FAQ: should i make my child apologize?

Parents frequently ask me if it is wrong to require their children to apologize when they are disrespectful or disobedient. Usually, their concern is that, by doing so, they might be training their child to lie. Wouldn’t it be better to wait for the child to apologize on his own when he feels genuine remorse, rather than to just repeat an apology he has been taught?

It is definitely commendable to want your child to speak and act only out of right motives. And yes, godly obedience goes beyond just saying the right words – godly obedience is right actions plus right motives, doing the right thing for the right reason. Godly obedience is what Christian parents want to instill in their children.

But how is godly obedience instilled? How is it trained? The answer might surprise you. Unlike adults who learn by reasoning, young children learn by doing. Adults want to be convinced that a course of action is the correct one before they will pursue it. Children, on the other hand, learn to perform the correct action before they are developmentally able to assess the reason it is correct. Doing the right thing actually precedes understanding why it should be done.

Parents intuitively understand and employ this “training truth” with young children in many areas:

• We train them in the language of courtesy before they desire to be courteous (please/excuse me)
• We train them in the language of gratitude before they desire to be grateful (thank you)
• We train them in the language of respect before they desire to be respectful (ma’am, sir, Mrs., Mr.)
• We train them in the language of prayer before they desire to pray (“God is great, God is good”, The Lord’s Prayer)

In short, we teach our children the language they need to interact with others well before they have any real concept of or value for why such language is necessary and good.

Because of this, I would answer the question “Should I require my child to apologize?” with an emphatic “Yes.” If we faithfully equip our children with the language of courtesy, gratitude, respect and prayer, why would we not also equip them with the language of forgiveness? Is it not equally important for them to know? How would training them to apologize encourage them to lie any more than training them to say “Thank you” before they are truly thankful? Would it not seem unloving to leave them verbally empty-handed when facing a situation where forgiveness needs to be sought?

the liturgical child

Children are wonderfully liturgical creatures: they love repetition. This accounts for their ability to enjoy the same book or video over and over again, their attachment to a bedtime ritual or a particular pair of socks, their tendency to shout “Again, again!” when they ride the carousel. Children are wired for repetition because repetition helps them to learn.

 

Just as a pastor in a church that uses a liturgy each week would not assume that his congregation possessed genuine faith because they repeated the Apostles’ Creed, we parents do not assume that our child feels genuine repentance just because she has been trained to apologize. But we give her the right words trusting that the right motive will attach to them as she matures.

Just as the congregation needs to witness their pastor live out the truths of the liturgy as he ministers to them, so our children need to witness us live out the truth of the language we teach to them. A child who sees his parents apologize with genuine remorse when they have wronged him learns quickly to do the same. Every time we apologize to our children we give them a picture of what mature, genuine apologies sound like: “I am so sorry I hurt you with my words. If I were you I would have felt so scared and sad that Mom yelled. It isn’t right for me to speak to you like that. You are precious to me. I love you so much, and I don’t want to do that again. I didn’t honor God and I didn’t honor you. I’m praying God will help me to stop. Can you forgive me?”

older children and apologies

Should we require older children to apologize? As our children grow, they become developmentally able to link right motive to right action. They become capable of seeking forgiveness without prompting and without memorized words. An older child who has demonstrated genuine remorse in the past (and has seen it modeled by parents) is probably ready for a different approach when an apology is needed.

• “That was a big outburst. What do you think needs to happen next?” {I need to apologize} “Yes. Would you like to do that now, or do you need a few minutes to think about what you want to say?”
• “I think you know what the right thing to do here is. I am praying the Holy Spirit will show you  your need for forgiveness. We’re ready to talk to you when you’re ready.”
• “You should apologize to your mom. Why don’t you take some time to think about what you want to say, and when you’re ready, come tell her how you feel about what happened.”

And then, yes, wait for genuine repentance to manifest. If it is slow to appear, you may need additional conversations about how unforgiveness harms relationships, and you may need consequences to drive home the point. But a child who knows the security of having a parent who quickly repents and forgives will typically run to do the same.

So, yes, require an apology from your young child. Don’t let fear of raising a liar keep you from training your children in the liturgy of repentance. Model what godly repentance looks like for them, train them faithfully in the language of forgiveness, and pray that the Lord will use your words and your example to bring about genuine repentance in their young hearts.

showing honor on mother's day (even when it's hard)

Mother’s Day is once again upon us, sending children of all ages scurrying to the greeting card aisle to find just the right sentiment to send to mom. Mother’s Day touches all of us - though not all of us are mothers, all of us has a mother. It is true that the calendar date of Mother’s Day is not even one hundred years old, but for the people of God who delight in the commands of God, honoring our parents is an ancient and beautiful command given to us for His glory and our good.

