You can always tell people who are about to become parents: they're the ones buying How to be the Most Fabulous Parent and How to Streetproof Your Infant. There's little jest in that: There is a serious book published on how to keep your children tobacco-free "for parents of children ages 3 to 19." Three? "Starting prevention efforts early is the key," says the publisher's blurb.
The point is that we do not think it at all strange that putative parents go out of their way to prepare as much as possible for raising their children. Friends and family also lend a hand to help childproof the house. None of this is new. It may be more high-tech than Dr. Spock, but parents have been concerned for their children's environment since an early homo sapiens mother first watched a spark from the cave fire zing towards her baby.
We take it for granted that parents do these things to protect their children around the home. We take it for granted that parents check out the daycare to protect their children there. Why then do we not take it for granted that parents, and everyone else, for that matter, will make sure our churches are equally safe for ministering to our children?
It has taken two long years to get the first national policy on protecting children and other vulnerable people in the church through all the necessary hoops. As it nears final approval by general assembly why would there be anything other than dancing in the aisles? Some in the church are but others are dragging their heels. Why?
One commonly heard complaint is the fear that long-time volunteers will object to obtaining a police records check: it's demeaning, people allege, the volunteers are known in the community and it's a waste of time and a few dollars. Others complain their church doesn't have sufficient volunteers to provide two adults for high-risk ministries or can't afford to put a window in a solid door to the room used for youth ministry. Or the policy is too difficult or expensive to administer.
There is little substance behind the emotions. Such energy would be better spent getting on with the job.
First, no one can rationally object to making the church a safer place for ministry. Curmudgeons opine that policies won't make the church safer. That's a dodge. If policies didn't in fact help make the church or any other institution safer, we wouldn't have need for laws of any sort in society.
Policies do make church and society safer. The requirement for two adults to be present in high-risk ministries such as teaching young people means the chances of an adult coercing or physically overpowering a child or teen is vastly reduced. Doubters should read about the conviction of former Boston priest Paul Shanley. Or recall the heinous sex crimes of Kingston organist John Gallienne — and the suicides and wrecked lives of his young victims.
Both these men were well known in their environs. Who really knows what pillars of the community get up to behind closed doors? No one. That's the point. You can't see through solid doors. You can't know the past of the folks who moved into the new house down the block. Hence the records check. If volunteers haven't done anything wrong, they have no reason to object to it. We don't think it's insulting for airplane pilots to be tested for drug use. Why should church be different?
A church with insufficient volunteers for its mission or funds for a little carpentry might well reflect on whether it still has a viable ministry. A church that can't afford a few windows for doors is a church nailing its own cheap coffin. It may also be a church without any creative thinking. Only one teacher for Sunday school? Don't hold classes during worship, or bring the children into the service, or ….
In other words, these objections are little more than poor excuses. What will likely be a challenge at first is to train people in congregations to administer the new policy across the church in a consistent, fair manner. Still, a few workshops should do the trick. About-to-be-parents do it all the time. And we think they're just being smart.
