children – Southwest Conference Blog

Living A Different Story: A Message From Jerusalem

Kay Klinkenborg at Church of the Palms UCC sent us this article and knows Elie Pritz, the author of this piece, who lives and works in Jerusalem. She was raised there and is a Christian who, 10 years ago, founded a NGO to work on peace curriculum in teaching children K-12 non-violent options and peace building. Elie has lived her entire life in Jerusalem, has an American father and Swiss mother. Her pain about the issues in Palestine/Israel is palpable. She wrote this for her December newsletter.

It was about a month after the war started that I walked into Hand in Hand—a Hebrew-Arabic school in Jerusalem. We had originally planned to meet on October 9th, which clearly didn’t happen after the war broke out on October 7th. I was surprised when, a month later, they contacted me and asked if we could try again. Wasn’t their plate already ridiculously full, trying to keep a school like theirs running during a war? But we set a date and time, and two days later I was sitting inside the principal’s office, preparing to talk to her and one of the English teachers about our Peace Heroes program.

Bilingual schools (Hebrew and Arabic) are very rare in Israel. The vast majority of schools are sector based: secular Israeli Jewish schools, religious Jewish schools, Palestinian Israeli (Muslim and Christian) schools. Schools don’t integrate. The nine bilingual schools dispersed throughout the country are an anomaly—a place where Jewish and Palestinian Israelis can learn together in one another’s languages.

Peace Heroes' founder and program director, Elie Pritz. — Peace Heroes’ founder and program director, Elie Pritz.

I could only imagine how recent events would have greatly strained this mixed school community. So I asked the Jewish Israeli principal how this war has affected them.

“Look,” she said, “we’re in a war. And our students represent both sides of this war. It’s hard. But unlike some other organizations, we don’t have the privilege of going into ourselves right now, to reflect on the situation and decide how to move forward. Our students are coming to school every day. We have to figure this out every day.”

The English teacher, a Palestinian Israeli, said: “After October 7th I didn’t want to come in to work. But I chose to come anyway. Every day I wake up and I make that choice all over again—the choice to be here…It’s not easy, but it’s my choice. It’s the choice every single one of us in this school is making.”

We spent the next hour talking about Peace Heroes, brainstorming ways they could make it part of their school program. It was the first time in a month I felt inspired and even hopeful. Here is a school that is doing the hard (hard!) work of figuring out how to live life together. Here is a school that understands, at an existential level, how crucial it is to raise the next generation of leaders in this land to be pursuers of peace and mutual thriving. They loved the idea of using stories of Peace Heroes from all over the world—as well as from the region—to not only model to their students how to navigate really hard things while still upholding the dignity of all people, but also to open up difficult conversations around identity, justice, and security within the safe space of storytelling.

At the end of the meeting the principal told me that our hour together felt like oxygen to the soul. I understood what she meant. For the first time in weeks, I felt like I could breathe again, even if only for a moment. To be in the room together with people who, like me, were making a supreme effort to swim against the tide that in this moment is dividing not only the people of this land but also of the world, brought me to tears. Tears of relief in feeling that there are others who are doing what is possibly one of the hardest and most isolating things to do in a war: fighting to stay united, to be in relationship, to be mutually empathetic to and supportive of one another’s identity as well as experience of the nightmare we are all living through.

October 7th and its aftermath is changing our landscape in a way that will take us years to fully understand. In the days following the beginning of the war, people everywhere asked me to tell them how I was doing, to explain to them what was happening. It felt impossible. I was stunned into silence, completely unable to articulate the chaos, trauma, fear, and grief we were all suddenly plunged into. And yet, even while I sat in this stunned silence, I was completely taken aback by the onslaught of divisive and damaging words being spewed out by people around the world, aimed at one or other of the communities in this land. This tsunami of hate-filled words quickly spiraled me down into a despairing depression. I felt as voiceless as I’ve ever felt, and so alone in my desire to push forward another narrative, to tell a different story.

But slowly, I began to hear other voices speaking the words I could not speak—local peacemakers, both Israeli and Palestinian, whose stories I had written, whose organizations I had been following since the days I had started my journey with Peace Heroes more than a decade ago.* These people were articulating what I could not: the unbelievable pain of the moment we suddenly found ourselves in, AND the absolute necessity of upholding the dignity of all the people in this place. Their voices anchored me the way nothing else could. They gave me solid ground to stand on and brought me back to myself and to what I knew to be true: that violence is our common enemy, and that taking a stand against violence and its dehumanizing effects is the only way we will ever come out of this moment with our humanity still intact.