The fifth of the Ten Commandments speaks of showing honor to our parents. It is a command often repeated by parents to young children, but I wonder how often we remind ourselves of its relevance to each of us as adult children. Some would say that this command is actually directed primarily at adult children because it is found in a list of other commands so clearly addressed to adults: “Adult children, honor your aging parents whose days have been long upon the land, that your days might be long as well.”

Honoring our parents would be a simple matter if all parents were worthy of honor - a command to do so might be almost unnecessary. But for some of us, that aisle of Mother’s Day cards awash with loving sentiment can feel like an annual gauntlet we must run. Yes, all of us has a mother, but not all of us has one who is easy to honor.

So how can we think beyond the card aisle to fulfill the fifth command so far as we are able?

Maybe your mother didn’t do everything right. If you’re a parent yourself, you have probably learned already to extend the gracious proposition that she did the best she could. Show honor to your mother by telling her two of your favorite memories of her from your childhood. If you have children of your own, repeat those stories to them as well. And think hard about which other stories they need to hear. Giving your children the gift of relationship with a grandmother un-weighted by the baggage of your own childhood can be a way to show honor. Sometimes we honor our mothers by demonstrating forgiveness in what we leave unsaid.

Maybe the mother who raised you was a mother in name only. Maybe she caused or allowed harm to you. Look to show honor where you can. Who mothered you? A teacher? An aunt? A grandmother? A stepmother? Express your gratitude to the woman or women in your life who looked beyond the boundaries of biology to demonstrate motherly love in tangible ways. Make a donation to a cause that helps women to mother and children to be parented.

Maybe your mother is no longer living. Show honor to her memory by making a recipe she made, by reviving a family tradition she started, or by making a donation to a charity in her name. Maybe you know someone whose mother has recently passed away. Ask them what they miss most about her. Send a note to acknowledge their sorrow. Maybe you know someone aching to be a mother. Maybe you know a mother whose child will never wish her Happy Mother’s Day. Reach out to them with empathy and comfort.

Maybe your mother was the kind for whom the entire greeting card aisle was written. By all means, take your time finding the perfect card and writing the perfect sentiment. But also feel the weight of your privilege. To be raised by a mother who consistently places the needs of others above her own is no common thing. Show honor by being that kind of parent to your own children. But don’t stop there. Turn your eyes to those you know who are physically, emotionally or spiritually motherless and be a mother (or father) to them according to their need.

We, all of us, are sons and daughters. This Mother’s Day may we think beyond the card aisle to outdo one another in showing honor, each of us according to the grace we have been given.

the complementarian woman: permitted or pursued?

I recently had an exchange with a young church planter who wanted my thoughts on how to address the needs of women within his church. He told me it was clear to him what women were permitted to do from a doctrinal standpoint, but that he was not comfortable that his responsibility to women ended with simply identifying that list.

I asked him to think about that word – “permit”. It is a word women in complementarian settings hear with some frequency, and how our male leaders use it shapes our ability to contribute to church life. The challenge for any pastor would be to consider whether he is crafting a church culture that permits women to serve or one that pursues women to serve. Because a culture of permission will not ensure complementarity functions as it should.

Consider the analogy of marriage. Most pastors would counsel a young husband that he must pursue his wife to keep their union strong – that he must make a study of her needs and wants, that he must celebrate her strengths and find ways to leverage them for the good of their marriage. They would warn against the dangers of passivity. I submit that a similar awareness is necessary on the part of male leadership in complementarian churches. A culture of permission can communicate passivity and dismissiveness to our women. They long to be pursued.

The negative implications of a culture of permission become clear if we overlay them onto other areas of ministry. Imagine if we swapped the language of pursuit for the language of permission in our church bulletins:

“If you need community, you are permitted to join a community group.”
“If you battle addiction, you are permitted to go to Celebrate Recovery.”
“If you are interested in serving, you are permitted to serve in the nursery.”

Now consider if we applied the language of pursuit to the way we speak about women’s roles. We would have to alter our speaking – and our thinking – rather dramatically.

• It is one thing to say women are permitted to be deacons, and quite another to actively seek out and install women in that role.
• It is one thing to say women are permitted to pray in the assembly or give announcements, and quite another to ensure that they are given a voice on the platform.
• It is one thing to say that women are permitted to teach women, and quite another to deliberately cultivate and celebrate their teaching gifts. 

I am not certain when it became common to speak of permitting rather than pursuing women to serve, but I admit that it grieves me. Yes, there is that well-worn verse in 1 Timothy, but it seems a shame to let one occurrence of a term dominate our language and practice. It may be that permission vocabulary persists because of the unfortunate woman-as-usurper stereotype that sometimes underlies complementarian thought.

