, the contest has expanded to include mannerisms, too. It’s not unusual to hear someone call out “Bingo!” whenever anyone at the dinner table says or does something unique to their persona. Apparently, I tend to sigh and say more often than I realize, “I need to get on the treadmill.” Now, whenever I utter those words, someone will say, “Bingo!” Thankfully, I know they’re playing the game and not commenting on my physique.
There’s one sentence the Thoma family as a whole says a lot. We all say, “I love you.” If I were to choose the family’s official catchphrase, that would be it, and I can prove why it’s the best choice. On two separate occasions within the past month, I said something to one of the kids as they walked away, and their reply was, “I love you, too.” The funny thing is, I didn’t say, “I love you.” I said something else. Not hearing what I actually said, they defaulted to the assumption that it must have been “I love you.”
I liked that. I liked it so much I didn’t even attempt to clarify. Instead, I continued along my merry way in both circumstances, savoring the moment’s joy and filing it away as something I might eventually write about. By the way, I’m not just writing for you. I’m writing for my family, too. This is a record of sorts, a chronicling. They’ll read and remember these words long after I’m gone. God willing, their children will absorb the lessons learned, sharing in them, too. As with most things, there’s a lesson to learn if we pay attention.
Looking back, I suppose one lesson I learned is just how burdensome life would be in any family if the go-to assumptions about each other were anything but the “I love you” kind. What would life be like for someone whose default expectation is anything but genuine care or concern from their closest family members? Instead, they expect ridicule and insult. That’s no way to live. It certainly isn’t what God intended for families.
That reminds me of something else.
I surprised my family a few weekends ago by taking them to the new Texas Roadhouse restaurant in Fenton. We don’t go out to eat very often, so it was indeed a treat. While there, a child in the booth behind us proved herself all but demon-possessed. Repeatedly screeching at the top of her lungs, the present but oblivious dad did little more than lean to her and whisper an occasional “Shhh” before returning to tapping at his cell phone.
His efforts did nothing. The child continued shouting, kicking the booth seats, and ultimately disrupting countless meals within earshot of the ruckus—which, in the end, was nearly half the restaurant. How do I know? Because I made eye contact with many of the disgruntled patrons.
Doing our best to talk above the screeches, Jen and I shared with our kids how hard parenting can be. Part of its difficulty is knowing two things. First, a parent needs to know the appropriate threshold for action in any given circumstance, and second, they need to respond in a way that actually helps. Before providing a few challenging examples from our family’s past, I told the kids how vital every parenting moment is for filling the middle spaces of who and what a child will be as an adult. What a parent does or doesn’t do will resonate exponentially. The out-of-control child in the booth behind us was in the very process of becoming her future self, and her disinterested father, even as he did nothing, was a part of her formation.
To explain this, I reminded the kids about a time years ago when I took a hammer and smashed one of their digital devices. I know that sounds harsh. However, the device had become a terrible distraction for one of them. Warnings didn’t work. Taking it away from him didn’t work, either. Getting rid of it appeared to be the only solution. Of course, I could’ve sold or given it away, but doing so seemed too easy, too unimpactful. It left me feeling like a deeper lesson would be lost concerning people and things. Moreover, as a Christian father, I knew somewhere in the mix was an opportunity for the Gospel to shine, which is the only thing that provides real love in any messy situation. The Gospel brings forgiveness while showing our Lord is neck-deep in the messes with us.
Having warned him well in advance of what I planned to do, when he finally crossed the line, he and I went out to the garage together, and I made good on my words. Right before doing so, I told him how much I’d spent to buy the item and that I’d be at a loss of several hundred dollars by doing this. In other words, I was invested in the loss. And yet, I added, I was deeper in the mess with him than he might realize. I told him I’d rather lose all the money in my bank account and sacrifice every object I own than lose him to this world’s things. I love him far more. With that, I smashed the device. He hugged me and told me he loved me. For the record, he remembers what happened and occasionally tells me how thankful he is that I did it.
I told the kids I felt sick to my stomach right after doing it. I wasn’t sure if I’d done the right thing. I wasn’t sure the results I’d hoped for would ever materialize. But as I said, they did. And reassurance abounded at the Texas Roadhouse dinner table. Here we were, several years after the event, agreeing that it strengthened the love between a father and son rather than eroding it. That’s the exponential resonation I mentioned before.
So, what does this have to do with where I started? Well, my mind tends to wander as I type, so I’ll do what I can to tie this up.
I suppose the first thing that comes to mind is the disinterested father in the booth behind us. He needs to know that disciplining his daughter is essential. It’s certainly not unloving. She’s not going to hate him if he requires that she respect him and the people in her vicinity. But if he continues his indifference, the time for hating him will come. She’ll be a self-interested young woman incapable of concern for others, and when he does impose a requirement, she’ll rebel, seeing him only as an enemy. He’ll say, “I love you,” but the words will ricochet.
I suppose my next thought concerns what I wrote before the story I just shared. I had just finished expressing “how burdensome life would be in any family if the go-to assumptions about each other were anything but the ‘I love you’ kind.” The connection there might be that for a family built on Gospel love, even the more complicated moments can still sustain and ultimately prove the “I love you” assumption. In other words, no matter what’s happening, easy or complex, happy or sad, tranquility or anger, we can assume “I love you” from each other, even when those aren’t the words being spoken, and maybe even when the situation requires the kind of disciplinary readjustments that might make a parent a little sick to his stomach. Disciplining or being disciplined, we’ll know the person loves us. We’ll know we always have a way back to better days.
