Alibis and Sunday School

I grew up in a little town on Lake Superior, Ashland wasn’t a big city, but we had a lot of churches.  Lutheran, Catholic, Baptist, there were a lot of churches for such a small town.  Every church had its own traditions and congregations.  I remember our church built a new church in the 60’s.  It was designed in the shape of a cross and it was very Scandinavian looking.  Lots of wood, clean lines, beautiful windows.

When I was a little girl, I went to Sunday School.  We would go to church with Mom or with Gramma and Grampa Berg.  Part way through the service, all the kids would get up and go to their Sunday School Class.  That way, we were all done at the same time.  This was essential for rides home.  More often than not, Clare and I walked home.  Especially if the weather was nice.  We would save  .15 cents out of our collection money and we would stop at the candy store across from Wilmarth Elementary School.  Funny how every single elementary school had a candy store across the street.

There were milestones in Sunday School.  The first thing I remember, is that when you were really little, all they did was send you to the nursery and you played with other little kids during the service.  There was a speaker so we could hear what was going on, but we didn’t have any real lessons to learn or crafts to make.

Then on Christmas, they got you all dressed up in robes and trotted you out to sing “Jesus Loves Me”.  We were called the “Cherub Choir”.  No matter what we sang, or how we sang it, ladies always cried.  I didn’t know if it was because of the dear little faces singing such a cute song, or if they were just so tired from trying to get us to sing that they were all having a breakdown.

Then in about second or third grade, you get your Bible.  Now in our church the way you got your Bible, was to get up in front of the whole congregation and recite a passage from the Bible.  You got to pick your passage, but if you picked something too short, the teacher would make you pick again.  You had to memorize the passage and say it in front of the whole church.

For some reason, I picked The Beatitudes.  I don’t know why I picked one of the longest passages, but I did.  I think I liked the pressure, what can I say, I was a weird kid.

So one Sunday, our whole class had to stand up in front of the church and each of us had to say our passage right into a microphone.  I was nervous, but I did it and I didn’t forget the passage, or cry and run to my Mom sitting in the pews or pee my pants (tights actually, no pants allowed in church).  And in turn I got my Bible.  Inside the Bible was my name and the date inscribed in calligraphy in gold ink.  I loved my Bible, I still do.

Another thing Sunday School tradition were the attendance sheets.   At the beginning of each class, the teacher took attendance.  Just like they did in middle school and high school, someone walked around to the different classes and picked up the slips so they could record the absences in an attendance book.

At the time, I didn’t think anything about it.  They always took attendance.  Maybe they did it to plan for supplies of Elmer’s glue and Popsicle sticks or maybe to make sure there were enough sugar cookies and Dixie cups for the Kool Aid,

Then one day, something interesting thing happened.  When Mr. Johnson, came to pick up the attendance slip, David Deeth raised his hand and asked why they took attendance.

Without missing a beat, Mr. Johnson (remember Mel Coolie from the old Dick Van Dyke Show?).  Mr. Johnson was a tall man, with a bald head, glasses and a deep voice said “Twenty years from now, if you are ever accused of a murder, we can prove that you were here.” Hmmm.

What the heck kind of a statement was that????  We were 7 years old, what did we need an alibi for?  or was this just to show God on our lifetime report card (you know, your permanent record that you were threatened with all your school years)?  Do you think God takes attendance?  And the most important question of all, why did they let this guy collect the attendance slips?

Seriously, what kind of psycho tells little kids that they take attendance in Sunday school so you will have an alibi if you ever murder someone?  Even at 7 years old, I knew this guy was a few potatoes short of a lefse.
And so we made sure we were there as many Sundays as possible so they could mark us present and thus our alibi’s were recorded.

Sunday school was fun, but nothing compared to the Summer Bible School adventure.  First, it’s warm and you can wear shorts .  As a little girl, we had to wear dresses every time we went to school and church.  I don’t think there was ever a dress code that was put in writing, but we all adhered to it.  I did until 6th grade.  We had a new girl in school and she wore jeans. I did the same thing, we became good friends.  Thank you Amy Turner, my first rebel thing I ever did.   

