Every Sunday morning, as families shuffle into the sanctuary with coffee in one hand and a diaper bag in the other, a sacred ritual begins—not the liturgy, not the sermon, but the parental chant of the two great commandments for children in church: “Be quiet” and “Don’t run.” These are not found in Exodus or Deuteronomy, but they are etched into the hearts of every parent who has ever tried to keep a toddler from turning the aisle into a NASCAR track.

Let’s be honest: church with kids is a spiritual workout. You arrive with the best intentions—maybe even dressed in matching outfits—and within five minutes, someone is loudly asking why Jesus doesn’t have a pet dinosaur. Another is crawling under pews like a Navy SEAL. And you, dear parent, are whisper-yelling, “BE QUIET!” with the intensity of a Broadway performer who’s just missed their cue.

The second commandment, “Don’t run,” is equally vital. It’s not just about safety—it’s about dignity. Nothing tests your humility like chasing your child down the center aisle during the offertory. There’s something about polished church floors that turns every child into Usain Bolt. And while the pastor is preaching about grace, your child is demonstrating velocity.

But here’s the thing: these little rule-breakers are exactly who Jesus was talking about when He said, “Let the little children come to me.” He didn’t say, “Let the well-behaved, silent, non-running children come to me.” He welcomed the squirmy, the curious, the loud, and the sticky-fingered. He knew that children bring life, energy, and a kind of holy chaos that reminds us all what it means to be fully present.
So to the parents who feel like they’re herding cats in the sanctuary—take heart. You are not failing. You are forming. Every whispered correction, every goldfish cracker offered as communion, every coloring book passed down the pew is a seed of faith. You are teaching your children that church is a place they belong, even before they understand why.

And to the church—thank you. Thank you for being a place where children are not just tolerated but treasured. Thank you for the volunteers who smile through crayon murals on hymnals and the ushers who dodge sprinting toddlers with grace. Thank you for understanding that a little noise is a sign of life, not a disruption.

Yes, we’ll keep whispering the commandments: “Be quiet” and “Don’t run.” But we’ll also keep showing up, sticky fingers and all, because we believe that faith is caught more than taught. And sometimes, catching it looks like a child singing off-key, dropping Cheerios in the offering plate, or asking loudly if God likes dinosaurs.

So let the children come. Let them come with their noise, their energy, their questions, and their joy. Let them come running—yes, even down the aisle—because in their chaos, we find a glimpse of heaven. And in their laughter, we hear the echo of a Savior who said, “Do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.”