Since I began attending Sunday school (SS) as a little girl in our small church in the province to this day, the Lord has guided my growth beyond numerical age.
From attending, I transitioned to teaching.
I was first appointed to teach adult SS in ancient days, when my family moved to this village before son #3 (our youngest) was even born. I was given a book, on which the lessons were based. That lasted a few years, till our new pastor implemented a new program.
Then I found myself teaching SS again—this time, the women’s group—as assigned by another pastor. All church groups were given the same book to follow. One day, however, one of the younger women in our group volunteered to do it for me. I gladly bequeathed the role to her, knowing she will be as blessed as I was in handling the class.
Zzzoink. At some point, the virus scrambled our lives. The volunteer teacher continued with online Sunday school, which I attended without fail, sated with God’s Word each time.
Zzzoink. Our teacher left, and son #3, who is now an elder in church and the chairman of the board, made a snap decision: “The women’s SS can’t stop. Mom, take over. I am sure many others will volunteer to teach on some Sundays.”
Nobody did. Technology tricks terrify them. Except for two Sundays when I sort of arm-twisted a goddaughter to do it (our family went out of town), I continue to mine the Bible for God’s lessons and summarize them in slides, good for an hour. Then I document the session with a group collage, patterned after that Sunday's slides:
This time around, I made two decisions: 1) lessons will be based not on just one book; 2) they will be delivered in Tagalog (a foreign language to an Ilocano).
They turned out to be the best decisions I have ever made. Thousands of new doors sprang open for me to see more closely the God we serve. “. . . my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways” (Isaiah 55:8-89). The Tagalog words add soul to what I thought I already knew.
Yet, the Lord cannot be throughly known down here. Only up there, where every day is Sunday, will we experience the wholeness of His grace.
The number of attendees dwindled when the health protocols eased up and allowed face-to-face gatherings. My audience rushed to get ready for the worship service. I experimented with conducting the class in church, but nobody made it—8 AM is too early.
I told son #1 that my audience was getting smaller. “It’s time to stop.”
He was vehement, “No, Mom! Continue even with only one.”
If this were a novel, this now is the last chapter of my saga as SS teacher. Nearing the age of Methuselah, I am hanging on to this nugget of wisdom—growth is not about numbers.
Photo credit: (Top) Adobe Stock
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