“All the Children come to Sing,” invites the Pastor in the little church of long ago. Look in with me about fifty years ago. About eight kids eagerly shuffle out of the pews, a couple of 12-year-olds stubbornly sit as aunts and grandmas urge them to go forward. They feel too big for that. But watch the others. They line up in front of the altar while little Nancy, hardly more than a toddler, takes her place at the end. Sonny notices that George moved to the other end, so Sonny hurriedly moves over by him. Jean, a young teen, sits on the front seat facing them as she directs their singing. Nancy is cute as she mimics the others, trying to be as big as the rest. Oh, listen as they sing, “He showed me his feet that were bruised for my sinning, He showed me his hands that were nailed to the tree. I then saw his brow and his sides deeply wounded. And now I love Jesus and Jesus loves me.” Tears trickle down Carl’s face as he hold his palms up in front of him, feeling the presence of Jesus.
I’m looking in on that church so long ago because I have been able to watch those children (even the 12-year-olds) grow. They have been good seed planted in good soil. Many churches have changed a lot, but Jesus’s invitation still holds, “Bring the little children unto me.”