THE CHILD—ITS RELIGION
[Sidenote: Three Kinds of Parents.]
[Sidenote: A French Work on Children.]
Probably one of the earliest perplexities that presents itself to
a parent is the question of the child’s religion. And yet it is
doubtful whether in the generality of cases the matter is considered
early enough. There are, evidently, three kinds of parents taking
three separate views of the question. There are those who hold
distinctly materialistic opinions, and who therefore deliberately
decline to enter into the subject at all. They agree with the
sentiments expressed in a French work on children published some
quarter of a century ago in which the following passages occur:
“We may boldly assert that the sense of religion exists no more in
the intelligence of a little child than does the supernatural in
nature.” And again: “In our opinion parents are very much mistaken in
thinking it their duty to instruct their little ones in such things,
which have no real interest for them—as who made them, who created
the world, what is the soul, what is its present and future destiny,
and so forth.”
It is a happiness to believe that few English parents endorse these
views. The extraordinary stir made by an Education Bill, the chief
concern of which was to affect the religious teaching of children, is
evidence of a widespread belief in the necessity of such teaching.
[Sidenote: Careless Parents.]
But, in the second place, there are some parents who are simply
careless. They would be rather shocked at being told that they
themselves were irreligious, but, when they forget all about their
children’s religion, it cannot be supposed that their own is of much
real concern to them.
[Sidenote: Anxious Parents.]
[Sidenote: Early Impressions of Good and Evil.]
Thirdly, there are the parents who desire beyond all things that
their children shall lead religious lives, and are anxious to do
their utmost to start the little feet on the right path. It is this
class of parent who is often perplexed to know what is best. The
difficulties are certainly great. Children differ so widely that what
is good for one child may be harmful for another. But in almost all
cases the tendency is to put off religious teaching too long. The
mind of a very young child—one who would be commonly described as a
baby—has been proved again and again to be remarkably receptive of
evil as well as of good influences and impressions, and the earlier
a baby’s mind can be filled with the very simplest religious truths
the less room there will be for evil, and the greater the likelihood
of a firm belief in truths that have been absorbed almost with the
mother’s milk.
This leads to the question of how far a very young child has
any direct personal religion; any feeling, that is, of a direct
communication even of the most elementary kind between itself and its
GOD without the intervention of any human being.
[Sidenote: A Child’s Direct Personal Religion.]
[Sidenote: Religion through the Mother.]
It would probably be true to say that _at first_ this is impossible,
but that at a very early age the sense can be imparted. To quote the
words of a mother who has brought up a number of children in the fear
and love of GOD, personal religion in children “of course begins by
being mixed up with _Mother_, who, if she is a real mother, is to her
babies the representative of warmth, comfort, love, and everything
that they want.” When, in addition to this a child has depended for
months upon its mother for food, and has constantly slept in her
arms, the influence of that mother is so great that her religion
naturally becomes the religion of the child, who accepts every word
she says absolutely. Thus, the “GOD bless you” and the words of
loving prayer which come so often and so naturally to a mother’s lips
are absorbed by the child until its faith in some unconscious way
grows into its life and becomes a real thing between itself and its
GOD.
Thus, it will be seen that there is a certain truth underlying a
statement made by the French author quoted above when he says:
“Children’s reverence and love attaches itself to the human beings
who are kind to them, but to nothing which is invisible or distinct
from their species. Their instinct of finality is wholly objective
and utilitarian.” It is true that in the first instance a baby’s
reverence and love attaches itself to the mother, but to assert
that afterwards it rejects anything invisible or apart from its own
species is to deny the influence of a religious feeling flowing
through the mother to the child, and to limit the power of the Spirit
of GOD who can surely dwell in the heart of a very little child.
An example of the way in which children of very tender years can and
often do grasp the great truths of the religion which they inherit
from their parents has lately been told to the writer by the mother
of the child in question.
[Sidenote: Where She was Heavened.]
She was a little girl of three and a half years old, and was taken
one day by her father into the church in which she had been baptized.
Pointing to the font, he said, “Do you know what happened to you
there?” For a moment the child looked perplexed, and nestling up to
her father said, “_You_ tell me, daddy.” “No,” he replied, “I want
you to tell me.” There was another moment’s hesitation, and then she
looked up at him and very solemnly said, “I was _heavened_ there!”
