THE sun beat down outside the modern suburban church, crammed full for 10 o'clock Mass. Just before the sermon, the priest announced "Gradesone and two, with Miss Doyle, grades three and four, Mrs Redmond, five and six, with Mr Bonofto." And a smooth rippling change of guard took lace, as the children got up from their seats and followed the appointed guardian for their particular age group out of the church and, across to the school building.

This was the routine. Nobody showed any surprise and the mystified visitor had to be told the children go off for a type of Sunday school, with Bible stories and other input appropriate to their age, while the sermon is being preached.

This apparently common Australian practice seemed odd at first. But within seconds the advantages of it became obvious rather than hear the often all too adult messages from the pulpit, the children were getting a message much more suitable for them. Here in Ireland during the past year, there has been more than one occasion when I have wondered grimly, sitting next to a seven year old, and listening to (unavoidable) issues of child abuse and sexual misbehaviour being discussed, if it would have been better to leave the child at home in front of Sunday morning kids' TV.

What to tell the children about religion is an increasingly difficult problem as we head blindly to 2000. There is too much mud being excavated and thrown about previously sacred religious personnel. And even deeper than the rotten branches, there are problems in the root of the thing. Organised religion of the type that was the bulwark of many families' lives in the first half of this century is now in tatters.

Church attendances are down many young people say church service has no relevance to their lives. Church based youth work has suffered a decline of 35.4 per cent among 14 to 17 year olds since 1987, according to a recent British study.

The steady pounding of news of child abuse cases in Ireland, Australia and Canada, to name only three, has made life for the majority of decent and dedicated clergy almost untenable.

There are always the traditional Bible story picture books, the singable modern hymns, the simple exhortations to the Golden Rule. But, for Catholics, all this commendable material runs early into the roadblock of the First Communion, looming over many parents' heads like a financial accident waiting to happen.

It is several decades since my First Communion, so perhaps I am out of touch. But where on earth is the spiritual excitement of an event in which the cash element dominates? Dress or suit, £100 veil, £12 headdress, £20 parasol (parasol) £8... and, I am told, there is competition among the bairns for the one with the most dosh in her sweet little silken handbag or smart suit pocket, after begging raids on relations and neighbours. Christmas consumerism is bearable, Easter's pagan element can be accepted, but when and why did the First Communion turn into and unscrupulous money makert.

It might get children focused on a religious event, but the spiritual element seems to be at the wrong end of the microscope.

Already there is an uphill battle introducing this element into children's lives. Shopping is the activity often cited as the most popular leisure time pursuit in surveys in western countries. Is that not profoundly depressing? I hardly expect prayerful contemplation to be top of the list, but even hill walking, magazine reading or model plane making would be more encouraging choices's indicators of modern humans spiritual and intellectual condition.

Another fact of life which militates against passing on religious feeling is what we used to call the rat race. So many families either have both parents working or both parents not working. Both situations are stressful and can mean that time for conversation about anything deeper than lunch money is a rare commodity.

We in Ireland have looked on with detached amusement, perhaps alarm, the growth in mass revivalist religion in places such as the US and Korea. Individuals with a certain amount of charisma and no shame in asking for cash donations are seen at huge rallies and on religious TV networks. They are taking it to the streets, or rather the homes, of millions of people who seem to enjoy and benefit (if not financially) from the shamelessly commercial approach.

But is this the future of religion in n age when everything is sold, packaged and publicised to the hilt? Now there is talk of a Catholic (or Christian) TV station for Ireland, with the Unitas 2000 group looking for transmission space if Cablelink expands its capacity. Will we pop the little ones in front of a cartoon Rosary session instead of Biker Mice from wars?

Of course, there is religious instruction in schools, and many people have good examples and well meaning members of orders teaching their offspring. But, as with discipline and knowing right from wrong, these matters can't just be abandoned to formal education.

The latest album by Clannad, Lore, is being advertised with a poster showing an elderly gentleman declaiming, with book in hand, in front of a rapt young lad who is apparently all ears. It is a pretty picture, poignant because it represents a situation that is becoming as much a fairy tale as the material being retold. Folklore, spirituality, simple morality, are increasingly less likely to be handed down in an easy family setting. We turn to theme parks and Sunday school lessons and keep our fingers crossed.