October 10, 2002

The Unintentional Christian

Recently I had the good fortune to be asked to teach a Sunday School class at Raleigh Court Presbyterian Church...

Now Whoa! Before you click on out of here, give me a minute. Sunday School classes aren't always that bad! Sheesh, you'd think I'd offered you a fruitcake or asked you to drive a Cub Scout Pack to Lynchburg or something . . .

O.K., maybe your reaction wasn't that bad, but for some of us the mention of "Sunday" and "school" in the same breath, brings back memories of tedious hours spent listening to stories we'd heard eight quadrillion times before, being told by gray-haired ladies who smiled too much.

And I'm with you. They weren't always the best of times. They sure couldn't compete with the "NFL Today" theme song and the prospect of the Sunday afternoon that lay ahead. For adolescent boys, Sundays represent both the worst and best of times - getting up early to put on coats and ties and polished shoes so that we could go listen to the aforementioned teachings. . . immediately followed by seven televised hours of fast paced gridiron warfare interspersed with occasional backyard games of the same.

The football Gods clearly had a leg up on the one that had done so much for the Hebrews.

Sunday school was a black and white, small print, sterile sort of affair with moments of silence that often hung in the air like stale gray smoke. Football took place on kelly-green grass beneath brilliant blue October skies. There were high stakes and big personalities and the promise of the game yet to be played. There was glitz and glamour and when the Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders came along, even a bit of "golly-gee would you look at that . . ." And if we didn't get enough of it on Sunday, (there are twelve hours of coverage now) there was always Monday night, where the game grew even bigger under the focus of all those extra lights and the third man in the booth. If only it started at 8:00 instead of 9:00 PM.

"C'mon, Mom... the Rams are playin' tonight . . . It's Roman Gabriel for crying out loud . . ."

"Off to sleep young man . . ."

Sunday School? You might as well have asked us to dig a trench and fill it back up again. At least we'd be getting some exercise.

Which is, of course, exactly what we were getting at Sunday School. We just didn't know it yet.

Strangely, some of us still don't seem to get it. We exercise our minds and bodies as though our lives depend on it (which they often do), but when it comes to exercising ourselves spiritually, many of us seem to think that knowledge of ourselves and God and the relationship between us, is just going to happen somehow - that if we generally remember some of the old stories and read the occasional self-help book from the best seller list, we should be able to catch a glimpse of the big picture sooner or later.

But if you think about it, that's kind of like waiting in the back of the end-zone for a ball that the quarterback has just thrown, as opposed to coming to meet it. In one case, you stand a good chance of connecting with the thrower and sharing the joy of making a play that may help complete the game in all its glory. In the other, your lack of effort may be the reason the opposing team intercepts and returns it 99 yards for the touchdown. It's just a hunch, but I think the locker-room is going to be a whole lot sweeter place to meet the coach and quarterback if you've made a reasonable effort to make the catch.

Even if you do find yourself at the other team's stadium.

But enough football analogies. I want to tell you why the class I taught on writer Frederick Buechner was so great. The reason, of course, is that I didn't teach it. We all did.

For four weekends we discussed the life and work of Buechner, one of the great thinkers of our era, and in the process wound up sharing ideas on everything from the "enjoyment" of anger, to why worship can be seen as the casting of the right fly, on the right river, at just the right time. There were moments when we unearthed thoughts that challenged everything we held closely before coming through the door, and then others that confirmed ideas some of us had likely pondered all our lives.

There were no right or wrong answers to be chiseled in stone. Just healthy discussion to help us prepare the rock. In the middle of one such class, an older lady (who did not overly smile) brought up one of the greater stumbling blocks she had "as a person attempting to be a Christian."

"It's that 'I am the way and the truth and the life' thing that so many 'Christians' seem to want to pound down our throats as being the ONLY way to God, that I have a hard time with," she said. It didn't take long to get a sense that the rest of us struggled here as well. No one wanted to touch it. I was supposed to be at the helm, so I jumped in and shared my thoughts:

"You know, I've always wanted to write a column entitled 'The Unintentional Christian." I mean some of the best "Christians" I know, have no idea they are one - at least as I think Christ himself would define the term. . . . As I told a young man several years ago who was struggling with some of the not-so-subtle nuances of the larger church - 'Don't let religion get in the way of your relationship with God . . .'"

No one got up and left the room, which was good. There may be no right or wrong answers in the conversational classes I have been involved with, but that doesn't mean you have to listen. I continued with an analogy that had hit me out of the blue a few days before.

"If you're drowning in a river (the world) and someone swims out and saves you and brings you back to high ground, and you never hear the guy's name, that doesn't change the fact that you've been saved . . . So yes, I think the child that wanders the streets of Bombay has absolutely every access to God that you or I do - we are, perhaps, just better informed. I also take comfort in the fact that the ancient scriptures of the Hebrews speak of a presence that 'was with God in the beginning and has always been with God.' To me, that's the one who, while nameless to so many, is nevertheless the savior of creation - God's expression of his Love in a world that is far too loveless without him."

But he's got a name to me.

I call him Jesus the Christ, because it is simply the way he has been revealed to me, and it is the way I have come to know him. There may be others who pronounce it differently or know him equally as well by a different name, I suppose. But that doesn't change his identity or what he has done for the Creation - or me, for that matter.

He is my Quarterback, and he always seems to call the right play when I let him.

He also throws a pretty mean pass.

Believe it or not, "Sunday School" can be a great place to "catch it."