In praise of unruly children in church

Churchgoing is, except for all the other parts, the part of being a Christian that I am worst at. I go, but I don’t like it as much as you’re supposed to. I didn’t like it as a kid, when it involved company that I had not selected for myself and a lot of bad music, and I only like it somewhat better as an adult, when it involves company I have selected and, for the most part, better music. No doubt this is my fault—laziness intensified by ADHD or some other as yet ill-understood cluster of symptoms, but still my fault, one so characteristic that without it I would have trouble recognizing myself.

Except for the handful of years when I have been blessed with truly exceptional priests, people I enjoyed listening to and counted as friends, I would almost always rather read theology and take a walk in the woods. Whatever “religious emotions” are, if I have them at all, those are the circumstances in which I’m likeliest to have them.

No doubt I will outgrow my lack of appreciation for church as such, in this world or the next. Nevertheless, my indisposition has given me—as indispositions sometimes do—a unique vantage point, one that allows me to see particular truths with special clarity while blocking out others of equal pertinence. Here is one of those truths: Unruly children are a gift from God. Kids who can’t behave in church are a sign that God has not yet abandoned us.