And I can’t help but reflect on how far removed that vocabulary is from the words of Adam at the creation of Eve: “This is at last bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh.” Adam’s words are a hymn of thanksgiving, a joyful acknowledgment that one has arrived whose contributions will bring vital and necessary completeness to the Imago Dei. It is a hymn intoned not in the language of permission but in the language of pursuit.

How sweet a thing when a woman of apparent ministry gifting elicits from male leadership not “Oh, no”, but “At last!” God help complementarians if we spend our energies fastidiously chalking the boundaries of a racecourse we never urge or equip our women to run. I have to think that egalitarians would grow quieter in their critiques if we could point to more women within our ranks who convincingly demonstrate equal, complementary value in our churches.

Women who flourish in ministry can point to not just female leaders who affirmed them but to male leaders who championed and cultivated them. That has certainly been my story. Glenn Smith asked me to shepherd and teach women even before I knew the depth of my desire to do so. John Bisagno affirmed and mentored me when I had no idea what I was doing. Mark Hartman taught me the beauty of a well-run ministry. Matt Chandler and Collin Hansen gave me a voice. And every day for twenty years, Jeff Wilkin has spoken unmitigated blessing and encouragement to me. Would that all women in the church could know such grace. 

So here is the suggestion that I offered to that young church planter: Do you desire to leverage the equal complementary value of women in your church? Don't give us a chance to ask permission. Get out ahead of us. You approach us with what you intend to empower us to do. End the culture of permission and you will dispel the stigma of submission. We are not usurpers, we are the possessors of every capacity you lack and the celebrators of every capacity you possess.

Brothers, don't permit us. Pursue us. 


See Thabiti Anyabwile’s insightful thoughts on this subject in a series of four posts found here and here and here and here.

gazing on the good of good friday

How much pain? For how long? How much blood? How many layers of flesh removed by the lash? How heavy the beam he carried? How far the distance he walked? Between which sinews were the nails placed? How sharp the thorns? How precise the work of the spear? Tell me, was it death by suffocation or blood loss? Show me. Re-enact it. Film it. Paint it. Describe it in song lyric and sacred reading. Carve it in detail and hang it on a wall. Give me the sound, the smell, the spectacle of it. Take me back to those moments, and spare no effort to help me enter into the scene.

Because if I had just been there to see it I would understand - I would understand the extent of my sin and the miracle of the resurrection. Because if I could just register these images and speculations deeply enough in my psyche I might better celebrate the beauty of three-days-later.

But would I? Do I? Or shall I look beyond the suffering of skin, scalp, sinews, suffocation to the harder truth to which they point? Shall I look beyond the stock-in-trade of Good Friday observance, these CSI-worthy musings, capable of capturing only the smallest part of what transpired on the cross? For if I seek to internalize the suffering of Christ, surely I must look beneath the externals. If I seek to internalize the sufferings of Christ, surely I must look to his rejection.

Rejection. I have known it – I have known the visceral shock, the hot-and-cold nausea of learning that another human being believed me guilty of something I had not done, believed it to the core of their understanding, believed it to the exclusion of hearing any defense on my behalf. You hate me. You hate who you think I am. You wish me harm. You have passed your sentence on me. You will not change your mind.

Now it begins to come into view, what happened that day.  It begins to, yes, if I extrapolate the depth of that pain, multiplied out to the nth degree. Rejection to the multi-billionth power. The Passion Play, seen through this lens, begins to feel flat. The crucifix above the altar begins to look like so much wood and pigment. As hard as I gaze, it does not speak of this weight, this crushing weight, so much greater than a timber across the back. As intently as I focus, it does not render the sting of this scourging lash, so much more brutal than a cat-of nine-tails.

But I am not there yet, no – my understanding is not yet as awakened as Good Friday demands. For in my limited experience of human rejection, on the day that my fellow man turns his gaze from me, the loving gaze of my Father does not waver. On the day that my fellow man pronounces me cursed, my Father still shouts that I am blessed.  Blessed to the uttermost.

But not so, the Son. Not so, the sinless Son, rejected to the uttermost.

So my gaze is lifted to the great good of Good Friday: the Father’s face turned eternally toward me because it was turned from the Son. The sinner accepted, the sinless rejected. The punishment that brought me peace, no mere matter of thorn and nail. The curse that brought me blessing, no mere matter of blood and bone.

This Good Friday may the eyes of my body soberly acknowledge the blood and the nails. But may the eyes of my heart gaze on the rejection that secured my acceptance, and glory in the willing death that brought me life.