Monthly Archives: August 2016

Is Sunday School going extinct?

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Never believe that a few caring people can’t change the world. For, indeed, that’s all who ever have. ~ Margaret Mead

There’s one in every crowd or in this case, committee.  Leave it to a science teacher who never graduated out of the preschool days of asking why to be the one in this case. I fervently believe and espouse in the college courses where I inspire future science teachers, one of the reasons we have to market science courses to high school learners is because we urged our youngest learners to stop asking so many questions when they were in preschool.  Preschoolers make the best scientists because they still have the it factor, and it meaning a healthy dose of curiosity.

I am not one for sophomoric humor (despite living with boys where  I get a HEALTHY exposure), but I have never graduated out of that preschool sense of awe and wonder regarding God’s creation and definitely not now, nor anytime – ever –  quit asking questions of how the world works. This questioning (while not the Spanish inquisition) can, at times, exasperate those around me.

I am a thinker and a dreamer, spending much time reflecting (and as I like to call it ruminating) over thoughts.  If I were to describe myself, I would tell you that God made me a BIG IDEAS kind of girl.  When in his word He tells us to take delight in Him and He will give us the desires of our hearts, I take that to heart (and I am not trying to be pun-ny). I DREAM big and have ceaseless fascinations.

Currently I am serving an advisory role in my church’s Christian Education committee and we, too, are experiencing what countless other churches are – a decline in Sunday school enrollment.  Our church conducted a survey asking all kinds of questions about people’s thoughts about Sunday school and small groups as those serve a similar function in our church.  The results provided some useful data for this science education teacher’s mind, but there was one nagging question that my ruminations could not let go and was the one question we didn’t ask.

And like that, I became a one woman crusader on a quest to uncover answers.  How can I make an informed decision to go forward if I don’t know why people are making the decision not to attend?  So what would any wannabe social scientist and anthropologist do in the modern world? Yep, you guessed it! She uses social media to poll her friends.  About now, Margaret Mead might be rolling over in her grave.

I didn’t mean this as a quantitative analysis, but rather as a snapshot of today.  I was blown away by the responses I received, but more so by the raw honesty from not only my community but from others in communities far away as well.  Some of the answers moved me to tears and reminded me that we can never as a church community forget that just because the doors of the church are open that not everyone feels welcome.

Here is a snippet of the responses thus far: (SS = Sunday School and SG = small group)

We are slow starters. Don’t always make it to church.

My child says he learns more at AWANA and it is much more fun than SS.

My kids learn more at AWANA and dread SS.

Live too far out to come back into town for SG.

2 hours is a long time to sit for little ones on Sunday morning.

School/sports activities.

Too much on the plate/agenda.

Live too far out.  SS offering would have to be something really good for me to come.

Cannot hear well and miss out on the conversations in the SS class.

Doesn’t read well and is terrified to be called on to read in the SS class.

Don’t know the Bible well enough to attend with others who know more.

Not making SS a priority.

Hates that sports occur on Sundays but feel that child would not be able to play if they didn’t participate.

SS is boring. (Adults & kids responed)

Very difficult choice for sports families.

Sunday morning is the only time my family can sit down together and interact.

If parents don’t make it a priority, it will never be for the kids.

Do not see the value in SS because it is rare to find devoted teachers rather ones going through the motions.

Just plain worn out after a tough work week.

Feel guilty just dropping off kids for SS (and not staying). Easier for all to stay home.

Kids went up until jr high and then dreaded SS so much I quit fighting them on it.

Changes in SS approaches didn’t work for us.

Treats are always good! But that only works for so long.

Wed night education is great, but for high schoolers it is tough to sit another hour after sitting in school all day.

Don’t know anyone there. SS is clique-y.

Disappointment in the offerings for studies in SS.

Feel awful when we miss a few weeks and are behind on the study.

I am all for transparency and try to model it in every leadership role I have including home, work, volunteering, and church family.  The last answer in the ones above is mine. We are a sports family and sometimes we have to miss because of a sporting event where my children are playing.  I get overwhelmed when I get behind in anything and even though I don’t believe Jesus would care, I don’t like feeling overwhelmed when I walk in.  Growing up, Sunday School was one of my most favorite places in the world to be.  We were at the church about every time the door was opened.  In fact on a recent trip to tour the South of my childhood, I went to visit all my old churches. Those old buildings were like beacons calling me home.  What I wonder now is if the Sunday School of my childhood is not relevant to my world today,  then what do we do? How does the church of today stay relevant while trying to reach people where they are and still offer education?

