Respite events without "religious content?" Not at our church.
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Just after he discussed the recent allure for flashy church environments, John Piper wrote this in Counted Right in Christ (2002):
Such can be the temptation in special needs ministry. Many leaders have recommended that respite care evenings – which is a fancy way of saying parents’ night out for families who have a child with special needs, including measures taken to ensure safety and proper care – should be devoid of religious content because, after all, we want to welcome these families. If they see Christ’s love in us, without mention of His name, the presumption is that they may join us for worship the next Sunday and hear about Christ then.
To which I say: right aim, wrong method. Welcoming families is crucial. Providing them with an outlet and time with respite care is great. I do understand that leaving out a religious element allows church respite events to be recommended by city, county, and state social services departments. And it may make such events less threatening to some families.
But if we fail to present the remedy - Christ - to the their most crucial and eternal need then we’re operating a doctrinally-diluted “ministry” in which we esteem the comfort of families more than we esteem the gospel which might make them feel uncomfortable. (It isn’t always comfy to hear that we are sinners in need of a Savior and sheep in need of a Shepherd.) Furthermore, no respite program has 100% of participants show up on Sunday morning. A respite event might be the only time you get to share the good news of Jesus Christ with a family. Is it really wise to take a pass on that?
Yes, we want it to be an enjoyable night. Yes, we want to show that Christ's love for us motivates us to love others. Yes, we will have silly and fun elements, and we'll have music and other entertainment. But it's not mutually exclusive; we don't have to choose between those things and Christ. We can have fun and share the gospel. We won't have a sermon at respite, but stories we share will include Christ, as will songs and coloring pages and other activities. We're not planning to pull out our Jesus stick and smack kids on the head with it. (That's a joke, by the way. We don't have a Jesus stick, and even if we did, we wouldn't get all violent with it.) We will pull out the Bible, though, and share truth.
We will have our first respite care event in September of this year. And we will share the good news of Christ during it.
But more and more this doctrinally-diluted view of music, drama, life-tips and marketing seems out of touch with real life in this world – not to mention the next. It tastes like watered-down gruel, not a nourishing meal. It simply isn’t serious enough. It’s too playful and chatty and casual. Its joy just doesn’t feel deep enough or heartbroken or well-rooted. The injustice and persecution and suffering and hellish realities in the world today are so many and so large and so close that I can’t help but think that, deep inside, people are longing for something weighty and massive and rooted and stable and eternal. So it seems to me that the trifling with silly little sketches and breezy welcome-into-the-den styles on Sunday morning are just out of touch with what matters in life.
Of course, it works. Sort of. Because, in the name of felt needs, it resonates with people’s impulse to run from what is most serious and weighty and what makes them most human and what might open the depths of God to their souls. The design is noble. Silliness is a stepping-stone to substance. But it’s an odd path. And evidence is not ample that many are willing to move beyond fun and simplicity. So the price of minimizing truth-based joy and maximizing atmosphere-based comfort is high. More and more, it seems to me, the end might be in view. I doubt that a religious ethos with such feel of entertainment can really survive as Christian for too many more decades. Crises reveal the cracks. (p. 22-23).
Such can be the temptation in special needs ministry. Many leaders have recommended that respite care evenings – which is a fancy way of saying parents’ night out for families who have a child with special needs, including measures taken to ensure safety and proper care – should be devoid of religious content because, after all, we want to welcome these families. If they see Christ’s love in us, without mention of His name, the presumption is that they may join us for worship the next Sunday and hear about Christ then.
To which I say: right aim, wrong method. Welcoming families is crucial. Providing them with an outlet and time with respite care is great. I do understand that leaving out a religious element allows church respite events to be recommended by city, county, and state social services departments. And it may make such events less threatening to some families.
But if we fail to present the remedy - Christ - to the their most crucial and eternal need then we’re operating a doctrinally-diluted “ministry” in which we esteem the comfort of families more than we esteem the gospel which might make them feel uncomfortable. (It isn’t always comfy to hear that we are sinners in need of a Savior and sheep in need of a Shepherd.) Furthermore, no respite program has 100% of participants show up on Sunday morning. A respite event might be the only time you get to share the good news of Jesus Christ with a family. Is it really wise to take a pass on that?
Yes, we want it to be an enjoyable night. Yes, we want to show that Christ's love for us motivates us to love others. Yes, we will have silly and fun elements, and we'll have music and other entertainment. But it's not mutually exclusive; we don't have to choose between those things and Christ. We can have fun and share the gospel. We won't have a sermon at respite, but stories we share will include Christ, as will songs and coloring pages and other activities. We're not planning to pull out our Jesus stick and smack kids on the head with it. (That's a joke, by the way. We don't have a Jesus stick, and even if we did, we wouldn't get all violent with it.) We will pull out the Bible, though, and share truth.
We will have our first respite care event in September of this year. And we will share the good news of Christ during it.