The Great Sunday School Experiment
"A camel is a horse designed by committee." This common axiom tells you to avoid committees. And yet, the camel has its function—especially in the desert.
With that in mind, a group in my church (dare I say, a “committee”) ventured into new territory in what came to be known to us as “The Great Sunday School Experiment.” Here is how it happened.
For years, our Sunday School class had been led by one great couple, old enough to be our parents but without the baggage. The class started in the late ’70s when we were all newly married, ready for the mentorship of their middle-aged marriage and looking for the support of other young Christian couples. We stayed together as a class through the child-bearing years and gradually shifted from the “Newlyweds’ Class,” to the “Young Couples’ Fellowship,” to simply, “Couples’ Fellowship.” We grew to a class of about 40 couples, sometimes more, sometimes less. Same teacher. Basically the same core group of diehard friends. In a big church, the Sunday School class served as a connecting agency, and we clung to those connections.
Finally, the inevitable happened. After 25-plus years of guiding our class, our teachers decided to retire. We resisted quite admirably and delayed the finale for a couple of years in the process. When “Dad” put his foot down, though, we knew we were licked. Panic set in.
Graciously, the church let us choose our course of direction. They also offered interim teachers or consolidation with other classes. We declined, bowing to our independent baby boomer spirits. Given the number of educators and leaders in the class, we began an internal process of surveying the members for ideas, and pulling in teachers from our own midst. Our teacher had actually done this a few times in the past, dividing up a book or Bible chapters with a theme and assigning them to different class members to teach. Without deliberate thought, it was our way to further delay the decision.
Gradually, it dawned on many of us that this was sort of working. As one committee leader put it, “It occurred to us that it might be time for the children to take over the family business.” Sunday after Sunday went by, and class members and the occasional special speaker covered book topics, family issues, and many of the thought-provoking questions given as ideas in the class surveys.
While we were content to let this state continue indefinitely, things came to a head when the church asked us to identify a teacher for the new Sunday School promotions booklet. They wanted to name one teacher. So, we surveyed the class again. Only this time, the question was, “Is this working?”
It was not a slam dunk. Several of the returned surveys asked for a traditional teacher to be named. But the majority said, “Go ahead. Let’s try it a little longer.” The rules were identified. We would name one person to make announcements, get the class started, and ensure continuity throughout our Sunday mornings. We would name another, a seminary professor, to serve as the liaison with the church and ensure that the spiritual content was on target and consistent with our denominational doctrines. No theme or speaker would go more than three Sundays in a row, both to prevent burnout and counter bad teaching. Given everyone’s workload in the day-to-day world, we thought this would spread the work around and share the burden.
Then issues such as socials, coffee for Sunday morning, outreaches to the community, and special events came up. We needed more camels to bear the burden. A committee was born.
All class members all had opportunities to volunteer. When no volunteers stepped forward, some were recruited. Those people, in turn, considered the balance when it came to age, experience, and commitment. A committee structure was presented to the class that included an eclectic mix of people: bookstore manager, psychologist, public relations director, office assistant, nursery coordinator, and others, with ages ranging from late 30s to early 50s. Some had kids; others empty nests, some were saving for college; others for retirement. We told the class that the committee was subject to change at any time, and that we would bring the process back to the class at least once a year for review and discussion.
The committee began meeting monthly, with a set agenda and assigned duties. One person was responsible for lining up speakers; everyone on the committee was responsible for providing ideas, direction and assistance. Everyone agreed to attend, work, and help pay when necessary. Each committee member had a duty, even if it was just to attend the meetings and give an opinion about what issues were of interest to the class at that time. We were all willing to be available to our fellow class members for their suggestions and discussion.
And now?
A quick check with the class members elicited these responses: “It’s going better than envisioned; the family continues to grow and minister,” said one.
“It incorporates more of the people into the class—people are more willing to share than they’ve ever been,” said another.
“The Holy Spirit orchestrates things behind the scenes,” said a committee member. “It’s a way of practicing more New Testament Christianity. Pentecostal New Testament Christianity is where everybody has the opportunity to minister.”
A boss once told me, “If committee meetings are a waste of time, I’m in real trouble. All I do is attend committee meetings. I have to believe that the process allows us to be deliberate in our decisions, to share the balance of power, and to thoroughly talk through the issues. I have to believe in committees.”
Our committee is not without its flaws, of course. “We have to take a little bit of a risk when we put people up there,” explains one committee member. “We don’t really know what they might say.” On the other hand, “You hear from people you didn’t know anything about. It’s a bonding experience.” We’ve been tested, too. Two of our class members have died, leaving spouses and, in one case, children behind. At least six class members have battled varying degrees and types of cancer. One class member died in a car accident. We’ve sent flowers and cards, brought food and hugs, and prayed for each other more than ever before.
The committee may, indeed, be a camel. But we’re over the hump, and thanks to the Great Sunday School Experiment, our class is still carrying the load—make that sharing the load. Not a bad outcome, especially if you’re in the desert and need a camel to come along.
