Sunday School and Lessons Learned

All this talk about religion reminded me of a peculiar story from my time at Sunday School. I've fond memories of it (while it lasted) and though it ended rather abruptly, I learned some very valuable lessons early on in life.  If you want to know what lessons these may be, scroll down to the bottom and you can be done with this hub. If you, however, want to know how I came by the knowledge, read on.

When I was 7 or 8, I attended Sunday School as I was supposed to –it's not the norm anymore but back then all kids in Spain went to prepare for the First Communion. I had fun, too, the stories about Jesus and the Apostles were pretty and entertaining, much as the bedtime stories my granddad told me at night. At that age, I didn't have any preconceived notions about religion –my grandparents were practicing Catholics, and they took me to church every now and then. No biggie there.

Anyhow, all was well in Sunday School until that fatidic day when we came to the parable of Jesus walking on water. It was a life time ago, but I remember as clear as water (the very same where Jesus supposedly walked on) that I raised my hand to check whether I had heard right...

Mind you, raising my hand was brave of me, at that tender age I was rather scared of priests and nuns, they seemed creepy to my childish eyes, those blacker than black garments, and that straight-backed rigidity all the time... but I digress. Here I was, raising my hand...

Me: Excuse me, father, did you say Jesus walked on the water?

Father: Yes, child.

Me: How come? How could he do that? People cannot do that.

Father: Well, not normal people, but Jesus the son of God could.

Me: Sorry, father, I don't understand. Anyone trying to do that would just go under, it is not possible to walk on water!

Father: Child, it is possible, Jesus did it.

Me: No.

Father: Yes, it was a miracle, you must believe it.

At this point, I was rather agitated, as were my class mates, never mind the good father, who I guess could see he had a "faith mutiny" in his hands. To be honest, even though I questioned the miracle, I actually wanted to believe such a wondrous thing was possible –much as I wanted to believe Superman existed and would save me from harm, but I just couldn't wrap my little (but apparently inquiring) mind around the idea that this was possible.

Me: He would drown. (Big pout.)

Father: Child, you must have faith to believe it. (Stern, scloding voice, severe posture, condemning look: my first brush with fire and brimstone.)

Me: You're just saying so, I don't believe it! (I can remember my exact words, but something along these lines. I also remember I was past agitation at that point, I was actually mad that a priest would be telling lies! I got significant slaps on the wrist every time I was caught lying!)

Father: You are dismissed from class, wait outside to see me after the hour is over.

Well, I didn't wait around to get a verbal spank, as soon as other classes where dismissed I took off with friends. Whoops!

On the way home I started to think about the repercussions, mostly on account of having been kicked out, but I also had serious second thoughts about arguing with the father AND not having stuck around for a second round --as I'd been told!

I arrived home rather distressed and blurted my way through the whole story to my mother, who still today tells the tale unable to contain hysteric peels of laughter. She says she was half mystified by my need to have proof even then, and half undone by motherly love (ahem) at my horrified and shuddering recount of the entire business.

At the time, though, she tried to do "the right thing", which the dear father had been incapable of (then again, maybe I didn't let him, since I took off after class, but allow me to fancy a wild guess that I wouldn't have got a pat on the back for my efforts), and explained to me that there are things you can see and others that you can't, it's a matter of believing them, and this is called faith. And, she told me, some people believe these things and it's OK to do so.

I put the whole thing aside, mostly because I was relieved I hadn't gotten a big dress down from mom, but also because I figure my attention span was as it's supposed to be at 7 or 8! Now, my attention returned to the topic at hand quick smart as soon as dad got home from work, and I could "feel" my mother telling him my pitfall from grace. As I dreadfully expected, dad called me to have this little tete-a-tete.

Dad: What's this I hear about you arguing with Father X on account of Jesus walking on water?

Me (pouty, but quite ready to be verbally spanked, I didn't much see a way out this time around): Well, he told this story and I don't think it's possible, I don't believe it.

Dad: Daughter, it's OK. Tell me why you don't believe it.

Me: Just as I told Father X, I've never seen this and when people get into the sea or the swimming pool they go down under, it's not possible TO WALK ON WATER! (Near tears here, I think I was half scared of, oh, I don't know, being sent to my room without dinner or something, and half frustrated out of my mind that any adult would believe such an outlandish thing was possible!)

Dad: Right, makes sense. What do you want to do about Sunday School? (this question asked to my 7 or 8 year old self) You still want to go? If so, I'll take you and talk to Father X

Me (big round eyes): I don’t want to go anymore, dad.

Dad: It's OK if you want to go, I can go with you and explain.

Me: I don't want to go, it's silly! (Now picture me here as a little self righteous monster! I probably also stomped my foot on the floor for good measure!)

Dad (raised eyebrows, stern look): Now, quit that attitude right this minute. It's OK for you not to believe that story, but it doesn't mean it's silly, and it doesn't mean it's not true, either.

I may have been a brat, but I wasn't a stupid brat! That was my cue to leave well enough alone and take off to greener pastures, which at the time probably involved running wild with my bike or something equally, well, kid-like.

And thus ended my Sunday School foray, together with my innocence regarding stomping my foot on the floor about beliefs. Needless to say, I never took First Communion.  Easy to say today, but I was the only kid in the neighborhood, the entire school, and my entire family that didn't. Talk about convictions!

Figure what, there's a moral to this story!  I may have been a brat, but I learned a few valuable lessons:

Lesson 1: Faith it's a personal choice, and in that way, it's undisputable. Check.

Lesson 2: Consequently, everyone has a right to their beliefs. Or lack of thereof. Check.

Lesson 3: If you dispute faith to a believer, you may get in trouble. And rightly so, it turns out, because they know as much as you do on the topic. Check.

Lesson 4: Some adults listen to dissenting opinions. When they do, it's extremely wise not to stomp one's foot on the floor, and even wiser to be thankful that they're listening. Check.

These lessons have remained with me until today. Now I know that tolerance lays in not stomping one's foot on the floor, fundamentally. Today, when I hear "All things are possible to those who believe", I can't help but remember the parable of Jesus walking on water, and rather fondly, too.