Children's spirituality and theology
Nature or God first?
There’s a story (probably false) that I always loved. Parents spy on their eldest daughter at four years old leaning over the cot of her infant sister. 'Try to remember,’ she pleads with her sibling. ‘When you get older, you’ll forget. So you have to remember the before time.’
Before I had kids I thought this story was a rare, magical event. Now I’m a father I realise this is commonplace. Children commune with the divine to the point of banality.
Child psychologists would present easy explanations for their behaviour. Up until four or five, they’re still developing their basic understanding of mechanical physics. Theory of mind doesn’t drop in until about four. So objects have consciousness. Magic happens. There are layers to reality that don’t need to possess logical forethought.
The ‘thin veil’ of childhood is the fuel for plenty of horror stories and campfire spook-fests. Children with past live memories. Children with psychic visions or impossibly specific knowledge. I could take or leave that stuff.
But let me tell you about these kids of mine. Ruby is the youngest, and a typical second child. Agent of chaos and general ass-kicker. Visceral and born from Earth. Feet firmly planted on the ground. Into fine motor extreme sport: endurance play dough play, or speed colouring.
Ellie is our eldest, almost seven. Ethereal and born from the air. Her favourite activity is to commune with nature. She leads us in meditation for ten or fifteen-minute stretches. Her favourite part of the school holidays was our trip to Mullumbimby’s Crystal Castle and a twenty-minute singing bowl meditation. She will be found, on occasion, sitting cross-legged in grass and breathing.
Theology has always come easy to Ellie. I became obsessed with Ganesha for a time there, and she loved the gold statue I kept on my desk. One day she told me, while we were sitting at a cafe, that she’d figured out that Ganesh lived on ‘another Earth’, that was simultaneously ‘above and beside’ our Earth, and there was an accessible bridge between the two.
Righto. Holy shit Ell. Drink your baby-cino.
She’s aging into her middle childhood with the assistance of her polite, well-funded, Anglican private school. It meant the careful crafting of her theology that combined her brand of paganism with her nascent Christianity. She puzzled for a while over which came first: God or nature. After a few days, she told us she’d come to a decision. Nature made God so God could make humans look after nature.
Fair enough Ell. Drink your baby-cino.
It is easy to spot Ellie’s spirituality because it’s articulate and has the performance of ritual about it (meditation, hierarchical theologies, etc). But Ruby’s instinctive Buddhism and viscerality are equally profound. When there is music, dance. When in doubt, writhe. Her connection to her body is a reminder of the body’s somatic intelligence. She’s here to remind us: there’s a divinity in dance, you anxious group of Burtons. Let’s boogie.
The sacred Burton bedtime routine, carved in stone since their birth, occurs like this: 5.30pm we gather around the table for dinner. There is a short break before tooth brushing, which is usually taken up with dancing. Toothbrush, pyjama time, then ‘family cuddle’, which is usually wrestling on the bed, or tickling. Other, more quiet occasions involve the girls drawing angel cards and holding them to their chests. The stories and bed. Ruby lies in silence while she is massaged. Ellie listens to a guided meditation. Asleep by seven (ha ha ha, that’s a good one!).
Okay, seven is the aim.
Only when analysed do I see the traces of spirituality. Ritual, communion, gathering, stillness. But to be clear: most of the time the routine is completed by very exhausted, bored parents. There are tears and minor traumas from all parties. But such is any religious practice, I suppose. The divine is present regardless. In the holding of a small hand, in the breaths we take together as we ease into the end of the day.
Goodnight. Sweet dreams. Amen.
More reflections on parenthood can be found in this reflection on our morning routine and a brief diary from 2023.
It's standing still long enough to notice these things that is a major Divine component. My little boys would say good night to their dead grandmother for a while, seeing her in their room, lingering in the hallway, I thought that it was just my missing her that was being projected onto them. But they saw her and then eventually agreed that she was with the birds, the curious crows. As adults, they still say "Hi Nanny" when they see a crow.
Another lovely insight into parenthood … the public reading of your, #QPDA shortlist piece, ‘the good dad’ was very entertaining and beautifully written … 🤞for a win!!