sunday school teachers

This morning I read an obituary. It was written for an old family friend who passed away this week. 

Reading obituaries reminds me how little we know about people and their life stories. The deceased in this article was instrumental in the spiritual welfare of my parents when they were just baby Christians. My very young mom and dad had found an old-fashioned Baptist church after a year of searching and not knowing how to grow in their newfound faith. The church felt "right" and they got plugged into the adult Sunday School class. They put their little boy in the nursery. The pastor had taken one look at my dad with his hippie hair and assumed he and my mom wouldn't stick. The Sunday School teacher, on the other hand, took them under his wing and fed them with the milk of the Word each week. They began to soak it up, saturating their souls. They got involved in ministry. Dad cut his hair. 

I sometimes think how amazing it is when specific people intersect, creating a pronounced change for good. Is it just happenstance? Coincidence? Fate? Serendipity? No. God is sovereign. He saw two hungry hearts, willing to seek him, willing to surrender, to acknowledge his very real presence in their lives. He had done an earlier work of transformation in the life of their teacher and placed him and his family there in the same church to faithfully teach exactly what my parents needed to grow in the grace and knowledge of the Lord Jesus. Needless to say, the wise pastor also poured much into their lives.  

The task of teaching adult Sunday School (small group, life group, etc.) happens to be one my husband has stepped into as well the past 16 years or so. It is no simple task. It is a spiritual journey of growth in the life of the teacher and then deliberately investing in others on their spiritual journeys. 

I'm glad to be reminded that I'm a product of this type of investment from another era. I'm glad for any opportunity to tell the ones who did the hard task ahead of me that it meant more than they may know. The fruit is permanent and sweet. My parent's first Sunday School teacher is now face to face with Christ, his faith turned to sight. Those of us still here, the younger generations, we can fill their shoes. Okay, maybe not exactly, but the shoes must be worn to continue on the same path, pressing forward, letting others see and learn along with us that it's so worth it in the end.