This is true because the comfortable assumption is one of repentance and forgiveness. This is the way back. It bears the relaxing notion of the Lord’s Gospel presence in every trial. A moment might sting a little, but we know we’ll get through it no matter what. And why? Because Christ is our Savior, and He’s made “I love you” the family’s catchphrase.
I’ll just start off by saying that last week was a bit challenging on a personal level. A lot happened in my allotted portion of the globe. Although, I’d say Vacation Bible School, being the starting pistol to each morning that it was, had me launching into each day by way of an invigorated sprint. As it is every year, I was called upon to lead the children (100+ in all) in the opening devotion, taking about twenty minutes or so each morning to sing some fun songs and share a little about the day’s Bible lesson. It’s always a busy exchange, but it’s also refreshing.
I don’t know about you, but I’ve always been a people-watcher. I’ve always been the kind of guy who could go to any particular event—a basketball game, parade, social gathering, or whatever—and find just as much, or even more, entertainment by watching the crowd. It’s the same with Vacation Bible School. Even as I may be leading the children, I’m observing them, too, and as I do, I’m forever being reminded that children perceive things much differently than adults.
For example, on Tuesday of last week, just before leading the children through the first song of the morning, I took a quick moment to teach the children how and why a Christian might make the sign of the cross before praying, and as I did, I joked about being careful not to poke oneself in the eye while attempting to do it for the first time. Most of the kids laughed, but I noticed one little girl in the front row nodding her head and leaning toward a friend to say with all seriousness, “I’m going to be very careful when I do this.” And she was careful. She took what I said literally and really rather earnestly.
I see things like this and I’m prompted to consider the bracing simplicity within a child’s heart.
Do you know who did a great job with capturing such scenes literarily? Lewis Carroll. A writer of children’s stories, Carroll masterfully captured by his characters the childlike matter-of-factness that can be had in everyday conversations between people. That moment on Tuesday morning brought to mind a comical moment between Alice and the White King in Carroll’s Through the Looking Glass:
“I see nobody on the road,” said Alice.
“I only wish I had such eyes,” the King remarked in fretful tone. “To be able to see Nobody! And at that distance, too! Why, it’s as much as I can do to see real people by this light.”
Children operate this way. Not only do they have the potential for taking hold of our words and actions, ultimately revealing to us that each is a stand-alone piece with precise implications, but they often surprise us with just how naturally easy it is for them to do it. Interestingly, in Matthew 18:1-3, Jesus refers to children as the greatest in the kingdom of heaven because of this uncanny ability, namely in relation to faith.
“At that time the disciples came to Jesus, saying, ‘Who is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?’ And calling to him a child, he put him in the midst of them and said, ‘Truly, I say to you, unless you turn and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.’”
Jesus wants the adults—the ones who, in most circumstances, think they know better by their reason and sensibility—to hear and believe the Gospel as a child hears it. He wants them to hear Him in the same way the White King heard Alice—simply, uncomplicatedly, unquestionably.
When a child hears that Jesus loves her, she doesn’t necessarily ask why. An adult is more likely to need a good reason. An adult is more likely to establish a sensible scale of “right” and “wrong,” “good” and “bad,” and from there gauge his or her value to Jesus. Unfortunately, this can leave a person wondering how it is that Christ can actually love such a scoundrel; or worse, set a person up to think that the Lord’s love is due to an exceptional life of good deeds.
But Jesus loves you because that’s who He is. It doesn’t begin with you. It begins with Him. And that’s a good thing.
Being around the VBS children this week has served my heart well in this regard. Each day began with a recalibrating glimpse into the simple joys found in being God’s child. As a result, I was better able to meet the week’s challenging work, not so much inclined toward worrying about how I was going to fix this or navigate that, but rather I was ready at every turn to say, “I am your servant, Lord. I trust you. Lead me, and I’ll follow.”
One last thing to keep in mind…
Knowing that our children so intuitively hear and see what we say and do and then trustingly run in the direction we are leading them, imagine the implications of regular swearing in front of our kids. Imagine the implications of cruel words or actions to a spouse. Imagine the implications of lying, or shredding someone’s reputation, while the kids are listening. Perhaps worst of all, imagine the implications of using excuse after excuse to justify time away from Christ in worship.
I wrote and shared a post on my Facebook page a while ago affirming just how difficult it can sometimes be for parents with children in worship. Interestingly, the children themselves are often the excuse used by parents for staying away. The little ones get antsy, and they struggle to behave. But the point of the post was to make clear what I’ve already shared above. For all the things kids have trouble doing, there’s one thing in particular they do very well: They imitate adults.
But they can’t learn to imitate what we won’t display. Keep in mind that the secular world never sleeps in this regard. It’s always ready to lead our children. One thing I’ve learned as a parent who’s aware of the secular world’s influence is that the more exhausted I become with the process of raising my children to be Godly people, the firmer my resolve and the greater my courage must be in the fight for their eternal futures. I know that a mere portion of a Sunday morning in comparison to the never-ending stimuli bombarding our children the rest of the week doesn’t seem like much. But remember: Don’t overcomplicate things. Just believe Jesus. Remember the Sabbath by keeping it holy. There are infinite blessings attached to this loving mandate. Keep in mind that your time in worship with Him is a powerful portion fitted with otherworldly might. The secular world has nothing on God in this regard. You can be sure that not only will you and your family be blessed, but as your children are engaged in it with you—watching and listening and learning from your displayed devotion to the Savior—they’ll note by their God-given intuitiveness your distinct contrast to the world around them. They’ll learn what’s most important as you display it. They’ll know to trust and follow who you trust and follow. The implications to be had by this are boundless.
Cruciform Stuff 