Words matter. They matter so much. Words can break our world or they can remake it. It took me a few weeks to connect the dots (blame the war—it messes with one’s ability to think logically), but it finally dawned on me that I do have life giving words. I’ve been writing them for a decade, telling the stories of people from all over the world—as well as from Israel and Palestine—who have faced devastating situations and have chosen to be a light in the darkness, a force for healing rather than division, hate, and fear. Voices that will never stop trying to remake our world.

Hand in Hand school is one of these voices. They understand the toxicity of the space we are living in, and the urgency of raising our voice to tell (and live) a different story. Peacemakers are often the first to be sidelined in a war, but I believe it is precisely these people who are doing the hardest work of all: the work of daily choosing to live out a different reality. A reality that says to people across the divide: “You matter, and I will live my life in a way that manifests this conviction and upholds your dignity as well as mine, no matter what.” This is the only reality that promises any kind of viable and shared future in this land.

As this year comes to a close it is my deepest hope that we will all follow in the footsteps of these peacemakers. May we live a different story–one that daily chooses to remake our broken world.

Reflections of a Children’s Chaplain

by Dr. Kristina “Tina” Campbell

As we walk the hallowed halls with a deep desire to bring spiritual comfort to patients and families, there are times when we must pause to experience our own humanity. There are times when we must pause to connect with our own spiritual source for perspective, strength, and refreshment. There are times when we must reconnect with our own sense of being human. There are times when we must step back and mourn.

As we view a child’s body pulled from the bottom of a green pool, we must step back and mourn. As we witness teenaged attempts to take their own lives by hanging, gun shot, starvation or overdose, we must step back and mourn. As we witness a nurse drape a newborn baby for transfer to the morgue, we must step back and mourn. As we view the mangled body of a joyride gone bad, we must step back and mourn. As we see the skyrocketing cases of children with COVID gasping for air, we must step back and mourn. As we witness the contorted physical pain of sickle cell, we must step back and mourn. As we view the strained face of a doctor informing a grandmother that there is nothing more medicine can do, we must step back and mourn. Amid panicked fear, threadbare nerves, and lives forever changed or ended, we must step back and mourn.

Finding a private space in the quiet corner of our hearts, we bow and we weep, because we know if we do not, we will lose our human connection and become mere robots. We are trained, we are hurried, we are present, and yet our calling is to be fully human. In acknowledgement of our common humanity, there are times when we must step back and mourn. Amen.

Dr. Campbell, UCC clergy, BCC, is a Staff Chaplain at Phoenix Children’s Hospital.

All Pointed in the Same Direction: Body Acceptance, Grace, Nonviolence, and Our Whole Lives

by Karen Richter

Advent is short this year, y’all. Because Christmas Eve morning is the fourth Sunday in Advent, the season is 6 days shorter than usual! It’s a great time to do something pondering on the incarnation. I like the incarnation as a metaphor to help us have a healthier understanding of sexuality.

I’ve heard lots of people talk about incarnation as a one-time, limited engagement kind of thing – that it’s just about Jesus. I’ve heard lots of people use the incarnation as an exclusionary doctrine to clobber people who believe differently. And I’m not interested in that at all.

I want to make a case for keeping the incarnation… not in a literal “special Jesus” way but in a life-giving metaphorical way.

The shame around sexuality and BODIES in our culture is the best reason to keep the theology of incarnation! The Word became flesh and lived among us for a time (John 1.14)! Full of grace and truth :: when Jesus was fully human he was full of grace and truth. WE ARE TOO. We are full of grace and truth! Who is full of grace and truth? You are, friend!

We know this. This is not new to us… except sometimes this is new to us.

Living it out – living INCARNATIONALLY – means having a different relationship with our bodies than we are accustomed to. Living it out means treating ourselves and everyone around us in ways that our culture thinks is downright odd.

Living INCARNATIONALLY means “have you lost weight?” is not a compliment. Yeah, you heard me.

Living INCARNATIONALLY means that “I hate my thighs” goes against my faith.

Living INCARNATIONALLY means shoving your 5 year old forward with instructions to “Go kiss Auntie Jean” tears down that child’s body autonomy.

Living INCARNATIONALLY means that a school dress code that shames young women and holds them responsible for the learning environment is offensive and just plain wrong. “What was she wearing?” is always the wrong question… whether the setting is a darkened alley or a college party or a public school classroom.

On the positive side, Living INCARNATIONALLY means that when we show up for one another in embodied ways… with hugs or casseroles, on yoga mats or in the dugout, with fist bumps or shared tears, with birthgiving and diapering and nurturing, and yes, with sexual intimacy… holy space is created.

