I grew up hearing the same instruction almost every week. I heard it so often, in fact, that I never really gave it a second thought. I heard it from my parents and from my Sunday school teachers; in fact, I heard it from adults that I didn't even know well. It seemed like everybody was saying the same thing: don't run in church!
As a child, that's a pretty difficult instruction to obey.
I mean, given the size and configuration of a church building, it seems to be about the best indoor place in the world to run! Long halls, close corners, all kinds of nooks and crannies, things to jump over, obstacles to navigate.
What could be better than running in that kind of place?
I can only say these things because I'm now an adult. But even as a kid, it was always kind of confusing.
When explanations were given, there was always the mention of the older people who were there - and how we wouldn't want to bump into them. That explanation makes sense to me. No, we don't want to bump into older people.
The next part of the explanation focused on our respect for God - and how running in church might somehow offend him. That explanation didn't ring quite so true to me. I love the story in Luke 15 where the father (representing God) runs down the road to greet his long-lost son. It's all rather undignified, but I love the image of this God who is perfectly willing to run when the situation calls for it. I knew enough as a kid, however, not to quote Bible stories when I was being schooled in church manners. So I just kept that image of the running God in my own mind. And I tried hard to obey the adults in my life who seemed intent on slowing me down . . . especially when I was at church.
The reason I'm thinking about this today is because of what happened last night at youth group. I've been hanging out with our senior high youth on Sunday nights for the past few months, and last night was our last game night. Pastor Josh came up with some bizarre game called Infiltration. Without going into details that would get lots of people in trouble, the game required a lot of running . . . at church. It was a great game. (You know you've stumbled on a great game when the kids are the ones saying, "Let's play it again.")
The whole time we were playing, I kept hearing these words in my head: don't run in church!
But I couldn't help myself.
I remember one time when Eric was very little. I took him down to our church in California when nobody was there and told him that we were going to run in church. (And, frankly, it was a great church to run in!) He thought it was the coolest thing he had ever done, and I still laugh when I think about what we did that day.
Last night felt just like that.
In all fairness, we didn't need to worry about bumping into older people last night. I was the oldest person present, and somehow I survived even the tackling. And I'm not really thinking that the running was disrespectful. If anything, it was a joyous celebration of life.
Not to be irreverent, but while we played I imagined Jesus joining right in.
Laughing. Sweating. Hiding. Shouting.
Yes, even running. No kidding. Jesus . . . running.
Just the thought of that makes me smile.