When I became a parent, I started noticing things I had never paid attention to before, like how loud life can be, how quickly things get messy, and how rarely anything goes according to plan. It has changed the way I see church life as well.
We often put a lot of effort into keeping our worship services calm, our spaces neat, and our communities welcoming. Those are good desires, and there is nothing wrong with wanting beauty, peace, and order in the house of God. But sometimes, in pursuing those things, we can miss an important truth: the sacred often meets us right in the middle of our ordinary messiness.
I have felt that tension myself, wondering if a cry, a dropped toy, or a sudden shout might be distracting someone or disrupting the “peace.” Yet maybe those sounds are not interruptions at all. They can be reminders that God’s presence is not limited to quiet moments.
When Sacred Meets Messy
That tension between sacred order and the messiness of real life isn’t new. Every Christmas, I’m reminded of it when we sing “Infant holy, infant lowly.” This song points to a profound truth: the One who is most sacred, the Son of God Himself, was brought to earth not in silence but in the cries of a newborn, wrapped in swaddling clothes. God entered the world as a baby, and in that moment, the sacred sounded like a newborn’s cry. If God chose to enter the world as a crying baby, surely the Church can welcome the sound of one too.
Not long ago, a new parent came to pick up their crying baby from the nursery and immediately began apologizing. I gently said, “Please don’t ever apologize for a baby being a baby.” He looked surprised, but that small moment stuck with me. We live in a culture that often treats children and their messiness as inconveniences. They’re loud, unpredictable, weak, and not particularly “productive,” and in this, they are exactly opposite of what our culture values. This mindset shapes more than we realize and can make parents feel the need to apologize for their child just existing in certain spaces, even in the Church.
If the heart of God is to send his only Son as a baby, how much more should we as the church welcome the little ones, messes and all! So please don’t ever apologize for your baby being a baby. For our Savior was one too. Their cries and their need for comfort are not interruptions to worship but reminders of how God enters our lives in the most ordinary, vulnerable way. If we can see the sacred in that, it shapes how we care for both children and parents in every moment of church life.
Remembering How We Are Made
Believing that the sacred is present even in cries and messiness shapes everything about how we care for children, especially in the nursery. It guides how we respond in even the smallest moments. When we call a parent because their baby is struggling, it might feel like we’re saying, “Your child is too much,” or worse, “You’re not welcome.” That couldn’t be further from the truth. What’s actually happening is this: your child is growing exactly as they should.
Separation anxiety, big feelings, or sudden tears are all natural parts of early childhood development. They reflect a still-developing understanding of object permanence, an active amygdala, and a prefrontal cortex that hasn’t fully matured. Some children are more sensitive, others might be tired, under the weather, or just having a rough morning. Whatever the reason, our care for them doesn’t change.
Our goal isn’t to manage emotions but to meet children in them—to stay steady, compassionate, and safe while they navigate what they’re feeling. In these moments, we honor both the child and the presence of God who first entered the world as a vulnerable, crying infant. This is one of the many places where the sacred meets the ordinary, and our theology becomes tangible.
Extending an Invitation
That’s why, when we call you, it’s not because your child is a disruption. We want to partner with you and remind you that this is a space where you and your child belong. Our goal is not simply to hand your child back and wave good-bye but to extend an invitation that reflects the welcome God has already offered to each of us.
It might sound like:
“We’re about to have snack—if you’d like to come in for a few minutes, we’d love to have you join us.”
Or:
“We’re starting storytime soon—feel free to come sit with us if you’re not heading back into the service.”
Some parents prefer to take their little one to the Auxiliary Room, and that’s completely fine. The point isn’t where you go, but that you know that you and your child, no matter how messy, belong in the church. We want every parent to know this: your child is wanted here. And so are you. No amount of crying or bad days will scare us off. You’re not “failing” if your baby doesn’t make it through the entire service. You’re parenting, and we’re with you.
This posture of invitation doesn’t just shape how we care for babies in the nursery. It shapes who we are as a community. It transforms our church from a place of quiet order into a home alive with life, where the fingerprints on the walls and sounds of real families are signs that God’s presence dwells here too.
What This Means for Our Parish
God is deeply present in the noise, motion, and unpredictability of our shared life together. When a baby cries during the sermon or a toddler drops their snack in the aisle, it’s not a distraction from what’s sacred—it’s a reminder of how the sacred entered our world. God showed up as a baby—crying, needy, and dependent—and in doing so, made it clear that holiness is not afraid of our humanity or our mess.
Our church should look like that—a place alive with signs of life and evidence that real families are growing here. The nursery is where it begins, with cuddles and tearful good-byes. From there, they’ll move into their Redeemer Kids classrooms at age three, sit in Youth Fellowship, and one day maybe join our CCO ministries. And through it all, we want to make sure there are spaces where they can bring their full selves and know they belong.
Because this is how faith is formed—not in perfection, but in practice. Not apart from our ordinary lives, but right in the middle of them. There is room for your messy children in the house of the Lord. And there is room for you, too.
Grace,
Mikala Thompson
Assistant Director of Redeemer Kids