Living incarnationally means that when we say God loves everybody… we MUST mean that God loves Every. Body. including our own… or we are liars. I like to say it like this: “God loves Every PERIOD! Body PERIOD!”

So… The United Church of Christ and the Southwest Conference support Our Whole Lives. We do this for wonderfully practical reasons: because we value our young people, we want them whole and healthy. We want them to experience sexuality as part of God’s good gifts of embodiment and creation. And OWL does a great job at teaching sexual decision-making, values, safer sexual behaviors, and consent. In so many congregations, there are these awesome trained facilitators… they live this out, showing up for our students. At Our Whole Lives here at Shadow Rock, we eat together, we ask questions… we do many ridiculous role plays… It’s so fantastic.

BUT HERE TODAY, I WANT TO TAKE IT FURTHER. I want to move Our Whole Lives, and bodies, and incarnation, and sexuality to the heart of my own faith.

We believe that each human person is unique and unrepeatable. So in the OWL classroom and beyond, we foster a culture of consent… moving through the world in such a way that each person’s individuality is honored.

When consent become part of our basic operating system – when consent is entrenched as part of our core value of JUSTICE – when anything other than consent is anathema to us… we begin to move through the world in a non-harming way.

Consent and body autonomy are part of nonviolence for me. Nonviolence is not just nice (‘nice’ being a pretty low bar) – nonviolence is even beyond kindness (although kindness gets us closer). It’s a way of being – a kind of showing up – that’s marked by life-giving interactions with other earthlings.

Life-giving interactions with other earthlings. I have SO MUCH WORK TO DO on this. My way of showing up is way too often characterized by materialism and greed and arrogance.

But continuing to lead Our Whole Lives, even when the students are a little squirrelly… this helps.

Remembering that at my best, I too am full of grace and truth – this helps.

Being here, with you all in the Southwest Conference, being part of a group of OWL facilitators and trainers that embodies the Our Whole Lives values of Self-Worth, Sexual Health, Responsibility and Justice & Inclusivity… this helps.

Knowing in my heart in my bones that God loves me – that I am part of Every. Body. … this helps.

So in this season of Advent, I invite you to be gentle, to remember how this idea of incarnation – of the Word becoming flesh – makes us all siblings together, God’s children, full of grace and truth. Amen!

The “Music” of Our Whole Lives ~ some reflections after the OWL All-Levels Training of Trainers

by Karen Richter

I was really excited to be able to attend the Our Whole Lives Training of Trainers last week in Hawaii. While the Southwest Conference has several churches who offer Our Whole Lives programming, we didn’t have an approved local trainer. I’m especially grateful to the OWL staff person at the national setting, Amy Johnson, Commissioned Minister for Sexuality Education and to the Unitarian Universalist Association who made this training happen and provided a wonderful experience for 22 trainers-in-training.

One really wonderful discussion during the training was about the “music” of the OWL curriculum. This is a rich metaphor, acknowledging that a person who participates in an Our Whole Lives program at any level might not remember any specific information they learned. As time passes, the content (anatomy, active listening checklist, contraception failure rates…) may simply slip away. In this metaphor, the participant might forget the “lyrics” they previously knew… but it’s our hope that they remember the tune.

What’s the TUNE of Our Whole Lives? What is the spirit or culture or tone of the program that becomes the music children, teens, adults, and facilitators come away from OWL humming under their breath?

It’s VALUES. All of Our Whole Lives curricula is grounded in specific values. For elementary programming, these are Respect, Relationships, and Responsibility. For high school and adult programming, the values are Self-Worth, Sexual Health, Responsibility, and Justice & Inclusivity. Every workshop, every resource, every activity reflects and reinforces these values. Being absolutely clear about the centrality of these values makes Our Whole Lives a gift to families and communities. Building a shared language of values makes awkward (or sometimes just plain funny) conversations a little easier.

It’s a CELEBRATION OF LIVED EXPERIENCE. Besides the values, Our Whole Lives is based on some assumptions, including the natural goodness of our sexual feelings, identities, and behaviors… while acknowledging the real damage done to sexuality by violence and exploitation. All persons are sexual, and exploring this everyday commonality is a formative experience at any age.

It’s a recognition of the CONNECTIONS BETWEEN SEXUALITY AND SPIRITUALITY. Can you think of words that describe healthy sexuality? Can those same words also describe healthy spirituality? The Sexuality and Our Faith resources helps facilitators and participants deepen those connections and develop a sense of gratitude for the gift of sexuality from a loving Creator.

There’s a significant weight of responsibility on OWL facilitators – keeping all these pieces of “music” in your head, being engaging and approachable, planning and executing 90 minutes of instruction and activities. If your congregation has Our Whole Lives programming, hug these wonderful people. They are engaged in life giving, life saving ministry.

