Sunday School

Now you are the body of Christ, and each one of you is a part of it. 1 Corinthians 12:27

I can still remember the very first time I went to church. I was five. I had just experienced my first (successful) sleepover at my best friend’s house and she lived, literally, across the street from the local Evangelical church. Her parents had gotten permission from my parents to send us across the street in the morning so that we could attend Sunday school together. I had no idea what church was or why anyone would even want to go there...

The children’s classes were held in the church basement. Maybe I’m remembering this wrong, but it seemed dark and damp and smelled of mothballs or must. Now that I’m grown, I identify this smell as the “church smell”. This smell is not affiliated with most modern churches, but if you ever visit a church that has been feeding a steady stream of Sunday School to children for the past fifty-plus years, you are probably familiar with the scent. Anyway… We sat at little wooden round tables with little short wooden chairs. We sang one or two Sunday School songs (which I didn’t know) and were then given a tear-away, lick-n-stick worksheet. I don’t remember what it depicted, but I’m ninety-nine-point-nine-percent sure it was a Bible story, and equally certain that it highlighted Jesus, some random dude whom I had no idea about.

If you’re a child of the nineteen-seventies, you know what a tear-away, lick-n-stick worksheet is, for the rest of you, I will explain.

A tear-away, lick-n-stick worksheet was pretty much what it sounded like. It was a worksheet with illustrations of the Bible characters (ie. Jesus, Adam & Eve, Noah, Jonah, etc.) and Bible elements (ie. loaves & fish, an apple tree, animals-two-by-two, a whale, etc.). Each Bible character or story element was outlined with a dotted line. These lines were perforated. On the back of each character (or story element) there was some sort of adhesive that when moistened (as in licked) was activated, much like a postage stamp prior to 1989. Along with the tear-away page was another page depicting some kind of background (ie. rolling hills, beautiful garden, the interior of a home, a boat, etc.). As a Sunday School student, it was our job to tear out the Bible story characters (and story elements), determine their correct placement on the supplemental environmental sheet and lick-n-stick the elements into place. Simple. Fun. What little kid wouldn’t enjoy such an activity?... I’m sure there was some sort of supplemental lesson in which our ever patient Sunday School teacher would tell the Bible story that correlated to the lick-n-stick activity. Effectively, this would fill the approximate hour that it took for the adults to complete “big church” upstairs and we would be returned to our respective adults.

I don’t remember the Bible story that corresponded with our lick-n-stick activity that first day at church for me. However, what I do remember is that the little five-year-old boy that was seated next to me at the table opted not to lick-n-stick his Bible story elements to the provided environment worksheet. Instead, he decided to lick-n-stick his Bible story elements to my face. Yes, you read that right. He licked them and then he stuck them… To… My… Face. I was mortified.

Not only did I have boy germs but the paper-cut-outs were stuck to me! I had never been to church before and my five-year-old self was wondering: Is this what we were supposed to do? Did I misunderstand the instructions? Why was I the only person with Bible people on their forehead? I froze and gazed at the Sunday School teacher in horror! It was everything I could do to keep from bursting into tears (actually, this part of the memory is a little muddled and I may have actually burst into tears at this point, honestly, I cannot say. Do you blame me?). The ever-patient Sunday School teacher (bless her heart, I’m sure she was just somebody’s grandma) unpeeled the Bible characters from my face, gently chastised the boy (who I can now recognize as probably developmentally-delayed) and helped him affix his characters to his worksheet.

I completed the rest of my first day of Sunday School in a sort of stunned hesitancy.

I was fourteen years old before I attended a church again.

My family, as wonderful as they are, were not “churchgoers”. Fortunately, my first experience in Sunday School at five didn’t scare me off from God or the church, or this dude named Jesus. It was just not something I was exposed to. Not part of my routine. I went there one time with my friend and never felt the desire to return.

When I did return, I was in middle school. I went to a different church, with another friend, to their youth group. There were cute boys there, so why not? An hour or two of field games, hang-out time, red-licorice-whips and a fifteen-minute Bible lesson, plus the twice-yearly lock-in all in the company of a dozen cute boys. Yes, please. And I was somewhat confident I wouldn’t end up with any Bible people adhered to my face...

God did a lot of work in my heart between middle school youth group and adulthood. Lots of lessons and questions, testing and learning. Through it all, however, I never doubted the goodness of the Church, even though it was foreign to me. I felt an affinity, even a sense of connectivity with the Church.

That’s not always everyone’s experience.

The (little “c”) church is a building. A building cannot cause injury unless it topples down upon a person BUT the (big “C”) Church is the “body of Christ”, human beings who study and (try to) follow the commands and lessons of the Bible. Unfortunately, we (the big “C” church) have hurt countless individuals who were in need of our care and counsel. We (the followers of Jesus) are called to be Christ’s hands and feet. We are called to love our neighbors, seek the lost, feed the hungry. That is a big task and often we fail miserably. Misguided and misinformed, we fail to meet a need. We fail to offer support. We fail to align our words and actions. We fail to put others before ourselves. Simply put, we fail to love... To anyone who has been injured by the big “C” Church in these ways and many others, I’m sorry. As much as we strive to be like him, we are not Jesus. We are human. We are fallible. We are imperfect and striving for healing as much as anyone. We are attempting, in our imperfection, to emulate the only man who has walked the planet without sin.

But, I can assure you of this, if you have been injured by us, the big “C” church, I. Am. Sorry. I can't speak for an entire religion, but those people whom I know, that are actively pursuing to be like Jesus, are sorry, too. Jesus is restoration. Jesus is healing. Jesus is love. We, as the Church, attempt to bring that to the world in all it’s brokenness and with all of our brokenness. Please forgive us.

My lick-n-stick story is a silly example, but keep in mind that the little boy in my Sunday School class was not Jesus. That little boy was not the Church. He was just an immature person functioning within the confines of the (little “c”) church building. Isn’t that all of us? We clean ourselves up and put on our Sunday best. We hope that no one sees the mess we have made of our lives. We sit in pews and sing songs, Bibles balanced on our knees, in effort to give just an ounce of praise to the One who deserves it all. We aren’t holier-than-thou. We are desperately clinging to our Wonderful Counselor. We are pouring our hearts out in a desperate prayer that he will see us, forgive us, be merciful toward us. We don’t want to cause further injury. We want to be healed of our own.

I can’t promise that you’ll never be injured again by either the big or little “c” church, but I can promise that if you come sit next to me on a Sunday morning, I will smile at you. I will accept your presence and I will know that together we are both seeking a greater purpose. I will love you as a brother or as a sister, and you have my word that I won’t lick-n-stick an illustrated Jesus to your forehead. Promise.