School Chapel

By Elizabeth Beck

 

            I work on being spiritually fulfilled.  I do things to work on my relationship with God.  I try.  I put forth effort.  Then, when I was least expecting it, I was overwhelmed by the Holy Spirit and God’s love and blessings.

            During Advent, I was aware of preparing for Christ.  I taught my adult Sunday School class and we discussed our blessings and thankfulness and open hearts.  I led a Children’s Chapel service on the Second Sunday of Advent and was touched by the children’s joy.  Their joy was about baby Jesus, not just Santa and presents and no school.  I took my children shopping for toys to donate to the Secret Santa Shop.  At family dinners, my children argued over whose turn it was to light the advent candles and lead the family in song and prayer.  I attended a raucous, lovely and meaningful Christmas Eve service (that would be the 3 o’clock).  I read the Christmas story to Sophie at many bedtimes in December.   I felt the season.  I had great joy.  If you’d asked, I would have said I was the right kind of busy.  We kept the Christ in Christmas. 

            Epiphany came.  I was the Children’s Chapel leader that Sunday.  I emphasized the gifts: the gift that Jesus was to Mary and to all of us, the gifts of the wise men, the gifts that God has given us, especially Jesus, the greatest gift.

            Then, after weeks of vacation, my children went back to school, and I struggled to get back into my routines of life.  I had the metaphorical holiday hangover.  300 pounds of laundry, an art studio that seemed to have been struck by three or four natural disasters (earthquake, tornado, hurricane, Christmas wrapping), and the plain, old, post-holiday-why-do-we-still-have-candy-canes-out-blah, all added up to me being out of sorts, not quite right, undone. 

            School started without a minute of reprieve: Science test! Math test! Book report!  Spelling test! Andy’s birthday! Sophie’s birthday! Sophie’s party!  Life was again at a dizzying speed.  My thoughtful, intentional Advent season and Christmas holiday was gone. 

            I woke up Monday morning, January 14th, with my newly seven year old child smiling at me.  Mommy, isn’t it time to get up?  Ah, this is better.  I asked her about her day, what was going to be good?  She told me her schedule: chapel, recess, who she wanted to sit with at lunch.  Something niggled in my brain... one, one thousand, two, one thousand, three, one thousand…. CHAPEL!  Is today the day Drew is meant to be at school early for chapel reasons?   I hopped out of bed and woke up a not smiling child.   Yes, I’m supposed to go right to chapel today.   I’m waking you up a bit late, get moving fast, honey.  And so it was, we rushed through our morning routine to get Drew off to school a bit early so that he wouldn’t be late to meet Chaplain Woodling in the church.  Drew and two other boys, Tele and Jack, had been asked to be kings.  School was out for Epiphany, so this, the first chapel day of the new year was being used to celebrate the three kings.  I’d gotten a note home that said to get him to church early, he’d wear a costume, he didn’t have a speaking part.  I read it.  Then I forgot.  Oops.  Bad mommy.

            I did not want to go to chapel.  Don’t get me wrong, I love chapel at St. Martin’s school.  Just going for the hymn singing of hundreds of children makes it worth while. For a number of years, it has been my Lenten discipline to go to chapel with my children.  But not that day.  That day I was still craving a normal week, a routine, my life, my to do list.  Chapel had not made it onto my calendar and was not in my day’s plan.  But, of course I went.  It was the right thing to do.  And, it was the happiest, most touching church service I’ve been to in recent memory…or ever.

            When I arrived at church, I went to the first grade spot and got my Sophie, as we’d planned.  We saw Drew.  He was dressed in red with a big crown.  He sparkled.  Well, his costume sparkled.  He grimaced at me.  I pinched him.  Lovingly.  I pinched him lovingly because he would have fallen down dead if I had kissed him or hugged him like I wanted.  My presence clearly embarrassed him.  He tried to not make eye contact.   The acolytes, the readers, the priests processed to the altar.  Then came the kings.  They walked up and Chaplain Woodling introduced the day, the kings, the meaning of Epiphany.    The three kings, when done with their portion of the service, sat in seats of honor, in the three grand chairs behind the altar.  The boys clearly felt special, grand, kingly, and pleased with their seats.  All was well and done with the kings, the portion that I was there to see.  I was proud.  That sweet king in the red is mine.  It was a happy moment.  I was ready to go. 

            Instead, I settled in.  I listened. I appreciated.  I felt the power of a church service that was being held for hundreds of children, not for me.  I wish I could tell you exactly what it was, but I believe the Holy Spirit was present in all sorts of intangibles. 

            Chaplain Woodling has a magical way about her.  When she speaks, she is talking right into the hearts of the hundreds of children in that church.  Ideas of God and love and everlasting life are put into the simplest terms.  First graders, eight graders, teachers and unsuspecting parents all must feel how deeply she cares, how deeply she wants all of us to know God.

            Lia Bertelson, a Spanish teacher, gave a talk, a sermon, a homily.  She spoke of each of us being miracles.  God made each of us.  We were an idea, a notion, and He made us.   Her speech was quite long, but the children were all attentive.  She spoke eloquently and with Christian witness of her own faith.  During her talk, I was touched by how fortunate I was to have my children at this school, coming into this church, hearing these lovely words, learning about faith, love, miracles, self worth, and our Lord.

            By now, I was quite overwhelmed with how I was feeling, grateful for my school, my church, my faith, my children’s faith formation at the school.  Then, because apparently God hadn’t refilled my soul enough yet, there was one last thing: birthdays.  If you have celebrated a birthday, please come up for a birthday blessing.  My Sophie went up.  She went up a bit reluctantly but found her pal, Annie, and was at the altar beaming.  We prayed and sang for the birthday throng.  Sophie came back with a bracelet that said strength.  Perfect.

            I did not go to Chapel with an open heart.  I went with obligation.  I left, though,    having seen the Holy Spirit through Drew acting, Edith teaching, Lia witnessing, and Sophie celebrating. 

            What a lovely way to start the New Year, refreshed.  You never know when the Spirit will fill you up.  We have much to be thankful for. Amen.

 

 

To read Lia Bertleson’s chapel talk click here.