Church Girls

I was ten years old when my Sunday School teacher unveiled The LearningCenter, along with her elaborate new reward system. Only the fifth and sixthgraders were mature enough to participate in such a sophisticatededucational system. The classroom was divided into stations and everystation had an activity. Each of us would work through the stations at ourown pace, racking up points as we went along. The reward system wassimple. The more points we got, the better the stuff we could buy from theSunday School Store. And boy did I get some fantastic things. A pocketmirror with a pink rose on the back and the words “New Life in Christ.” Awall hanging with that read “If any man is in Christ he is a new creation.” Aquilted Bible cover and a lovely assortment of cross, fish and dove jewelry.While the stations in the learning center were the meat and potatoes of thepoints system, there were some other ways to earn points as well. Astudent could get a lot of bang for her buck with a little scripture memory.Of course, the scriptures were ranked according to difficulty, the easy onesearning you only 5 or 10 points. This was a good system -- no wise guy wasgoing to get rich by memorizing John 11:35, the shortest verse in the Bible,(“Jesus wept”). However, with a little determination one might be able totackle the armor of God or even a whole psalm, securing upwards of 50points.As a church girl, I was not only eager to please, but I was also highlymotivated by the big ticket items. So when my teacher suggested that myfriend Dwayne and I memorize Isaiah 53, I was immediately up for thechallenge. I took it a verse at a time, pacing the halls of my home repeatingthe words. Who has believed our message and to whom has the arm of the Lordbeen revealed. Who has believed our message and to whom has the arm of the Lordbeen revealed. Who has believed our message and to whom has the arm of the Lordbeen revealed… One might imagine my parents to be annoyed by suchrepetition, however the fact that their daughter was feasting on the word ofGod seemed to soften any such reaction.After months of practice and diligent hard work, the feat was accomplished.The only challenge remaining was the recital. Dwayne and I were to recitethe lengthy passage before the congregation. Our presentation wasscheduled for a Sunday evening service. Now, I think I should take amoment and tell you a little about those Sunday evening services. All of uschurch girls got up bright and early every Sunday morning, put on our cutechurch clothes in order to show up, Bibles in hand, for Sunday School.Sunday School was followed by worship which was followed by lunch. WhenI was very young lunch was at home, but as I grew so did my mother’spracticality, and by the time I was eight years old the lunch venue had beenswitched to a restaurant. After lunch we all went home for about three hours, only to turn around and return to church for yet another service inthe evening.The evening service was almost identical to the morning service, except forthe special practice of Sunday evening communion. After the hymns hadbeen sung, the prayers had been offered and the sermon preached, aninvitation was extended to those who had been unable to partake in thecommunion that morning. They were instructed to process down the aislesand sit together on the front left hand side of the auditorium. As churchgirls we looked with concerned curiosity upon those who needed to partake.Perhaps these were people who had been sick in the morning andexperienced a quick recovery just in time to get to church and takecommunion before the Lord’s Day command was broken. There were alwaysa few women who we knew had been working in the nursery during themorning service and had piously opted to wait for the more meditativeexperience of evening communion rather than downing the cracker andgrape juice with a rushed silent prayer in the middle of screaming babies andbabbling toddlers. Finally, there was that strange group of people who onlycame to church on Sunday night. Content with being a sort of second classChristian, they had jobs or some other commitment that prevented themfrom being at church on Sunday mornings (it never crossed our minds thatthey might be sleeping late on Sunday along with the rest of the country).Thankfully for this group, the Sunday evening walk down the aisle to thesecond chance communion service offered them the very same promise ofsalvation that it did to the rest of us.While we weren’t much of a special presentation people, generally tendingtoward routine and order over anything much out of the ordinary, any and allspecial presentations were scheduled for the Sunday evening service.Somehow we felt that we didn’t have to hold to those first century rulesquite as closely in that smaller, more informal service. When missionariescame to town and wanted to report on reaching the lost in foreign lands,they were always scheduled to speak on Sunday night. Thus, Dwayne and Iwere scheduled to recite our super scripture memory projects during aSunday evening service.We both did it. We may have stumbled over a word here or there, but wewere good students and we both pulled off the entire twelve verses to theadmiration of our parents and friends. As I concluded the words of thecomplex prophesy, telling of the suffering servant who was silently led as alamb to the slaughter, the congregation breathed sighs and voiced amens.I’m sure I left the church building that evening, in the back of my parent’s1980 Chevy Suburban, adding up my points and making plans to purchasethose big ticket items in the Sunday School Store. And I’m equally sure I never once considered the fact that I was the only female to speak into amicrophone that evening. I didn’t think about the fact that I had neverheard my mother read a scripture to the congregation, or the bizarre truththat she, a mature woman, would not have been permitted to recite Isaiah53 if she had done the memorizing. I do, however, remember, to this veryday the words of that great passage. And I’m daily reminded that by hiswounds I am healed.