If your congregation doesn’t currently offer Our Whole Lives, let’s talk!

Tips for Interacting with Newer Humans, in Your Congregation and in Their Natural Habitats

by Karen Richter

My feminism became much more real when my daughter was born. She’s a native Georgian (with the double name to prove it), born where dressing and grooming your girl child is an expensive and full-time hobby. I was known for being a somewhat relaxed parent (maybe even a slacker), so I got this helpful advice from a friend,

“Oh for gosh sakes, don’t bring her to church with her diaper showing.”

There are, you see, cute, preferably monogrammed, little lace bloomers that one purchases to cover diapers when Baby Girl is wearing a dress.

Gigantic bows and lacy bloomers are not part of family culture in Arizona, for the most part. But it still seems that folks don’t always know how to interact with children in respectful, non-gendered ways. And we so want to make children and families feel welcome in our faith communities! Here are some things to try with young humans in your congregation.

Recognize that children have moods just like adults. I have been in faith communities where the children’s behavior is seen as a direct reflection of the parents’ character. It was not fun. Accept that children don’t always welcome interaction with adults they don’t know well. Smile, and move on. It may be that we can learn something from kids who don’t hide their cranky moods, even at church. They are being real – you can do it too.
Physical touch needs consent. When you see a child upset or sad, ask, “Would a hug or a back pat help?” For happy kiddos, you can say, “Are we fist-bumping today?” This can feel a little awkward at first. Practice… and know that you are doing a small part of changing our culture around consent and body autonomy! Plus it’s good for Safe Church culture. New families and parents visiting for the first time may be wary of adults who seem overly familiar with their children. When safe adults model consent, it makes unhealthy adult behaviors more obviously out-of-the-ordinary and protects all children.
Strive for gender-neutrality. OMGoodness this can be hard! I’ve observed that adults most often make comments to little girls on their appearance and comments about ANYTHING ELSE to little boys! Discipline your reactions; respond mindfully and intentionally. Here are some conversation starters you might try…
- How are you today? (It’s a classic!)
- Is there something you’re looking forward to this week?
- I saw a bunny/lizard/fast car on my way to church this morning! Did you see anything cool?
- We are singing ‘Blahblahblah’ this morning… it’s my favorite! Do you have a favorite church song?
- Replace “Boys and Girls” as your default way of addressing a group of children! Try Young Ones, Friends, Beloveds, Children of God… Be creative and find what feels natural for you.
Learn kids’ names and help them learn yours. It feels good to be known by name. Decide how you would prefer to be called by children: Mrs. Smith or Ms. Sally… Mr. Johnson or Bill. Parents may feel uncomfortable with family titles like Grandpa Joe.

Are you cringing, thinking about that sweet kid just the other week whose sparkly shoes and hairbow you complimented? Or are you annoyed… seeing my suggestions as political correctness run amok? I recognize that our culture doesn’t encourage open-minded open-hearted ways of communicating with young humans. It’s a place where we can grow and learn – because there’s never a time in which children don’t deserve our best efforts. We must find ways of talking with one another – at all ages – that are true to the values of inclusion, respect, and inherent human dignity.

Let’s keep talking!

Not Your Kids

by Abigail Conley

A story flashes across my screen. Philando Castile. Charleena Lyles.

“Not your kids,” a voice says from somewhere inside.

It’s the voice of relief, a promise really, “not your kids.”

June is Pride Month, so there’s an array of rainbow everything on that same screen.

Pictures of happy couples, of families with moms or dads, of chestfeeding and breastfeeding, of pronoun etiquette and label etiquette. Amid those happy pictures, happy shares of stories, there are stories of rejection intermingled.

“Not your kids,” says the same voice from deep inside. I rest assured that my LGBTQ+ kids know they’re safe at church, if nowhere else.

I know the hijabs the little girls wear set them apart from their friends and neighbors. I know the color of their skin does, too. Their families are from Pakistan. I cannot imagine what many of them have been through in their lives. These Muslim children joyfully welcome their Christian neighbors, snuggling up to the adults who are more familiar. I wonder how often they are not safe outside these walls.

“Not your kids,” comes the same voice.

This is the echo of privilege. The fears that accompany so many people do not accompany my kids—the ones from my church, the ones of my own I may have some day.

Children seem to be the great equalizer among people. Children are easier to play with and easier to talk to. They seem to more easily embrace any adult willing to play with them. They worry less about language barriers. My Spanish is even perfect for hanging out with preschool kids, where I can quiz them on colors and shapes.

I remember a plea made in my own denomination that stopped some of the fighting about LGBTQ+ welcome: our kids are dying.

