Memory Lane

Sunday Schools and After

What, I wonder are your memories of childhood Sunday School?

Mine start at age somewhere under 11, going to the old Congregational Church Sunday School in Nether Street. Accompanied by my older brother and sister, off we trotted, every Sunday morning, to the beautiful old church set back from the road, that was our home-from-home for a couple of hours. Oddly enough, I have no memory of the teachers or leaders – just of going with a few coppers in my pocket for the “collection”, or offering. Whatever their particular foibles, those old saints sowed a seed of faith into me that never left.

At age 11, my parents decided that an ‘all boys’ environment would suit me better. So without further ado I was enrolled in Crusaders – a sort of un-assigned Sunday School for both boys and girls albeit in separate locations. The inimitable Mr Gruneberg took charge of my Christian education for the next 4 to 5 years. We sang choruses instead of the old hymns we had to sing as 5 to 11 year olds. This was better – it was almost exciting. It really got exciting when I was considered old enough to go on their annual summer holiday retreats. It was on one of these retreats that I first felt the presence of Holy Spirit even if I didn’t have a clue as to what it was all about.

I graduated from there to youth clubs associated with local parish churches until at 19 I finally met my Saviour in an old Elim Church in North London. I became as religious as all my peers on Sundays whilst going out to the pub during the week. Basically, I had my heart broken and promptly ran away from God until I got baptised in the Spirit in 1989. But God never once left me. I knew His presence, especially when reading my Bible. Surprisingly, this was an activity I really enjoyed and I discovered the joy of a well marked Bible as soon as I discovered a ‘modern translation’ – The Good News Bible.

I doubt any of my old Sunday School teachers and leaders are still alive now, but I owe them a debt of gratitude for the seeds they sowed into me. So maybe it took something over 25 years to bear fruit but the seed was sown early on and nurtured by various people along the way. I tried teaching in a Sunday School once, a very long time ago. It was cringe worthy stuff, I’m sure of that. So I never tried it again.

It just goes to show that we all sow seeds and many times we never see the fruit. The blessed saints who sowed into my life will all receive their reward and maybe you and I will receive a reward for any seed we have sowed.

Just a short wander down memory lane – that’s all.