Three steps to raising a child full of faith

It is not spite, but because of the disappointments in life that we must promote the spiritual imagination of children.

A friend of mine recently posted to a Facebook group for moms who was worried about her son expressing a sincere love for God, a response that made her suffer. "I wish I could just enjoy it and not experience this strange sadness," he said.

I briefly considered a joke: "This is very on-brand for you." My friend, since I know her, has struggled with the way of speaking to her children about matters of faith. I wouldn't call her a cynic, because it is her awareness of how good the world can and should be that makes awareness of the negative so worrying.

My friend is not alone. The anguish that parents feel about the imminent accomplishments of their children, their growing awareness of all that is sad, wrong and violent, hurts. Quickly, others intervened, virtually nodding their heads in agreement. As their children's spiritual imaginations grew, their parents' anxieties and sadness over the inevitable disappointments that the world would serve were being diminished.

"On the one hand, I love my son's developing spirituality as it gives him a moral compass and, I hope, makes him feel safe and loved," says Claire, mother of two. "However, I can't help but worry about how to talk to him after all when he asks me more complicated questions about how I personally feel about the church, which is in conflict to say the least."

I'm not perfect. My son is only 5 years old. But through my prayer and my spiritual practices, I have come to adopt a threefold approach to the bittersweet effort to raise a child full of faith.

Age of innocence?
I don't try to protect my son's innocence. This may seem counterintuitive for some parents, but in my experience doing everything to protect it from the cruel realities of the world only worsens my anxieties, and hers. After all, our children perform shooters' exercises active in elementary schools. They want to know why. But they also want our reassurances that we will do everything we can to protect them.

Similarly, when white middle-class parents of a white male child (AKA my family) avoid difficult conversations about sexism and racism, two of the most pervasive cruelties and injustices that our world suffers, we do so by privilege. This was stated in my family recently by a seven week course that my husband started talking to children about racism. The course, hosted by a nearby episcopal church, guided white parents through the reality of how we unknowingly cultivate racism in young children when we assume that what is normal for us - that the police are always there to help our community, to example - it is not always normal for black communities.

Of course, I have an age-appropriate approach to having difficult conversations with my son. I also think we can push the boundaries a little bit on what we consider "age-appropriate" and give children, even young children, many more benefits than doubt.

Lyz says he tries to be as early as possible with his two children, both of whom are less than 10 years old. "They are so young, so the conversation is going on, but I love these moments of questions and learning, even if they challenge me," she says.

An endless story
One of the reasons why my husband and I decided to baptize our son was because Christian history was not only the story we were raised with, but also one that we believe is holy and full of truth. It reminds us that, yes, the world can be terrible and do terrible things, but those terrible things don't have the last word.

My friend Lila, who has no children, is culturally Jewish but was raised by parents who thought she would understand what she believed on her own. Admirably, they didn't want to force a belief on her. They believed it was important for her to find her answers by choosing her own research. The problem, Lila confided to me, is that she had nothing to work with. Faced with the tragedy, he had no religious lessons to rely on. She had nothing to reject either, which would have at least led her in the opposite direction as she sought answers and comfort.

"I want my kids to find their answers," says Lyz. “And I want them to get there alone. But it is difficult when they are small and everything is black and white for them, but the faith is so dark. That's why he brings his children to church and commits their questions openly and honestly.

Let it go
At some point all parents, whether or not they raise children in a religious tradition, have to let go. We begin to let ourselves go from the moment they are babies, allowing our children to have more and more free will on their lives. The 6-year-old boy selects and opens his snacks after school. The thirteen year old chooses the shoes she wants to buy for the first day of school. The seventeen year old guides herself in football.

Adopting the same approach to the spiritual formation of children in the same way allows parents to let go and trust their children. But just as I don't expect my son to know how to open a bag of Goldfish crackers without me showing him how, I can't expect him to know how to pray.

"I've always struggled a lot with faith and often felt jealous of friends and relatives who had a simple belief," says Cynthia, whose son's faith resembles a comic book story, complete with villains, "good guys" and superpowers . "I totally reject this understanding of God. So I don't want to discourage [his faith], but I want to discourage his current understanding of it." He says he fears that when his son gets older this approach to faith will make him disillusioned, or worse, that it will hurt him.

As parents, our job is to protect our children not only from physical but also emotional and spiritual harm. That's why the need to let go can be so demanding. We remember our own wounds and we want to prevent those same wounds from falling on our beloved sons and daughters.

The same friend who posted on Facebook, when I asked her to tell me more about her anxieties, indicated that this is exactly what makes her suffer for her son. It is his memory of spiritual pain that aggravates anxiety. However, he said to me, “I must remember that your journey of faith and mine will not necessarily be the same. So I wish I could stop worrying now and only get there when I get there