While my methods were not, at all, scientific, my heart is in a place that truly wants to make a difference.  Now that I have scratched the surface of why we aren’t gathering together, my next step will be to find out what people want out of a church (which to me means family) without “diluting the gospel”.  No matter what that looks like, I will continue to go out to love and serve others.

I think that is what Jesus would have wanted all along.

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One of the churches of my childhood.  Britt David Baptist in Columbus, GA. 

Please join the conversation by answering the question: If your church has Sunday School (or small group) AND you don’t attend, what is your reason for not participating? Feel free to reply here or to message me at mominmn@hotmail.com if you don’t want others to see your thoughts. Your thoughts will really help me to help others.

Olympic sized memories

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It may take a while before I settle back into the normal rhythms of life on the heels of the two weeks spent watching the Rio Olympics.  Every day found me tuned to the television to cheer on the American delegation and if they weren’t participating, to root for the underdog. I have been glued to Olympic viewing size Nadia Comaneci wowed the world in gymnastics by scoring a perfect 10 and in the same year but during the winter games when Dorothy Hammill spun magic on a sheet of ice.  I have watched every Olympic competition since those days of my childhood.

I have seen them all.  Mary Lou Retton, Shaun White, Flo Jo, the Miracle on Ice team, Greg Louganis, Mia Hamm, Serena Williams, Kerry Walsh Jennings, and Michael Phelps to name a few.  I have cried tears of joy watching the triumphs and tears of sadness over devastating losses.  Mouth agape at the records being shattered and at Olympians defending their titles from previous games, I have soaked in everything that a television viewer can while watching the coverage from afar.

But of all the Olympic moments I have seen, the one that will forever hold its special place in my heart is the Summer Games of 2004.  This was the summer that a rite of passage was passed from mother to son and it is one etched deep in the memories of my soul.

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Reed was nine years old and ready to start staying up a little bit later. Watching the games return to their roots in Athens created the perfect atmosphere to introduce to my son my secret passion for Olympic viewing.  After the other kiddos were fast asleep, tucked into bed much earlier, he would come and nestle in next to me while we cheered on the American team. It was during these games that we discovered more than just I could feel the little girl God was knitting together in my womb. Simultaneously glued to the T.V., Reed would lay with one hand on my belly to feel his baby sister kick away, swimming in her own in utero version of the games and the other hand would be busily cheering on his team.

Reed was a bigger fan than I could have ever imagined.  The son of a soldier, he defined what it was to be a patriotic fan of your home country.  The thing about Reed’s viewing was that he forgot he was in a tiny bedroom in southwestern Minnesota and he would cheer and yell and wipe away a tear or two as if he was in the Greek coliseums and arenas and natatoriums. Our pillows would shield his eyes if he felt the excitement was too overwhelming and at times a full out face plant into the mattress was the only way to calm his nerves or effervescent enthusiasm.

Wrapped up in a favorite quilt we would stay up way past his bedtime.  While his siblings had been out for hours, for one summer the delectable taste of growing up and having new freedoms was tantalizing.

Reed’s fanom knew know bounds, and after watching Michael Phelps commanding performance he convinced me to help him create a costume honoring his favorite Olympian.  That Halloween, we did and Reed was so proud to emulate the athlete that wowed his imagination and stirred his heart. The crazy thing is that Reed was a super fan long before the repeat performances in Beijing, London and most recently Rio.

 

Perhaps like many things in life, Reed knew that Phelps was destined for greatness long before anyone else.  Sure Michael has had his ups and downs in life (Who hasn’t?), but I have to believe that Reed would have loved him anyway.  Unlike the way many Christians view the world, Reed’s way of seeing people was through a lens of viewing them as perfectly human in need of Jesus.  Stumble and fall, no judgment would have come from him, rather a love would have emanated saying “pick yourself up and learn from this”.  Knowing that is exactly what Michael Phelps did following the London games would have caused my redheaded wonder to beam with pride. To him, that would be the definition of greatness – someone who overcame a challenge and tackled it head on.  Of course, a little help from the man above didn’t hurt at all.