Probably no answer that she could have made would have been so
comprehensive and so convincing of the real grasp of the truth as
this word her baby intelligence had coined.
Examples can easily be found to show at how early an age a child may
be influenced for good or evil. “I have seen,” says a parent, “a baby
trained to habits of cleanliness in six weeks of life,” and it is
doubtless true that the difference between good and evil first of all
means to a child what is allowed or what is forbidden. But together
with this it must always be remembered that there is the sense of
safety and of love which, originally connected with “Mother,” is (in
the case of a religious parent) speedily carried onwards and upwards
to the love and care of GOD.
[Sidenote: Olive Schreiner.]
In this connection a passage in Olive Schreiner’s “Story of an
African Farm” can hardly be omitted. It runs thus: “The souls of
little children are marvellously delicate and tender things, and
keep for ever the shadow that first falls on them, and that is the
mother’s, or, at best, a woman’s. There never was a great man who
had not a great mother: it is hardly an exaggeration. The first six
years of our life make us: all that is added later is veneer. And yet
some say, if a woman can cook a dinner or dress herself well, she has
culture enough.”
All that has been so far written in this chapter on Children’s
Religion is of necessity vague and rather difficult. To arrive at
_facts_ is almost impossible. The best that can be done is to speak
of probabilities in the light of that faith which has been handed
down. The religion of children of less tender years presents fewer
difficulties, and to the consideration of this it is proposed now to
turn.
But while the difficulties are fewer, they do not altogether
disappear. It is often, for instance, extraordinarily difficult to
determine in the case of a child of six or seven years how far his
or her religion has even at that age become directly personal, or
whether GOD is not often a Being to whom access is only possible
through someone else.
[Sidenote: Religion of Rather Older Children.]
[Sidenote: A Child’s Faith.]
The evidence obtainable on this point is most contradictory. A mother
writes, “Children’s faith soon becomes a real thing between them
and their GOD. My little boy of five is perfectly delightful in the
fulness of his faith. Only to-night when I had gone up, as I always
do, to tell him a Bible story or sing some hymns before he went off
to sleep, he suddenly said, ‘Mother, don’t you wish Jesus was on
earth now?’ When I said, ‘Why do you wish it?’ he answered without
the least hesitation, ‘Because I should go to Him and ask Him to make
me good for always.’ And then, a little time afterwards, he suddenly
started up, when I thought he was asleep, and said, ‘Oh! mother,
wouldn’t it be _dreadful_ if we had not got a GOD!’”
[Sidenote: A Doubting Thomas.]
Another mother tells of a little daughter who has been “a doubting
Thomas from her babyhood.” To her the personality of GOD was very
real, but she refused to accept anything at first through the medium
of another—even of her mother. A good many of her quaint sayings
have been preserved—and her mother still remembers how disconcerting
these often were in the course of a Bible lesson. She would suddenly
break in with “_Why_ was GOD so cruel? I hate Him. Can’t you explain?
I don’t think much of Him if He doesn’t let fathers and mothers
know everything!” At the same time she was seldom willing to accept
much on anyone’s judgment but her own. A little brother shared her
lessons, and often sighed with impatience at her interruptions.
“Oh, R——,” he would say, “I do wish you could get some trust!” When
learning the Catechism this little girl refused to say, “Yes, verily,
so I will.” “No,” she said, “I shan’t say that. I haven’t made up my
mind whether I want to be good or not, and I _certainly_ shan’t say
that.” So for about six months that question was never put to her,
and at last one day she remarked, “I could say that now if you like!”
[Sidenote: Relative Importance of Authorities.]
In both these instances there can be little doubt that no one came in
any way between the child and the Creator, but, on the other hand, a
good many parents consider that there is for some years a difficulty
in the minds of children as to the intervention of human beings
between them and GOD, arising either from their habit of connecting
their prayers and religious experiences mainly with their mother or
nurse, or from a curious inability to realise the supremacy of the
Almighty. An example of this latter difficulty may be given in the
words of a little child in Yorkshire who was overheard to say to a
companion, “Don’t do that or perhaps GOD will see you, and He’ll tell
the Vicar.”
[Sidenote: Children’s Prayers.]