Even the naysayers realized that’s the worst sort of pain.

The voice comes often, “Not your kids.”

If it’s not your kids, it’s easy to forget the sort of desperation that comes with it is your kids. It’s the kind of desperation that dragged Jairus from his home to find a man he’d only heard about. It’s the kind of desperation that made him pull Jesus along with him through the city streets, to a house where mourning had already begun. It’s the desperation that will do anything to save a child’s life.

“Not your kids,” will echo, again. Our privilege will remind us of the fears we don’t have for our children. I wonder, can we learn the answer, “But they’re somebody’s kids”?

Theology of the Nursery

by Karen Richter

This blog is dedicated to all church nursery staff and volunteers! You too are loved!

Where is faith birthed?

What early experiences correlate to a lifetime of prayer and service?

What opportunities are we overlooking or missing or failing to maximize for congregational vitality?

These are the questions that occupy me, especially on my commute to and from Shadow Rock UCC. As a parent and as a church staffer in the area of faith formation, these are crucial inquiries.

A couple of years ago, we were struggling with a mid-week after-school program. So many families couldn’t commit to regular attendance, and adult volunteers available 4 pm to 6 pm on a Wednesday were hard to find. For a time, we had a low-key program with several activity centers that required minimal adult direction. Different and often more cynical questions were asked: are social and play-oriented activities worth investing in? what kinds of experiences do kids need in the midst of the school week? where’s the proper balance between relationship-building and content for children’s faith programming?

In the end, we discontinued the program, but the period of questioning bore fruit for me. A vision for what children must experience in their spiritual community emerged: Church is where people love me.

I’ll say it again: Church is where people love me.

Church is where I am LOVED.

These wacky people really care about me!

When my teenage son was a wee Cub Scout, he got a little note from a church member congratulating him on a successful scout food drive. Under her signed name, she wrote (one of the church people you probably don’t really know). When I asked him about it, he said, “Of course I know who that is. She says hello to me every week.”

All of the life of faith, all service and care of people and creation, and all growth in faith, understanding and spirituality – the whole of what we do! – hang on this kind of experience. There will be time later to learn Psalm 23 and the Beatitudes, time for skits about Jesus calling the fishermen, even time for wrestling with Romans chapter 8.

But it starts in the nursery. The warm safety of the place, the gentle hands of nursery workers and volunteers, the opportunity to make connections and first friendships… for babies and toddlers, it’s their first Sunday learning.

So this week, show some appreciation and gratitude to those people who make this wonderment happen. Hug a nursery person. They might be a little sticky (or worse!), but it’s worth it.

In Relationships, Small Things Count

by Amos Smith

Recently, I dreaded weekday mornings. Getting Luke up and ready for school was a chore. We butt heads. I would wake him, then he would get mad and say he was tired. Then I would prod him. Eventually he would start the day reluctantly and grumpy. It was a gridlocked negative pattern.

Then one day it dawned on me that I could change the dynamic. So now, instead of wake him, I set my iPod in his room and turn on his favorite songs at moderate volume. Then after a few minutes I lay beside him on his bed and talk to him about the day ahead (he likes to know about plans ahead of time). Now he wakes up happy.

Most people do creative problem solving in their relationships like the example above. Yet, since my centering prayer practice has deepened, I’ve noticed that habitual letting go and out-of-the-box ideas come more frequently.

Out of Touch with the Poor in Africa

by Amos Smith

After graduation from high school I worked for Habitat for Humanity in Uganda, East Africa. I’ll never forget Semunyo, an elderly gentleman with an oozing foot infection. When my friend Matovu first took me to see Semunyo, his leg had begun to swell and gangrene was days away. It was obvious to me that he needed penicillin. The sorry fact was that Semunyo didn’t have enough money to pay for penicillin shots at the local clinic. So Matovu and I put him in a wheelbarrow and rolled him to the clinic, where I paid five dollars for penicillin which saved Semunyo’s life.

Many Americans have lost touch with the Semunyos of the world. Semunyo is the tip of the iceberg. In fact, Semunyo is a tame example of “third world” realities.

If a jumbo jet went down in North America it would be headline news. If two jumbo jets went down on the same day in North America it would be huge news, congressional committees of inquiry would form, a media shakedown would commence, and reparations would be made.

Every day the equivalent of five jumbo jets goes down in Africa. In other words, over three thousand Africans die from AIDS daily. This is a travesty. We add to the inhumanity of the situation by turning away. Where are the headlines in the daily paper and blog? Where are the congressional committees meeting around the clock to solve the crisis? These human beings are flesh and blood. They’re Christ’s body.