On April 12, the first Sunday after Easter, I led a Sunday school class of little ones through an interactive Stations of the Cross. This was an activity I had done during Holy Week, and a Sunday school teacher loved it so much she asked me to replicate it for the little ones who did not make it to our activities on Good Friday.
I am glad she asked me, because the little ones had a blast.
There were 14 stations to mimic the traditional numbering, but I added a Protestant twist to the events they depicted. I began in Gethsemane and ended with the burial of Jesus in the tomb of Joseph of Arimathea. The stations began with the little ones writing their fears and placing them in a chalice — to symbolize the cup of sorrows Jesus drank. Then, they went and collected a silver coin like Judas collected a bag of 30 Tyrian shekels.
Carson Hollis
Three ping pong balls had the three accusations against Jesus by the Sanhedrin, and these ping pong balls were buried in a tub full of packing peanuts. The idea was to dig for them like the Sanhedrin had to dig for any reason to hand Jesus to Pilate.
Next, Jesus was betrayed by Peter; and the little ones were invited to write “I don’t know him” around a picture of Jesus hanging on a markerboard.
Jesus was then before Pilate, and they were to wash their hands like Pilate did.
As Jesus was crowned with thorns, Band-Aids were sitting beside an empty wooden cross for the littles to attach to the cross, to represent Jesus’ scourging.
Cups full of dice were on the table for them to gamble like the soldiers gambled for his clothes.
A mirror with the words “You are loved” written on it was at the next station, to symbolize Jesus’ conversation with the penitent thief (or “the sorry bad guy,” as I explained to them).
As Jesus entrusted Mary to John, sour candy was in a bowl for them to eat as a representation of Mary’s bitterness.
A free-standing crucifix was next; and here, the littles were invited to tell Jesus, “You are not alone” as he cried his cry of dereliction.
Red wine vinegar sat in individual cups for them to drink, as that is what the soldiers gave him.
Jesus then died; and olive wood crosses were given to the littles as representations of his death on the Cross for them and for me.
Next, pre-cut strips of cloth were laid out for them to rip like the veil in the temple was torn in two.
“She wanted nothing more than the genocide to be over so she could go play in the sand again.”
And finally, gauze soaked in anointing oil was there to stand in for the burial cloth Jesus was wrapped in.
It was a good Sunday school class. The kids were laughing and having fun, despite the heaviness of the content.
Later that night, my husband and I watched The Voice of Hind Rajab. While my Sunday school kids were having fun — having a normal childhood — The Voice of Hind Rajab documents the tragic murder of Hind “Hanood” Rajab, a 5-year-old Palestinian girl living in Gaza. On Jan. 29, 2024, she was murdered by the Israeli Occupation Forces.
Hanood was a preschooler in the butterfly class of A Happy Childhood, her preschool in Gaza. She loved the sea, and she really loved to play in the sand. She wanted nothing more than the genocide to be over so she could go play in the sand again.
But that never would happen.
On Jan. 29, she and some members of her family were fleeing Gaza City when their vehicle was shelled by the IOF. Her uncle, aunt and two of her cousins died on impact, leaving only Hanood and her cousin Layan Hamada alive. Layan called the Red Crescent Society in Ramallah — the sister organization to the Red Cross — and can be heard screaming as IOF forces shot the vehicle. Layan died on the phone with Red Crescent dispatchers.
The Red Crescent had an ambulance eight minutes away from Hanood, but in order to get the ambulance safely to her, a safety route had to be coordinated with the IOF. It took several hours for Israel to finally give the green light for safe passage.
The dispatchers stayed on the phone with Hanood the entire time. They were with her when the 5-year-old girl realized her family was not sleeping but were dead. She also told them she was really scared of the dark and she was hurt. She was slipping in and out of consciousness.
“I am not talking because my mouth is bleeding. I don’t want to get my shirt dirty, so I don’t get in trouble with my mom,” she told the dispatchers. Then the line cut.
Hanood was not heard from again.
These were her final words. The child succumbed to injuries sustained from the shelling that killed her family. Injuries that could have been potentially healed, had the IOF spared the ambulance from mortaring. The sound of the ambulance exploding roughly 165 feet away from her location would have been among the last things Hanood would’ve heard. By the time she died, the IOF fired roughly 335 rounds of ammunition into the car.
On April 12, I led little ones through the stations of the Cross. But halfway across the world, little ones like Hanood Rajab are crucified by the machinations of empire.
Catherine Russell, executive director of UNICEF, records that 28 children in Gaza die each day — “the equivalent of an entire classroom,” she says. Classrooms like our Sunday school classes, preschool classrooms, the classrooms in our school systems, the classrooms of our colleges and universities.
Classrooms like the butterfly class of A Happy Childhood, where Hanood’s friends never will see her again — if they survived themselves.
For the sake of Hind “Hanood” Rajab, for the sake of the little ones of Gaza, it is imperative that we Baptists stand shoulder-to-shoulder on the frontlines for Palestine’s liberation. May we honor her life by making sure others can enjoy the beaches and sands she loved to play in.
Carson Hollis is a member of First Baptist Church of Austin, Texas, and recently was ordained into ministry there. A graduate of Austin Presbyterian Theological Seminary, Carson is passionate about affirming ministry and plans to plant a church in Appalachia. He is married to Connor, and the two of them share their life with a three-legged cat named Chickpea.