Much has been written by others about children’s prayers, but it is
impossible to ignore what is to them the most real and important part
of their religion. A lady living in Cheltenham says: “I think that
children get a belief in prayer very early. My youngest girl the
other day looked tired, so I said that she had better not come to the
evening service. ‘Oh, but I must,’ she said, ‘I want to pray for Miss
Beale.’” This was at the beginning of that well-known lady’s fatal
illness.
[Sidenote: Implicit Faith in Prayer.]
Another example of belief in prayer on the part of a child was
brought to the notice of the present writer by a sister of the boy
of whom the story is told. When a very little chap his brothers and
sisters were all invited to a children’s party at a neighbouring
house, but he had not been included. Much to his grief it was decided
that he had better be put to bed when the others started for the
party. When saying his prayers he earnestly asked that even yet he
might go to the party. He had hardly been tucked up in bed before
a messenger came to say that the omission of his name had been an
accident and that it was hoped he might still come. He was hurriedly
dressed, and in a few minutes had joined the others in their
festivity. The impression made upon the boy’s mind was never erased.
From that day forward he never failed to pray about every smallest
event. If he went to a shop to buy a knife he would pray to be guided
in his choice. If he went out to dinner he would silently pray as he
took off his coat in the hall that the evening might be enjoyable.
Nothing ever again shook him in his belief in the power of prayer.
[Sidenote: Children’s Quaint Petitions.]
Some of the original petitions in children’s prayers are often
exceedingly quaint, but they go to prove their belief in their words
being heard, and it would be cruel to laugh at them or snub the
expression of their desires. Some friends of the writer when they
were little used to be very fond of interpolating their special
wishes into their prayers. One of them when a tiny girl kneeling
at her mother’s side after praying for her father and mother and
brothers and sisters, said, “And please GOD make mother less strict.”
Another child in the same family had been shown a coloured picture of
Noah’s sacrifice and the rainbow, which impressed her so much that
she added to her evening prayers, “And oh! GOD, please show me a
rainbow very soon!”
From the same source comes a charming story of a small boy who had
taken a dislike to a cousin of his own age called Malcolm. It so
happened that each of them had a baby brother, and the little boy
in question broke off in the middle of his prayers one evening to
ejaculate, “Please GOD make me and my baby brother stronger and
stronger, and Malcolm and his little brother weaker and weaker, so
that when we fight we may conquer!”
[Sidenote: Children’s Churchgoing.]
[Sidenote: Danger of Too Much.]
The next point to be noticed in dealing with the religion of children
is the vexed question as to the wisdom of enforcing attendance at
public worship. There can be no doubt at all that, if overdone,
compulsory churchgoing may lead to disastrous results. A man to
whom frequent attendance at services has all his life been irksome,
looks back to his childhood when he was expected to be present at
Sunday services, week-day services, Sunday School, choir practices,
missionary and other meetings, until he became weary of the very
name of such things. Rather nervous of blame, he never ventured to
express a wish to absent himself, and to those early days and their
discipline he ascribes his present reluctance.
[Sidenote: Danger of Too Little.]
On the other hand, it is no doubt true that it is dangerous to use no
compulsion, and to allow the formation of a habit of staying away
from church on the smallest excuse. The real difficulty is to steer
a course between making Sunday the dull, cold, miserable day that it
too frequently became in the earlier part of the last century and
allowing it to be as secular as it so often is at present.
A lady who has been specially successful in bringing up her children
to love Sunday and its observances, says, “I make a point of extra
nice clothes and nice food on Sundays (it sounds horribly material!)
but I want to make _everything_ connected with goodness and religion
attractive, and, however much we may wish they were not so, our souls
and bodies affect each other in an extraordinary way. My youngest
child of five and a half, having begun Churchgoing regularly six
months ago, begs to stay on through the whole service, only saying
at the end, ‘What a lot of kneeling! But I like it; can I stay
again?’ Of course, there were two reasons for his wish: his love of
being near me, and the music which he also loves.”
[Sidenote: A Service Held by Children.]
