Sunday School

CHOICES
Noel Laflin
10-17-12

If I had only known that there was singing, not to mention the telling of some really tall tales in Sunday School, I never would have given my dad such a hard time about dragging me there in the first place.

As I recall, my father had just explained to me that I was finally old enough to attend class.  We had left the church itself and were walking toward the row of rooms rapidly filling with children.

Well, I told my dad that I was having nothing to do with this idea of his and that I wanted to go find mom.   That is when he stopped in his tracks, took me by the hand and led me to the back of the church – out of view of everyone else.

“Noel, you have two choices,” my father began.  “Either you will go to Mrs. Schooler’s Sunday School class OR (there was a significant pause at this point) I can spank you and THEN you will go to Mrs. Schooler’s Sunday school class.  Now, which will it be?  And remember, you do have a choice,” my father concluded.

Looking back on it, this is probably the first memory I have of old Grace Lutheran Church – the back of it, that is.  Additionally, and more importantly, it is my first clear memory of choosing wisely.  I opted for choice number one.  My father told me it was a wise decision.

I recall being led by the hand, albeit with both heels firmly in place, back to where we started from and proceeded on to my rendezvous with religion.

But, once delivered to the old classroom and deposited into the warm motherly bosom of Evelyn Schooler, embarrassment caused my tears to quickly dry as she introduced me to the other five-year-olds.  She scored more points once the cookies and punch were also passed about.  Somewhere along the line my father made a silent getaway, leaving me in the care of this intriguing stranger with the angelic voice and warm embrace.

The unknown was always a little scary for me back then.  Separation anxiety was also my downfall no doubt.  However, once the singing of “This Little Light of Mine” got under way – well, I was a changed boy.  And, just when I thought we should continue the song a third time, along with the hand motions of guarding our light  – well, then it was time for some fantastic stories about naked people in a garden, talking snakes, shepherd boys, giants, slingshots, muscle men who should never have gotten a haircut and this really nice guy named Jesus. 

Once we got to the part about Jesus – well, that called for another new song (with more hand movements) about some little man named Zacchaeus.  Now, for those of you who weren’t in Mrs. Schooler’s Sunday school class– let me tell you what happens next!  You see, this guy, Zacchaeus, had a really dreadful job – he was a tax collector.  And, even though the entire town hated him because of the annual shake-down, he’s the one Jesus chose to have dinner with the day he came to Jericho.  It just goes to show that some jobs eventually work out despite all the bad press. 

Well, I kind of got ahead of myself with the telling of this tale – giving away the ending and all – but, because Zacchaeus was a “wee little man and a wee little man was he” (I loved the clarification of just how wee he was) he decided to climb a sycamore tree in order to catch a better glimpse of Jesus.  That’s when Jesus spotted him in the tree and told him to come on down “Because I’m going to your house today – I’m going to your house today!” There’s that repetition thing again. But, oh, what fun!  Even five-year-olds understood the irony of the situation – and we took great glee in the fact that the hated wee little man scored with the boss.  And so, under the wonderful tutelage of Mrs. Schooler, we sang our hearts out once more pantomiming short people, tree climbing, finger shaking (on the part of Jesus) and scrambling off to prepare dinner, or something to that effect.

By the time my father came back to collect me at the end of the hour – I did not want to leave.  But, Mrs. Schooler assured me that she would be there next week and the week after and the week after that even – just in case I wanted to come back.  The choice was mine.