The Effect Of Sunday School On My Life

In the fourth grade I had a dedicated, evangelistic Sunday-school teacher whose name was Sid.

One Sunday, Sid had the departmental opening duty. He had decided to present an object lesson before the entire group of thirty kids (about two-thirds of whom were older than me). On the Wednesday before the Sunday, Sid asked me to star in the lesson. He said he would blindfold me and then ask me to sit in a chair sight unseen. He told me that even though I wouldn’t be able to see the chair, he would make sure it was there. I could sit down with confidence. That would be a great example of faith, Sid said.

But I didn’t trust him. I could see myself blindly sitting down and splat!—no chair, all the kids laughing at me, and Sid taking ten minutes to describe what the writer of Proverbs meant by the term “fool.” So I had my buddy Dennis Beatty keyed to give me a signal. If there was no chair behind me, Dennis was to cough.

Sunday came. I was blindfolded. Sid told me to sit. Dennis coughed. I didn’t sit. Sid continued to plead with me to sit. Finally he pushed me into the chair.

I was embarrassed. Sid somehow survived the object lesson (I think he talked about how God sometimes gets tough with those of little faith). And as soon as Sunday school was over, I cornered Dennis. Dennis explained that he thought he was supposed to cough if there was a chair behind me.

That’s all I remember about Sunday school in the fourth-grade year of my life.

EUTYCHUS VII

On Women

I appreciated reading the articles by John and Letha Scanzoni in the June 4 issue because I have heard of them previously but had never before read any of their writings. The letters to the editor by Virginia Ramey Mollenkott and Nancy A. Hardesty ...

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