I’m helping teach the youth Sunday school class - 7th to 12th grades. Last Sunday was my first lesson. There are four other adults involved with the youth group. I’m not going to say it’s been a long time since I taught regularly for the youth, but the last time that happened, two of the people who lead our youth group were IN the youth group. And one of them has three kids now, so it’s not like he left the youth group recently.

Anyway, I had just finished my presentation of the Creation story, complete with a sketch of the ancient human idea of the cosmos as a giant dome over a flat earth and a cool photo of a galaxy (I have my own way of teaching the creation story), when a couple walked into the room with their two kids. I had never seen them before.

“What are you looking for?” I said, which is a strange thing to ask people who show up in the youth Sunday School class by accident. I mean, what are they supposed to say?

The woman spoke for the entire family. “We don’t know,” she said. It was an honest answer.

We were just beginning the discussion phase of the lesson. I was thinking about how to respond to a variety of comments made by our young friends. Shelby, my middle daughter, had blurted out, “How can anyone NOT believe in evolution after a story like that.” Madison Wanted to know why the story says, “Let US create humans in OUR image.” And Jordan wondered aloud what would be the implications if our entire universe were inside, say, a giant balloon, where the galaxies appeared to be far away but were, in fact, sort of painted on the inside walls of that balloon.

It was a splendid opportunity to leave the answering of those questions to the other adults. Fair is fair; they asked questions like that when they were in the youth group. Now it’s their turn to think up clever answers. Hah! So I went outside and talked with the family. They are relatively new to San Antonio and looking for a church. Someone suggested ours, so they came for a visit. We were interrupted by shouts and laughter from the woods behind our second building. Ben and Mike were working on a new path in the woods with the 3rd to 5th graders. I explained that the last Sunday of the month the kids come in work clothes and work on the prayer path.

I did not mention that Ben makes whiners do pushups. Somehow Ben is gentle enough to pull that off. And the kids love him enough to comply. He’s been doing that for years. Somehow, at our church, working in the woods and doing pushups has become a sacred rite of passage. It seems very natural and spiritual to me now. It’s crazy, but you kind of have to be here to understand.

“I know that doesn’t sound like a ‘Sunday School’ sort of thing to be doing, but it is. Really, because it’s our prayer path. And it leads to a labyrinth at the back, so…you know, it’s a very nice, spiritual thing for them and all.”

“Labyrinth?”

They hadn’t heard of labyrinths, which is certainly understandable. So I explained. I don’t remember what I said, but I think the words Celtic, mystical, ancient, and contemplative were in the explanation. They were nodding, so I guess they followed along pretty well. I left them to wander around and explore on their own and went to get ready for the service. I noticed that Ben and the kids were all in their socks because their shoes were muddy, which was precious if you knew why and a little strange if you didn't. We were just about to begin worship when I noticed the family wasn’t there. I looked out the window and saw them heading for their car in the parking lot.

“What?” I said out loud. Paul Soupiset heard and looked at me with an inquiring kind of look that is SO Paul Soupiset.

“Oh,” I said. “It’s just this family that showed up during Sunday school. I talked to them, and I was very friendly. But now they’re running for their car. Is it me, Paul? Is there something about me that frightens people away? I’m nice, right?”

“You’re VERY nice,” said Paul. “I’m sure it wasn’t anything you said.”

“I guess so,” I said while looking out the window. “I did mention the labyrinth. You don’t think that scared them off, do you?”

It was time for the service to begin. We have a moment at the start where I say something about what it means to put everything aside and prepare for a time of worship. I usually invite people to take a deep breath and get ready. I was feeling a bit down though, because of the family that left.

So I said, “I probably need a deep breath as much as anyone, because this family showed up this morning and I was talking to them, and …”

I was going to blurt out the whole thing. Well, just a short version of it. I don’t know why because it’s not really something people need to hear at the start of worship. At that point the door opened and the family walked in. I guess they just went to their car to get something. So I had to change what I was going to say mid-sentence.

“….and, well, here they are.”

Hmm. Yeah, that’s not a very good thing to say, actually. Because most people don’t want to go to a church for the first time, walk in a little late, and have the minister say - as if they were making an entrance into a talk show - “And heeeeere, they ARE!”

“Yeah, come on down folks! Give them a big hand, ladies and gentlemen. A neeeeew, FAMILY. And we have some lovely prizes for you as well, including the home version of Covenant Baptist Church, which you will probably need since it is doubtful you’ll ever be coming back.”

LUCKILY, they weren’t listening to anything I was saying. I mean, a minister stands up at the beginning of church and starts talking. Ministers are always talking. Who listens that much anyway? So no harm, no foul. They appeared to be very engaged with the service - at least after my opening remarks - and received communion with our community at the end.

And guess what? The last Sunday of the month, in addition to being the Sunday when our children labor in the woods, is our potluck lunch. And the new family stayed after for the meal, which was nice. I think they liked us. I’m happy about that. I’m happy when people like us and stay after for lunch.

So here’s the thing:

You know, THE THING, the point of all of this. The reason for telling this story.

What a GREAT Sunday this was. I’m back doing youth Sunday school. A new family came. I ran away and left the other adults to deal with the funky teen-age questions, which I think is funny. The kids were in the woods getting muddy and building a new prayer path, which people will use for years and years on retreats. And when I see people walking on the path I'll remember when it was built. There was the whole drama with the family that left and then came back. We had communion. We had lunch. I was with people I love.

Every Sunday should be just like that. Kind of weird, kind of surprising, kind of funny, kind of its own day.

rlp