How to talk to your children about the death of Jesus

Can children really understand Jesus' death and resurrection?

"Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer" buzzes from the Echo Dot sitting on the counter of our kitchen. We listen to it so much, my three year old daughter, Dahlia, perfectly imitates the announcement in that canonical Alexa computer voice. "" Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer "by Gene Autry", report in unison, with the first syllable in Autry drawn out as if Alexa could be a little from the south. It is the eleventh time that we listen to "Rudolph" today, which would be fine, but for the fact that it is March and we are in the middle of Lent.

So when my daughter obsessed with Rudolph asks what those bad men are doing to Jesus in the Stations of the Cross surrounding the perimeter of our church, I take this opportunity to carry it forward in the church calendar.

One Friday evening we walk under the scaffolding that rises to the ceiling of San Giovanni Battista where improvements to the roof and ceiling are underway. The scaffolding makes me understand how high the ceilings of the church are. I squeeze Dahlia's hand as if to prevent her from falling although our feet are firmly planted on the green and ivory tiled floor. The church is quieter than Sunday and the lights dim.

"Why is it so silent?" she whispers.

“People are praying. They are thinking about how Jesus died. "

"Oh," he says. "I want to see Jesus."

"That's good." I told him. "Lives here."

"Where is it?" he asks, turning his little blond head to the right and left looking for a bed or a kitchen.

"It is there," I say pointing to the crucifix above the altar. "And there" I say pointing to the sacred heart of the statue of Jesus in a corner of the church. "And here," I say pointing to her heart.

"No! I want to see the TRUE Jesus, ”says Dalia much louder than appropriate. Several in the congregation of 15 or 20 people, most of them over the age of 60 with gray hair and heavy coats, turn around and smile at us.

"Jesus died and went to heaven," I whisper. "Wait. Here comes Dad. He will explain it. ”The father enters from the right of the altar and with an arch begins the stations of the cross. I will give Dahlia a book on First Communion which contains photos of the stations to follow.

"We adore you, O Christ, and we praise you," intones father.

Kneeling, we reply: "Because with your holy cross you redeemed the world".

Dahlia loudly moves around the counter, leafing through the book and listening appropriately. "Mum!" she whispers after her father announced that Jesus has been sentenced to die. "I don't want Jesus to die."

"I know," I whisper back. “None of us do it. Not even him, but he must. "

"Because?" his small face is soft and open, but his forehead is furrowed with confusion.

I stop because this is probably the best question ever and I have no idea how to answer it. "Because it was written" will not fly with a 3 year old. How can I explain Jesus' death in a way that she will understand? Raising her in my arms, I bring her close to me, touching our cheeks.

"See that picture?" I ask, pointing to the third station where Jesus falls for the first time. In it, he is flanked on one side by a soldier whose face is prey to active anger, and another whose arm is rolled back ready to strike. “Those men are angry because Jesus said he was the son of God. He didn't like that he was so powerful. It scared them. "

Dahlia remains silent for a moment, looking from the Station to Father. He turns to investigate what is happening in the other stations. "I don't want Jesus to die," she says again, clasping my hands around my neck and looking a little more worried than a 3-year-old boy probably should have. I want to present it to the whole life of Jesus; I'm not sure if I have to spend too much time on this part yet.

Calmly, I turn around and point to the last station. "Look at that," I whisper. "Guess what happens after that?"

"What?" she asks, lighting up.

"Easter!"

"What about Easter egg hunts?" She asks.

"Yes," I whisper, bringing my ear close to my lips so I can whisper without disturbing the stations that continue around us. “They put Jesus behind that rock, but it was too powerful. He rose from it to live in paradise and, since he did it, one day we can live in paradise with him. At Easter we celebrate it. "

"How did he do?" she asks.

"It's Jesus. He can do anything," I tell her.

Okay, "he says and then repeats," And we can have Easter egg hunts. "

"Yes, and we'll have the Easter egg hunt."

She wiggles from my grasp and lowers herself on the bench where she is largely silent for the rest of the stations, but for her boots that play a melody. Eventually, Father genuflects and exits the side he entered. There is the rustle and blows of books returning to the counter. Dahlia turns and tilts her head completely as her eyes climb the scaffolding behind us.

"I want to climb up there," Dahlia whispers, pointing completely.

“It is too high. We would have fallen. "

"I want to touch the top," he says.

"Maybe when you're older," I tell her.

"Okay," he says. Relieved of being free from the request for silence, Dahlia gets off the counter, jumps under the scaffolding and catapults into her red stroller waiting in the hall. On the way home, the wheels of the stroller bounce off the bumps of the sidewalks. In the crisp cold air, Dahlia hums "Rudolph". Lent, with its big drama, the angry soldiers and Jesus rising from the dead, has enough to do to attract the attention of a 3 year old boy, but for now, it seems that he is respecting Christmas and Rudolph.