Sunday Morning

Rev. Dr. Kate Winters

It is Sunday morning. For years this meant that I would be sitting at my desk editing a gospel message and constructing the script that Joel and I would share for the service we did together. Not everything was scripted, but enough that the two of us would know where we were and where we were going. Usually. Once in a while, we would get lost in a prayer, or in the blessed babbling of a baby, or a thunderclap outside, and the Spirit would have her say! The best parts of a church service are always the surprises. That and the loving community of people who gather to pray together.

One of my favorite moments happened on the Sunday following the 9/11 attacks when I wanted so much to give the people a way to express both their grief and their hope. I had decided to give the children a job for their message – to go out and use the sidewalk chalk I had bought them to cover the sidewalks of the little downtown of Osseo, Wisconsin, with messages of love. When the people would walk around with their heads bowed in sorrow, they would see their messages and smile. When I opened the bag to distribute the chalk, I realized that I had purchased “Sidewalk Chalk Bubblegum!” A little boy with a big high pitched voice said at the top of his lungs “Pastor Kate, you really ought to read the labels!” The whole congregation erupted in healing laughter. It was exactly the blessing we all needed.

I never understood those who chose not to have a time for children during the service as it felt like they were only putting the children on display. Yes, they could be cute and funny, but this was also their time to minister to the whole congregation in a way only they could. Whether they were handing out palms, collecting soup for the food cupboard, sitting with their arms around their siblings, or reminding their pastor to pay attention to what she was buying, they displayed God’s spirit in a most unguarded way. The babies who escaped and crawled down the center aisle or up toward the pulpit taught the people that God’s space was meant to be explored, touched, even tasted. The little one who came up to communion with his mother only to get a blessing, and then screamed the whole way back to his seat “I WANT SOME!” converted a whole church to children’s communion. Children do ministry.

It is Sunday morning, a little more than two months into our retirement. I miss our church community. I do not miss acting as their pastor, but I miss being amazed, taught, and loved by them. Especially the children.