When I’m not dealing with my own rambunctious kids during worship, I enjoy watching Ethan, 3, and his mom, Becki. Last Sunday they sat in front of us, and Ethan was particularly cuddly with his mom. She was holding him and he had his arms wrapped around her neck.
When it came time for the creed, I watched Becki whisper it in Ethan’s ear. And I thought, yes, this is passing on the faith. It’s whispering the creed in our child’s ear, singing the songs of faith, eating the meal.
And as I watched Becki whisper the creed, I heard Jon, my son’s godfather, behind us: his voice loud and clear as he said the creed. It was as if he was telling Peder, who stood directly in front of him: this is what we believe!
We may not have experienced tongues of fire at our little church just west of Wrigley Field on Sunday, but I witnessed a faith that’s very much alive. And it’s being passed on.
n some corners of the ELCA, the Sunday school flannelgraph has been replaced by computers and opening music is now led by a band. And in almost every church from Abilene to Zumbrota, Sunday school is no longer just about a faithful teacher and a roomful of kids.
|Sunday school children at St. Paul Lutheran Church, Birmingham, Ala., 1955.|
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