Catechism: religious instruction in Christian doctrine and practice

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Last summer, I rejoined the staff at All Saints Dallas (having formerly served as Family Ministries Director and then taking a break to care for my growing family) with the title Catechist, a term that has sometimes proved confusing. For some, there was a concern (or hope!) that this meant that we might begin programmatic quizzing of children: Do they know the catechism? They will now! Let’s start memorizing! This was, of course, not the intent. Instead, my job focuses on equipping families, helping children participate in corporate worship and offering guidance to our family ministries department about curriculum and teaching. It does, however, bring up two questions: What, and when, is Anglican catechesis?

While our Anglican Book of Common Prayer (BCP) has a section of catechetical questions and answers, the main catechesis of the church happens experientially, rooted in Scripture, guided by the prayers of the BCP and lived out in the communities of our congregations and our homes. Catechesis comes from a Greek word meaning “oral instruction” and includes the process of religious instruction in Christian doctrine and practice. Catechesis is happening in corporate worship, private prayer and family life; in Anglican tradition, it’s less about scheduling a catechetical lesson and more about responding to the invitations offered through the rhythms of our Church year and in the homes and households of our communities.

I’ve had the joy of leading children’s ministries in a handful of Anglican congregations, and I’ve frequently encountered the question, “How can we get our children to engage in the service?” or, the sometimes more desperate variation, “How do I get my child to behave in church?” We developed tip sheets for young families, follow-along books for older children, Parenting in the Pew book discussion groups and busy bags to engage children quietly.

These are all great tools for young families, and some we use today at All Saints Dallas; but over my past five years here, I have never encountered this question with a tone of obligation or anxiety. We have scores of squirrely children in the pews each week, and the work of the Holy Spirit, bearing the Spirit’s fruit of love, joy and patience, has shaped the way we invite children into a worship of celebration rather than obligation. As we receive God’s love and extend it to each other, we envelope our children in the answer to the questions their hearts are asking: Is God’s love for me? How do I know God? When a whole congregation—not just the parents—takes a posture of “get to” instead of “have to” toward worship, children begin to advocate for their own participation.

We catechize children when we invite them into God’s love throughout our worship and prayers. When we pick up toddlers to participate in the Eucharist, whisper to children of their own baptism days during another baptism and pass the plate to them during the offering, we have an opportunity to experientially share God’s sacrificial love and provision for them.

I am not unfamiliar with the stresses and squabbles inherent in little people in our pews: My husband and I had three children in less than four years, and our oldest is now 5. Bringing our children to worship can feel challenging. Our children also look forward to church, ask to come to corporate worship, show genuine delight in participating in the Eucharist and chatter on the way home about their Bible lessons from Sunday school. The gifts to us as parents are the tone of deep hospitality set by our clergy and congregation, the rhythms of our prayer book that allow even young children to participate in its repetition and the presence of Christ himself, who ministers directly to our children through his Holy Spirit in ways that surpass our control as parents.

A few years ago, my husband, Sam, was reading the story of Jesus blessing the children to our toddler before bed. Seizing the moment for some direct teaching, he paused the story and turned to 2-year-old Davy, saying, “You can always come to Jesus. Jesus loves you so much; you can always come to him.” Davy looked up earnestly at Sam, placed his open palms out in front of him like he had done countless times at the altar rail, and said, “We come to Jesus like this, dad, right?” Sam, choked up, replied, “That’s right, Davy: empty and open handed.” What Sam had meant as a teachable moment led to his own learning—both a beautiful reminder of our open-handedness to God and a reminder of how God works in our weekly worship and community to catechize the hearts of children.