I was a Sunday school boy growing up. My
parents took us to church every Sunday, and that weekly event included an hour
of Bible study designed for children. We never missed unless we were very ill.
As far as I knew, Sunday school was a normal part of childhood along with
regular school, visits to grandparents, Little League, and playing in the
backyard.
My father was a minister who often preached in
other churches, so I sampled plenty of Sunday schools over the years. They were
pretty much the same wherever you went. There would be a Bible story, of course,
and lessons drawn from the text. There was usually some sort of craft project
that often involved dried macaroni and might or might not be connected to the
Bible story in some abstract way. There was singing on occasion and sometimes
games.
When I was in second grade, my family attended
a church adjacent to the seminary where my father got his degree and where I
would receive mine years later. Our class was outfitted with standard Sunday
school equipment. Heavy wooden tables and chairs, large cardboard building
blocks colored to look like bricks, art supplies, puzzles, books, and fist-sized
plastic animals that came in handy if the lesson was on Noah’s ark.
That year there was a boy in my Sunday school
class named Martin. Martin loved dinosaurs and had leukemia, which we were told
was a grave and serious thing to have. Martin sometimes brought toy dinosaurs to
Sunday school, which made me a little jealous since I was not allowed to bring
toys to church. But Martin had a serious illness, so it seemed right that some
exceptions were made in his case.
Our Sunday school teacher told us that God
gives a special gift or talent to every person, and that it was our duty to
discover our talent and put it to use for God’s glory. The whole thing made
perfect sense to me because Martin knew the name and habits of every dinosaur,
so he had obviously identified and begun to utilize his God-given talent. I
wondered what mine might be and began trying to discover it.
There was a spare piano in a darkened room at
the church. I stole into the room and sat on the piano bench. I thought God
talents would reveal themselves fully developed and ready for use. I pounded on
the keys, imitating a piano player and hoping to hear music. A passing adult put
her head into the room and told me to quit banging on the piano. I was
frightened and embarrassed and slipped down the hall, hoping never to see her
again. Clearly piano playing was not my gift. I tried other things but found no
talents of any kind. After a week or two, I lost interest and went back to
living my normal and seemingly untalented life.
One afternoon I found a length of bamboo in the
alley behind our house. It was thicker than a fishing pole but slender enough
for me to grasp it easily. I thought it made the perfect spear and spent half an
hour running around our backyard, yelling and hurling the spear here and there.
Lying in the grass in the center of the yard
was a large leaf. I spied this leaf and drew back the spear until my fist was
beside my right ear. With a shout, I threw the spear at the leaf. By some
miracle of chance it pierced the leaf and stuck quivering in the ground.
I was thrilled with myself and jumped up and
down with excitement. Then it occurred to me that I had found the secret talent
that God had given me. Somehow it was ordained under heaven that I should be
able to throw spears with perfect accuracy. My faith in my newfound talent
needed no further testing. The obvious miracle of the leaf was proof enough, and
the lack of practical applications for such a talent did not occur to me.
I decided to immediately begin using my talent
and enlisted the help of my little brother in setting up a public exhibition
reminiscent of William Tell. My brother was about to enter kindergarten and was
remarkably trusting. I positioned him in the center of our yard and backed up
about 15 paces.
“Don’t be afraid, Hugh. I’m very good with
spears. I’ll throw this spear, but it won’t hit you. It will fly right by your
face. I’ll barely miss you. I can do this because I have perfect aim with
spears.”
Hugh stood obediently in the yard, and I drew
back my arm with complete confidence. At that moment my father walked out the
door and into the backyard.
My father knew nothing of my passionate search
for my talent. He knew nothing of the bamboo spear and the miracle of the leaf.
He only knew that he opened the door of our house just in time to see me hurl a
sharp stick at my younger brother, striking him an inch or so below his left eye
and causing him to collapse on the lawn, screaming in pain.
When the spear struck my little brother, I was
shocked and horrified. For an instant, my childish view of the world hung in the
air like a cartoon character who has walked off a cliff. Then it plummeted, and
I never saw the world in the same way again.
When a child’s view of the world is shattered,
it is a violent emotional event. The mind reels and confusion reigns for a time.
Nothing is as it seemed. If this thing you believed is not true, what other
things might not be true? In that instant I gained years of wisdom. Now the
whole idea of being able to throw spears accurately seemed reckless and foolish
to me. I understood the grave risk I had taken. My brother and I fought
ferociously at times, but I had no desire to hurt him.
Of course I didn’t have much time to consider
these things because my father was headed in our direction. He covered the
ground between us in about 2 seconds. He attended to my brother who, as it
turned out, was bleeding a bit but not seriously injured. When he was assured
that Hugh was okay, he turned his attention on me. I remember that his eyes were
locked on mine and filled with anger.
“Gordon
Douglas Atkinson, have you lost your mind? What were you thinking? Don’t you
realize you could have put out his EYE? Don’t EVER EVER EVER do anything like
that again!”
Those were the days when conscientious parents
spanked their children. It was what good parents in our part of the world did.
We won’t debate the question of spanking here. What I will say is that a bamboo
pole broken twice over your father’s knee makes an effective paddle and is a
powerful disincentive against repeating the offending behavior. We went round
and round, literally.
When it was over, my brother was hustled into
the house to be further cared for by our mother. I was left in the backyard. My
bottom and my legs were hurting, and I had a strong but unclear sense of
injustice. The whole thing was complicated and not the sort of thing a boy can
easily explain to an angry father. Obviously hitting my brother in the face with
a spear was a very bad thing to do. But I knew in my heart that I had arrived at
the moment of transgression innocently and with good and honorable intentions. I
believed that I had a talent. I felt like I was doing the right thing by seeking
my gift and faithfully using it.
I never told anyone about thinking that spear
throwing was my spiritual gift. I was happy to forget about it and move on. I
was not a cruel boy, so I suppose my parents counted it as some kind of
aberration from the norm. And yet, this event had a powerful impact on me and on
my thinking. From that point forward, I was mistrustful of miraculous claims
made at church. After the event with the spear, I allowed that what you heard at
church might be true, but you should check these things out carefully before you
put your life on the line. After all, people can get hurt.
It was a small and quiet change in my
viewpoint. But it was important. It was one of the many moments that shaped me
and made me who I am.
rlp
