I’m halfhearted about Sunday School. Okay, less than half. I feel like a boy who’s been held back in, say, fourth grade. A year goes by, then two, then three, and on and on for decades and he’s still stuck in fourth grade. The only consolations are (a) new teachers every now and then, and (b) everyone else got held back too. Because this is a school where they hold everyone back in fourth grade, no matter how well they do.
When I go to Sunday School (“Gospel Doctrine” class in our church) I do it mostly to observe the new contestants in class, the ones who just moved into the neighborhood and are just learning the pre-established rhythms and roles of the game. There are, for example, around sixty people in the class but only ten of them ever say anything, and half of those only one or two things per class period. The other five make three to five comments apiece. If one of those five doesn’t show up, a pinch-hitter might step up, or the other “regulars” take more swings at the ball. If you’re new, you don’t know the batting order. You just walk out onto the diamond and start swinging at anything. Sometimes this works and, behold, a new batting order is born.
Now, you know that I never make sports metaphors. But Sunday School is unquestionably a game. If you haven’t learned that, you’re either not a Mormon or you need to keep going to Gospel Doctrine. Personally, though, I’m about up. I’ve been through the same games/lessons for thirty-some years and, though I sometimes make comments where someone afterwards thanks me for what I said, the cost-benefit ratio is shrinking.
Today, I skipped class and thought about the Sunday Schools I grew up with. I loved going to Baptist Sunday School when I was about six because they always gave out candy and we spent most of the time memorizing scriptures. I recall fondly having to memorize John 1:1-5 for a gold star. We also had to learn the “Romans Road,” verses in the Book of Romans that outlined Paul’s argument, starting with Romans 3: 23. (Look it up; I don’t need to.)
My parents split when I was ten and my mom started me at Peninsula Bible Church in Palo Alto. I was bored stiff with the regular full-church meeting and when Sunday School came right after I hid in the car with a friend or two reading comic books. Most weeks I got busted because there was a man sent around to prowl the parking lots for stray kids.
But when I was thirteen I started to enjoy Sunday School. They not only got a new youth minister–John Fischer–but they had different classes you could choose. I picked John’s; he was a folk singer and that was enough draw for me. The curriculum? We studied man’s need for God as expressed in art. The first week we were assigned our textbook, Francis Schaeffer’s Escape from Reason. And we started to analyze rock lyrics for clues about the profounder yearnings of the human heart, starting with King Crimson’s “21st Century Schizoid Man,” the first in a series of texts we discussed from the group’s recent debut album, In the Court of the Crimson King. I loved that part of the class. But I struggled with Schaeffer for years.
When I joined our church in 1973, I had been going to the Young Adult class in Los Altos for a few months already. It was very open in those days, good teachers, mostly, a relevant ad hoc curriculum and an amazing semi-bohemian Northern California clientele. It’s been a zig-zaggy downhill since then.
So, if you see me in the car reading comic books, you’ll know why.
-Submitted by Michael Hicks
I relate… this is what we are trying to address with Engaging Gospel Doctrine and other Mormon Sunday School projects… find us on iTunes!
Oh, wow, that finding God through art class sounds awesome.
It’s refreshing and empowering to hear you describe how many of us are feeling! I think the hour needs to disappear from the block. That’s probably about as likely as a new translation of the Book of Mormon (oh wait – you wrote one! Maybe there’s hope for the Sunday School).
My experiences in Sunday School vary a lot and depend largely on who is teaching. With a good teacher who takes the topic but uses her own material and asks provocative questions, it can be wonderful, but with someone who is unprepared or manual-bound, well, that’s why I bring my knitting.
Mormonism does many things well, but giving us ideas for meaningful spiritual practices once the standards have gone a bit stale is not one of them. Sunday worship isn’t necessarily the best, especially in a ward with 100+ kids under 8 (loud sacrament meetings) and little ones of my own. And I have never loved temple worship. So I really enjoyed Jana Reiss’s book Flunking Sainthood because she explores other spiritual practices, and a few of them ended up being meaningful to me. One practice I enjoy (not Jana’s) is to play through hymns from other Christian traditions and read or sing the words. I’ve often found enlightenment that way. I think as Mormons we have to be a bit resourceful and find spiritual practices of our own that work for us, because our religious tradition is not very well-developed that way.
Finally, Jared Anderson’s podcasts are great – they’re the Sunday School class we wish we could always have.
At one point in my Sunday School career, in order to avoid being bored of the Spirit, I read Mormonism and Music by a certain Michael Hicks while I was sitting in the back row. Better than comic books! If someone would dare to sing the lesson in tongues, like Lyman Wight (complete with the glowing palms–see Chapter 3 of this really cool book), I might go back.
Amen! I’m usually in nursery, but on our off-weeks (we have a small rotation between three couples) I usually spend the second hour reading Sunstone.
I’ve always thought that ward choir should be during the second block, as a Sunday School option. Way better choir attendance, way more true worship.
What a great idea–choir practice during the second block. Brilliant, RP!
In my home ward, they did experiment with 2nd hour choir practice. I loved it. Instead of youth Sunday School, I went to choir. Much more meaningful for me.