Childhood memories of Sunday School in the Christian season of Lent.
The photographs were taken in the first week of March.
Walking to Church.
The afternoon was chilly and the streets were quiet when I walked to the end of my road, past the phone box, across Gordon Road, up Hudson Street, past the Post box and turned right along Blue Bell Hill to St Bartholomew’s Church, which stood on a hill. Indeed, St Bartholomew’s Road, which led from Gordon Road to St Ann’s Well Road, is called Donkey Hill by anyone who knows it, because it is so steep. Still, living on Serlby Rise, I’d already gained height, so it was an easy walk.
It was a well-worn route for me and on Sunday afternoons I sensed the lonely quietness of it all. Shops were closed and no one was playing out. There certainly weren’t crowds flocking to church, but I walked on, clutching my penny for the collection, held safely in my glove.
Arriving.
As always, I could see one light shining through a window when I got near to the heavy, open church door and the first thing I did when I walked into the dim, musty building was turn towards that light and kneel down. That candle, which was never allowed to go out, told us that Jesus was there, in the form of a communion wafer which had been consecrated by the priest. I was taught to reverence that presence from a young age.
This belief takes this Bible verse seriously:
Jesus took bread, and when he had said the blessing, he broke it and gave it to the disciples “take and eat” he said, “this is my body.” Matthew’s Gospel chapter 26, verse 26. New Jerusalem Bible.
But is Jesus present just in the blessed bread or does it have to be shared and eaten? That’s a topic for another sort of blog!! What do you think?
When I reached the central aisle of the church, I bowed towards the altar before finding my seat. Once, I got in trouble for going near to the altar, because only the priest was allowed there. I don’t suppose any woman, never mind child, ever crossed the forbidden line in St Bartholomew’s!
Sunday School teachers.
I will be forever grateful to my Sunday School teachers, a small gang of ladies whom I thought were ancient, but they were probably about forty! They’d known me since I was born and some of them kept a close, caring eye on me into early adulthood. They also reprimanded me for refusing to take off my gloves to write, but that building was cold!!
Still, for most of the year, Sunday School wasn’t my favourite part of church. I preferred the rare occasions when I went with my mam to “proper church” when I didn’t understand what was happening, but I wanted to. I remember everyone singing a hymn about angels and wishing I could read all the words in the hymn book and the vicar in the pulpit saying that Jesus died to save us from our sins. What did that mean? I still don’t know, and apologies to my evangelical friends, but I don’t believe I deserve to be tortured to death and should be glad that Jesus took my punishment! There are lots of theories about atonement, which means being made one with God, being put right with God and for me, Jesus absorbed all of human life, the best and worst, bits and took them into God, so now nothing can separate us.
Anyway, back to Sunday School.
Witches and Giants.
There was one time of year when Sunday School was my favourite thing and that’s why I’m remembering it now.
Lent is the forty days of preparation for Easter. I don’t remember giving up any treat for Lent as a child, but I remember the lessons I learnt.
In Lent, the vicar at church took Sunday School and one year he told us stories about witches and another year stories about giants. Wonder of wonders, he gave us all a sticker for each story we heard, to fix into the right place on a card!
I don’t remember any names of the witches and giants or what they did, but I do remember someone going on a journey and encountering dangerous, tricky characters along the way who tried to thwart them and make them give up.
I am thankful for those stories which sparked my imagination and grew resilience in my young life.
I love the purple season of Lent, with its challenges, its lengthening spring days and promise of Easter.
What does Lent mean to you?
Wander well,
Mandy.
Things I love:
- Lent
- A good story
- The colour purple.
Wandering Through The Land Of Nod. 