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“Say hello to God for me.” That was from a friend I was
talking to on the phone on the way out the door to church.
“Oh, I certainly will,” I responded
gravely. As if this particular friend could use my intervention with God, given
I go to church and therefore must have a far superior connection.
It was much like the Apostle Paul who we began studying in Sunday school this morning, our first class of the year. Patricia mentioned a letter where he wrote boastfully of his own humility. We talked about Paul’s letters, the context of the times, the fact that the letters are incomplete (we have no record of the other side of the conversations), that they are older than the gospels, that at the time they were written there really was no such thing as Christianity. We talked about Paul’s support of slavery and the subjugation of women, and his disdain for what James said about, “So faith by itself, if it has no works, is dead.” (There were some good things, too, but I won’t recount them here.)
In short, it was a wonderful first Sunday school of the new year. Everyone was there, and even some new faces. I enjoyed it so much, in fact, that when I had asked my quota of questions and Patricia stopped noticing my hand go up in the back of the room, Billy raised his on my behalf. (I wanted to know if Paul didn’t know Jesus, where he got all of his material.)
The Parish Hall was filled with the sound of children, little girls still in their summer dresses (though there was the slightest first chill in the morning air) and little boys in Cub Scout uniforms. I saw pictures of Claudia’s first grandchild, Scarlett.
Now, I’ll stop a second to address my friend’s comment about God at church. Maybe it does help prepare you a little on your journey—to have a place where you can bounce ideas off of others and maybe even change ourselves or our little pieces of the world for the better.
My very favorite part of the service is the Eucharist (other than the sermon of course) and the line that often sticks with me most about what I’m trying to get in order about my life on Sunday mornings is this: “Deliver us from the presumption of coming to this Table for solace only, and not for strength; for pardon only, and not for renewal.” Oddly, it’s not a table at all—it’s just a community of faith.
It was much like the Apostle Paul who we began studying in Sunday school this morning, our first class of the year. Patricia mentioned a letter where he wrote boastfully of his own humility. We talked about Paul’s letters, the context of the times, the fact that the letters are incomplete (we have no record of the other side of the conversations), that they are older than the gospels, that at the time they were written there really was no such thing as Christianity. We talked about Paul’s support of slavery and the subjugation of women, and his disdain for what James said about, “So faith by itself, if it has no works, is dead.” (There were some good things, too, but I won’t recount them here.)
In short, it was a wonderful first Sunday school of the new year. Everyone was there, and even some new faces. I enjoyed it so much, in fact, that when I had asked my quota of questions and Patricia stopped noticing my hand go up in the back of the room, Billy raised his on my behalf. (I wanted to know if Paul didn’t know Jesus, where he got all of his material.)
The Parish Hall was filled with the sound of children, little girls still in their summer dresses (though there was the slightest first chill in the morning air) and little boys in Cub Scout uniforms. I saw pictures of Claudia’s first grandchild, Scarlett.
Now, I’ll stop a second to address my friend’s comment about God at church. Maybe it does help prepare you a little on your journey—to have a place where you can bounce ideas off of others and maybe even change ourselves or our little pieces of the world for the better.
My very favorite part of the service is the Eucharist (other than the sermon of course) and the line that often sticks with me most about what I’m trying to get in order about my life on Sunday mornings is this: “Deliver us from the presumption of coming to this Table for solace only, and not for strength; for pardon only, and not for renewal.” Oddly, it’s not a table at all—it’s just a community of faith.
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