For Christmas, the girls got The Story of Jesus for Children DVD. It is excellent, narrating the Christ story from a few children's viewpoints. Tonight it was on in the van on the way home from the gym.
We were going through the passion.
The girls watched wide-eyed, tight-lipped. The twins had questions, which Brielle tried to hush so she could hear the movie. I gave her the Daddy version of "Suffer the little sisters and forbid them not--questions about this shocking story are a very good thing, Miss Brielle."
Melía asked this one:
"Daddy, was it good that Jesus died?"
How would you answer that one?
Nothing about the scene on the tiny LCD screen was appealing or good. The sounds surrounding us were horrifying.
Yet nightly we praise Brielle when she includes, "Thank you for dying on the cross" in her bedtime prayer. It's called "Good Friday," isn't it?
But could I honestly answer that the corrupt trial, torture and execution of a perfect man was "good"? It brought me back to the gore and grimness of holy communion this weekend. "What kind of a sick religion is Daddy teaching me?" my daughters must be asking.
How far should I go to help it make sense? How much mystery should I let ferment in their minds? How many of my answers should I lay on them, and how many should I help them work out on their own? How much of what I'd like to tell her is just more than she can handle right now?
How much do I myself actually know about this? Grappling with Melía's question, I'm thinking I often overestimate how much I know.
And realizing that is definitely good.
Posts
1 comment:
The girls are lucky to have such loving support guiding them through this emotionally confusing material. I remember finding it stressful, myself. I felt guilty, like I was rooting for the bad guy. Good on you.
Post a Comment