So while the rest of the world joined me in watching the Olympics, I don’t think anyone viewed the same way I did.  Wrapped up in a quilt, I carried the memories of a boy who died in 2008 months before the Beijing games  began.  Watching Michael Phelps wrap up an amazing career in perhaps his final Olympic performance, I envisioned that same little guy jumping up and down on the bed hooting and hollering for his favorite athlete one last time. The games became more than the greatest athletic competition in the world, they were a beloved trip down memory lane.

While my efforts didn’t earn any gold medals, I still believe they would have made Reed proud.

Rainy days and Mondays

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Recently I have been busy, overwhelmed, and frankly at times, worn out. Amazing things have been happening, and accompanying those have been some moments that have shaken my foundation. While at times I may need a reminder, I know that my foundation is laid on God’s solid ground which has and will always anchor me through the storms of life.

Despite my best efforts, the clock hands continued to turn and so too flipped the pages of the daily calendar leading up to yesterday – which happened to be a Monday. Blech. In my mind, I wanted to pretend that the day wasn’t coming. Mondays are sometimes bad enough, but this Monday was the worst of them all as it was the day we would be taking the Boy Wonder back to college. Much like the unexpected Friday e-mail that sentenced me to my bed weeping, the arrival of this Monday had me not wanting to leave the bed. If I just lay here this day will come and go and we can go right back on living our lives with our guy home.

But then I saw the excitement and joy and anticipation in his eyes, and I put on a happy face and kept on keeping on even though my heart wanted to hold on tight. And while my spirit was sad for me, for us, my soul knew he was going in exactly the right direction on the path God has laid out for him to truly shine a light in this world, desperately in need of some illumination.

I know this with every fiber of my being, but it was confirmed while we played the game known as “Let’s change passengers with our college boy every 30 miles; so, we can all have one-on-one time with him”. He, of course, while willing to play along, knew nothing of this plan. When I had the coveted co-pilot seat in his sporty little car, I asked him about his goals and dreams for the year. This seemed like a better plan than sobbing and pleading with him not to go. His answer helped soothe my worried momma heart. Adding to his goals of continuing to be involved on campus and being the best student he can, he dreams of adding more leadership opportunities and hopes to start a new campus club. Whoa! Socks blown off! I often look to heaven and marvel that we had a hand in the shaping of this amazing young man.

I am a better person because of him and his brother and sisters. These tiny moments, even while hiding tears behind sunglasses, are the glimpses showing me how blessed we truly are. No matter how tight I want to hold on to our past, he, with God’s help, needs to create his future.

When my heart is breaking, there are always friends that receive my distressed Bat Signal, and they respond with rapidity unparalleled by any caped crusader. A perfectly timed text saying to hug my kiddo and tell him “how proud he makes us all” and a personalized card saying to keep shining because that is what the world will see in our son changes everything. I am left smiling through my tears, counting my blessings. Who would guess both of those could happen on a Monday?

There are many days when laid out grief is all I have to offer, and then there are the moments in life when someone has to offer the bit of humor to fill the awkward silence. I prefer the latter and it seems I have developed and (if I can brag for a moment) perfected this technique over time.

Growing up, I don’t think I would have ever considered myself funny. It just wasn’t in my repertoire. I loved to laugh, but creating laughter wasn’t my strongest subject. In school, I was never the class clown, being more concerned with trying to learn everything about everything. I know the apples don’t fall far. I am certain in all my growing up days my parents would have considered my brother the humorous one.

But, like my son – who has always been hilarious – I went to college chasing my dreams and along the way somehow developed that sense of comedic timing where a snarky comment, a light-hearted sarcastic retort, or an aptly-placed witty comment could save the day.  Although not my superhero power, this skill has helped me on more than one occasion to change my outlook on something. All my besties share this knack, and it is the glue that bonds us together as a tribe of mommas doing the best we know how to do.

So while my boy goes off to college, I can always take solace in the fact that technologies have improved so that we can stay in contact much more easily. If that doesn’t work, I always have pictures for blackmail memories.

To all the returning college students: Be your best. Shine your light. Call your mother. Make good choices. Find your adventure. Be brave and take chances. Make a few mistakes and learn from them. Be resilient. READ THE SYLLABUS. Find your own tribe of weirdos and embrace them. Be kind and gentle. Give back to others. Don’t forget to study. Remember why God gave you knees. Read a book just for fun (trust me you have way more time than you think you do). Have fun and my most favorite of all-time: Be Particular.

And for our guy – Ride like the Wind!

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