Yesterday, instead of giving a second children's sermon on John the Baptist, I skipped ahead to Epiphany, sort of. I looked back to last Sunday's sermon about John the Baptist and talked about what points us to God.
Sometimes what points us to God is something noisy, like John the Baptist. I talked about angel choirs--if an angel choir appeared, that would be something obvious. But often what points us to God is something quieter. I passed out glow in the dark stars. I'd gotten a box of 100 for about $6.00 for Amazon and divided them into sandwich bags.
I talked about the wise men who noticed a new star because they had been paying attention. I said that it's easy to pay attention to what points us to God in a time of Advent--there's lots of beauty to remind us. I gestured to the tree behind me.
But more often, we're going to have to be paying attention--and that's what our texts have been telling us, to stay alert, even when we don't have beautiful trees and lights to remind us. I suggested that they take the stars and hang onto them, maybe keep them in a pocket or by their bed, where maybe they'll glow in the dark, and remember to keep watch for God at work in the world.
After the service, we stayed to help decorate the church for next Sunday; we are doing one service at 2 p.m. One of the children's mothers told me how much she loves the children's sermons that I do and how her daughter loves them too and finds so much richness in them. It is a moment I will treasure--I feel less sure about my children's sermons than other elements of being a minister. I like the children's sermons that I give, but I've never had formal education in children's intellectual and moral development, so I don't know if they're at the correct level. This encounter helped me think that maybe I'm doing OK.
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