Another instance may be quoted here, taken, as was the last, from
the family of lay people. Here again everything was done to make
Sundays bright and happy and to bring up the children to consider
Churchgoing a treat. So fond did they become of the services that
the two youngest—a girl of seven and a boy of five—were accustomed
to hold a special service of their own when with their mother in
the drawing-room after tea on Sundays. Their mother describes these
functions as follows, and, though they may seem to some people to
have a spice of “play acting,” yet the children were extremely in
earnest in all they did. Here is her account: “They used to put
on pinafores, the opening to come in front, and wore sashes for
stoles. My duty was to sit at the piano as organist. I had to play
a voluntary as they came in. They chose the hymns, and each chose a
chapter in the Bible to read. They stood on a chair to read their
chapters. One day I remember that the little boy, who could not yet
read very fluently, chose the one in St. Luke with seventy-two verses
and went straight on with it to the end! They took it in turns to
preach, again standing on the chair. The elder child always wrote
her sermon, but the little boy’s was extempore. After the sermon
the missionary box was handed round and we each put something in.
The service ended by their kneeling down side by side and singing
‘Jesu, tender Shepherd, hear me.’ One evening the younger child stood
up on his chair to preach, and began to get redder and redder and
looked very much worried, but I did not dare to move from my seat as
organist. At last his sister whispered, ‘What’s the matter, darling?’
on which he said, ‘Every word of the sermon has gone out of my head.’
So she promptly stood on her chair and said, ‘The congregation will
excuse the sermon this evening. Hymn No. 348.’ I have come across one
of the little girl’s written sermons, and give it here:—
“‘LITTLE CHILDREN LOVE ONE ANOTHER.’
[Sidenote: A Child’s Sermon.]
“‘You love your brother and sister very much indeed though you do
fight with them. Yes, that noutty, noutty Sayten gets inside us, and
then we can’t fight without Jesus’ help. Yes, if we ask Him to help
us I know He will. He is so kind. He will do almost anything you ask
Him to do for you, if it is not wrong. Yes, we all go wrong sometimes
and feel very cross with ourselfs. Little children sometimes think
that all big people are very good indeed, but they all go wrong, too,
as well as you or I might, but GOD knows all our ways and what we do
and sees and hears what we say. Oh! then, little children, love one
another, and so we must love Him.’”
[Sidenote: Simplicity in Speaking to Children.]
As to the number and kind of services to which children should be
taken it is impossible to lay down a general rule. Where “Children’s
Services” are held by a man who has the gift of attracting and
interesting children, the difficulty is partially solved. But these
are not much use when they are conducted by persons who cannot
sufficiently simplify their language, or by those who are so far out
of sympathy with their audience as to appear to be condescending or
in the smallest degree pompous—characteristics which are readily
observed and resented by all children.
But probably many people will agree that “Children’s Services” alone
cannot supply all that is required, in so far as they do not accustom
children to the ordinary Church services, as to which it is not too
much to say that a certain amount of familiarity breeds affection
rather than contempt.
[Sidenote: Differences in Children’s Temperament.]
But in considering the advisability of taking little children to
Church, due regard must be had to the individual child. As has
been said, it is absolutely impossible to lay down a general rule.
Even the members of the same family are frequently so different in
disposition as to make it unwise to treat them all alike. Some may be
so sensitive to the awe-inspiring atmosphere of religious services as
to cause a fear lest their mind should become morbid on the subject.
Very probably such children would express a strong wish to attend
on every possible occasion, but their pleasure is akin to that
which is sometimes felt by people of unhealthy mind who delight in
torturing themselves by picturing nameless horrors. Other children,
and these are the most frequently found, look upon Churchgoing as an
entertainment enjoyed by grown-up people and therefore much to be
desired, though they themselves soon grow weary of the whole thing.
[Sidenote: Two Children at Church.]
An example of what is meant came to the notice of the writer a short
time ago when staying in the same house with two little children,
a brother and sister, who were taken to an afternoon service for
almost the first time in their lives. The boy, a year or two the
elder, was a rather nervous, highly-strung little chap, and he spent
nearly the whole time in saying in a very low voice, “O GOD, help
me! I _will_ be good!” He seemed unable to think of anything but
the fact that he was in GOD’s house, and unable to get relief from
the overpowering sensation of awe. His little sister, on the other
hand—a fat, merry, matter-of-fact child—evidently considered the
whole thing to be a kind of social function interfered with by most
unnecessary restrictions. She turned herself about from side to side
and nodded and smiled at her numerous acquaintances, paying especial
attention to the seats occupied by the servants from the house where
she was staying. After a time she yawned audibly and gave obvious
signs of getting bored, finally nestling against her mother’s side
and falling sound asleep. It is obvious to everyone that two children
such as these would need very different treatment in the matter of
Churchgoing and religious education generally.