Summer Bible School was also the only time you could ride your bike to church. That’s something you are never allowed to do the rest of the year.   And, the biggest thing, we got cookies and red Kool Aid every, single day!!! 

You will never hear a group of little kids sing Kum Bah Yah with more enthusiasm, than 30 little Scandinavian kids singing, while the church ladies put out trays of sugar cookies and stirred the Kool Aid. 

That stuff is like crack for little kids.  You would just about do anything, including singing Kum Bah Yah for 2 weeks straight,  just to get your hands on those cookies.  Seriously, they should offer those up at confirmation classes, when you really need a reason to go to extra hours at Church.

In Summer Bible School, there were a few Bible stories every day, some coloring of Bible pictures, and some stories with the most treasured of  all Summer Bible School props, something valued even more than the sugar cookies with frosting at Christmas, more than getting to run around in the church while your Mom is at choir rehearsal, the fabled, little seen, FELT BOARD.

The felt board was a piece of felt on a board, on an easel.  During the course of a bible story, the teacher would shapes made out of felt on the board that had to do with the story.  Like if it was the story of Jesus changing water to wine, there would be a figure of Jesus, grapes, people, a wine jug , etc. 

The simplest of things, but no matter what you tried at home, you could not replicate the felt board they used at Sunday School.  It just never looked the same no matter how hard you tried.  And your shapes never stuck as good as the one they used in Sunday School.

Watching the teacher put those felt things on the board made everyone pay attention.  I don’t know why it was so magical, but it was and I know I’m not the only one who thought so.  She could tell the same story over and over, as long as she had that board she could have been reading the phone book to us.  This would have been a good opportunity to brain wash us.  Maybe they did... that would explain fashion choices I made later in life.

Summer Bible School and Sunday School left a big impression on me.  I have so many memories of my childhood wrapped up in the happenings at church.

The memories of my Gramma Berg and Grampa Berg were very special in a lot of ways.  For instance,  I remember Grampa Berg’s blue eyes and how they would light up when he was up to something.  Like teaching my little sister Clare to whistle. 

He taught her in church, on a Sunday, during the sermon. 

Yes she stood on the pew and whistled.  Grampa couldn’t stop chuckling, and Gramma was not happy.  In the pew it was Clare, Grampa, me and then Gramma.  Gramma tried but couldn’t get close enough to Clare to make her sit down, so there she stood.  A little blonde haired girl, with big blue eyes, and a pair of spindly legs in white tights, with brown knees and a blue dress.  Whistling for all she was worth.  And there was Grampa, face beat red from laughing and his blue eyes shining as bright as the summer sun.

Gramma knew she was never going to live it down.  I imagine it was all the talk at the Monday Club or the Bible Study Class meeting the following week.  And the beauty parlor was probably buzzing all week while the ladies came in to get their hair done for Sunday services.  All the blue-haired ladies in town probably heard about the little whistling girl.

And those are my memories of church.  Of having fun and making things, singing and eating.  Somewhere in the midst of our felt board stories, before the cookies and the Kool Aid, were lessons that we needed to learn.  Lessons about living and dying and praying and crying.  All of those things would take years to figure out.  Even now I’m still not sure about my God.  I know I believe and I have faith, but there are so many things I still don’t know.

What I wouldn’t give for one more day as that carefree child. A day when we were all together and the sun was out and the sky was the softest shade of blue you ever saw.  The blue color of a pair of Levis, much worn and loved, the color of an old flannel shirt or the color of my sister Clare’s blue eyes. When the sun was yellow like a ball of yarn, not harsh light, the sunlight was warm and not biting as it is today. 

Perhaps that is what all this praying is for.  Praying for the way things were back then.  Praying for guidance to try and make sense of the way things are right now.  Praying to hear once again the sound of children’s laughter carried on the wind of forty summers long ago when Mom’s yelled “Supper” for the kids playing down the street. 

Mom’s who strained to hear the familiar “I’m coming!!”  from their own little kids.  And like a change in the direction of the wind, the screen door shuts quietly with a creak and the sound is gone. 

And in the blink of an eye, the warm memory is gone and we are grown ups and although it’s not needed, we are all alibied, just in case.

Thanks for listening.

Anne