Chattanooga newspaper editor
finds answers in Sunday school
By Mark Kennedy
In 1976, I decided to take a break from attending Sunday school because it made me edgy to sit for a whole hour without a cigarette.
My smoke break lasted 27 years. Like a lot of people who came of age in the 1960s and 1970s, I drifted away from church during my young adulthood.
As a teenager I fell into the trap of pointing out small hypocrisies at church. Why, I demanded to know in Sunday school one day, is it sinful to wager on a poker game but good to invest in the stock market?
For that matter, I asked, why is a beer drinker worse than a 250-pound church deacon with a bucket-a-day fried chicken habit?
Logic became a toy, which I would pull out for entertainment like a trick yo-yo.
I remember sitting on the front porch of my parents’ house one day as an 18-year-old and feeling as if I had suddenly breathed in the accumulated wisdom of the ages. Others could see the world only in black and white, I thought, but only I had discovered all these interesting shades of gray.
The neglect of my spiritual life continued through my 20s and 30s. I collected a few vices along the way, too. I didn’t have immaturity to blame any more; I just preferred to live by my own rules. I realize now that during all those years I was collecting life experiences that would eventually make the case for a return to faith.
Almost without exception, the people I have interviewed for this column over the years – some of them churchgoers, some of them not – told me how they turned to prayer in hours of need. And none of them seemed disappointed about that choice, no matter how their prayers were answered.
My old pal logic was suddenly spinning in a new direction.
One Sunday last year, my wife and I decided to visit a church near our home. We had a one-year-old son who needed to be in Sunday school – we both agreed on that.
Our first trip to the young adult Sunday school class, though, was scary. My wife and I sat quietly together holding hands, as the members of the class cut up and traded inside jokes. As a 44-year-old among 30-somethings, I felt out of place, too. I was afraid someone would ask a Bible question I couldn’t answer.
We introduced ourselves and got the customary newcomer assignment – translate Leviticus into Greek by the next Sunday (or something equally silly). Everyone laughed and that helped break the ice.
Still, driving home that day, I sensed my wife was unsettled. Truth was, I felt that way, too. I spoke up first. “Let’s give it one more chance,” I said. “I don’t trust my first impressions.”
We did, and that turned out to be a good decision.
In many ways, that Sunday school class at Signal Crest United Methodist http://www.signalcrestumc.org/ has become our family. Every week we talk about our everyday lives – our friends, our jobs, our children. We discuss real problems and solutions like a support group.
We bought a house based on friendships made in the class. Some of our son’s best friends are his new church buddies.
What started as a moral obligation to a toddler has grown into more. I can look around the Sunday school room and realize that I have learned more from the group than from any real “school” I’ve ever attended.
Even though I’m the oldest man in the room, I’ve listened and learned from life experiences of the other fathers and husbands. I’ve learned about courage from Stuart, about gratitude from Phil, about grace from Jason, about listening from Bryan, about independence from Jeff, about fatherhood from Will.
Yes, Sunday school has been good for me.
My fingers were a little nervous as I wrote this column – but I don’t think I’ll be disappointed about the choice.
Mark Kennedy is features editor at the Chattanooga Times Free Press, available at mkennedy@times-freepress.com. Reprinted with permission from the Chattanooga Times Free Press.
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