[Sidenote: Children’s Unintentional Irreverence.]
Such a child as the little girl described above may be said to
possess the normal feelings of her age. Most very young children are
entirely unable to grasp the greatness of GOD and the seriousness
of religion. If they appear to older people to be irreverent, it
must not be counted to them for a sin. It is simply caused by the
limitations of their understanding. Thus, a small child was heard
to call out during the baptism of a baby, “Why _doesn’t_ he use a
sponge?” No irreverence was meant, but the remark showed that the
child’s mind was further developed in practical than in spiritual
matters. So, again, the absurd questions so often put by little
children when told that GOD is everywhere. It is very common for them
at once to suggest all kinds of ridiculous places without meaning in
any way to be irreverent.
[Sidenote: Great Patience Necessary.]
Such things of course add to the difficulties of teaching religion to
those who are very young, but it is certain that great patience and
tenderness is necessary for those who attempt the task. Forgetfulness
of the point of view of the child often leads to expressions of
horror and even of anger at apparently profane remarks, but such
expressions are unjust and may not seldom give the child a permanent
dislike to what ought to be the happiest of all its lessons.
[Sidenote: Little Children have Long Ears.]
One other caution may be given here. It is a fatal mistake for those
who are bringing up little children to speak in their presence of
religious matters in a way which they do not desire the children to
absorb and do not fancy that they understand. A child may be building
a house of bricks in a far corner of the room and yet be listening
with all its ears to the talk going on between its elders. A very
little boy was once taken to Church when a sermon was preached
about the Will of GOD. No one thought it possible that he understood
a word of it, but at tea that afternoon he was, being slightly out
of sorts, allowed no jam, on which he promptly said, “Well, if it’s
GOD’s Will that I should have nothing but bread and butter, it’s no
good fighting against it!”—a practical and excellent comment upon the
morning’s sermon.
* * * * *
Lest anything that has been written in this chapter should seem to be
discouraging as to the religious training of children, two things may
be set down here as full of hope.
[Sidenote: Influence of Women.]
The first may be disposed of in a few words. There is little doubt
that women are naturally more religious than men, or at least that
they more easily give expression to their feelings and beliefs. What
a great matter it is, then, that the earliest training of children
is in the hands of women! It is quite possible that the reason for
the greater religious expression on the part of women lies to some
extent in the fact that girls remain so much longer under the direct
influence of their mother. But that is by the way; what is important
is that there are multitudes of truly religious women who may best of
all be trusted to impart their own faith to little children.
[Sidenote: Children’s Delight in the Unseen.]
The other matter for hopefulness lies in the fact that the very
things that often present difficulties to grown-up people are
specially attractive to children. Anything connected with the unseen
world, anything quite impossible according to the laws of nature as
we know them, interests and takes hold of children at once. This is
plain from the often-repeated request, “Do tell us a fairy story.”
[Sidenote: Impression made by Beauties of Nature.]
When to this is added the impression made on a child’s mind by the
vision of a gorgeous sunset, or of a great wide-spreading view, there
seems to be a good deal upon which it is possible to work. A man
friend of the writer has told him that his first real impressions
of the greatness and goodness of GOD came to him as a child when
contemplating beautiful scenery; and an aunt of the late Bishop
Walsham How used to say that when he was a very little boy, and was
looking from a window at the sunset, he was heard to say, “Oh! GOD!”
[Sidenote: The Higher Criticism.]
How easy it would be to kill these beginnings of faith! How easy for
a teacher who had studied the Higher Criticism to wither the growth
of a belief in the unseen and incomprehensible! Is it worth while to
risk this by scrupulously teaching that Elijah’s chariot of fire
and Jonah’s whale had better be taken as allegories? A teacher with
great experience of little children has said, and said most truly,
“Religion attracts greatly because of the mystery which surrounds the
unseen. Besides this, the beauty and the wonderful fitness of all
things in nature strengthen more than anything a child’s belief in a
Divine Creator.”
* * * * *
Perhaps, as one last word, it may be said that that mother will
succeed best in the religious training of her children who feels that
it is the chief and highest work she has to do.