“I’m worried…” John said to me, his eyes fixed on the carpet after we talked about the weather.
“What are you worried about?” I asked, shifting in my seat, struggling to find a comfortable position on his sofa, moving cushions and tucking them behind me.
“All my grandchildren were born in the church… went to Sunday School… and now they left the church. It’s just us old folk!” he replied, his face darkening.
I nodded silently, trying to be respectful to his grief even if I had 100 explanations in my mind as to why that is happening everywhere in the church. For an instant, I felt the clerical collar choking me. I know why they aren’t coming. Let me tell you!! I thought.
“Have you ever asked them why they don’t come?” I asked him breaking the silence.
“It’s not just my grandchildren… We don’t have any young people in the church!” he added.
“Yes, that’s true… to a certain extent… we do have some…” I attempted to correct him. “But have you asked them why they don’t come?”
“Yes, I did. I don’t remember exactly what they said… Oh, yes, they said it’s boring!” he recalled scoffing.
“Boring… yes. My children get easily bored too… The bored generation…” I said, enjoying a wee laugh with John.
“When I was their age I was in Sunday School, and then Youth Group and Boys Brigade, I was in church every Sunday, and I never stopped…” he told me emphatically.
“Were YOU ever bored in church?” I asked him looking for his gaze.
“What?” he asked, taken aback by my question, as if saying ‘What’s the point of that question?‘
“Were YOU ever bored in church growing up?” I repeated, looking straight at him.
“I… I think so… I mean… There was a lot that went over my head… I didn’t understand everything… But I still went. I didn’t give up!” he said.
“I was the same, John. I don’t remember ever not going to church. But here’s a question for you: Were you ever given the option to not go?” I asked him tilting my head.
“Huh? No… no…” he shook his head. “I know what you’re trying to say. You’re saying I didn’t have a choice!” he said with a grin.
“Did you?” I insisted.
“Of course I did!” he said with a higher pitched voice. “All my friends were there!” he justified.
“Mhm. Yes… it really does help to have your friends there, doesn’t it? I was the same. All my friends were church friends!”
“Exactly!” he said with some relief in his smile.
“Do you remember your parents ever asking you if you WANTED to go, or if you liked it?” I asked, taking him back to the initial rub.
He thought in silence, trying to jog his own memory, scratching his head. He shook his head.
“I can’t remember…” he said softly and sighed.
I nodded silently.