Matthew 5:7½
Yesterday I gave an impromptu lesson in Sunday School — again. Okay, the story: a few weeks ago I was sitting in my usual Sunday School spot, that is to say, the front row. (There's always room there.) And I found myself sitting next to one of the teachers. It was not his week to teach, though, and we couldn't see the person whose week it was. The Sunday School president (Russ) is my home teaching companion, and he was looking in my/our direction. And I had the distinct impression that I ought to take a moment to review the lesson again. Sure enough, the regularly scheduled teacher didn't show, and we ended up (tag-)team teaching the lesson. It went well, and I was asked to substitute for the following week, but with a few days' notice.
Anyway, I gained something of a reputation in the ward after that experience. And of course Russ always knew he could call on me to fill in. He did so last Sunday, asking me to preside over the class as he was out with the flu. No big deal.
During our Sacrament Service, I had the distinct impression that I needed to review the week's Sunday School lesson. I normally do this anyway, but this time I felt the need to. So I did. As we were all leaving the meeting, one of the men in the Sunday School presidency asked if I had seen Russ, and I hadn't. So he said, "Go ahead and get things started again this week."
So I waited for the teacher — any of the three teachers, actually — to show up. As the time came to start class arrived, none of them had. So I stood up, got things started, and asked, "Does anyone know who's supposed to teach this class today?" There were mumblings, giggles, whispers, and a few bemused looks, but no, nobody knew who was supposed to be teaching that day's lesson. So I said, "Well, I guess I am, then."
And I did. I had a lot of help from the class, with many comments and shared experiences. And I got to slip in one of those apocryphal J. Golden Kimball stories, and that kept everyone interested.
I am convinced that when scholars in the employ of King James were collecting and translating the Bible, they left the following out of the Beatitudes:
Blessed are the flexible, for they shall not be bent out of shape.
Amen.
Anyway, I gained something of a reputation in the ward after that experience. And of course Russ always knew he could call on me to fill in. He did so last Sunday, asking me to preside over the class as he was out with the flu. No big deal.
During our Sacrament Service, I had the distinct impression that I needed to review the week's Sunday School lesson. I normally do this anyway, but this time I felt the need to. So I did. As we were all leaving the meeting, one of the men in the Sunday School presidency asked if I had seen Russ, and I hadn't. So he said, "Go ahead and get things started again this week."
So I waited for the teacher — any of the three teachers, actually — to show up. As the time came to start class arrived, none of them had. So I stood up, got things started, and asked, "Does anyone know who's supposed to teach this class today?" There were mumblings, giggles, whispers, and a few bemused looks, but no, nobody knew who was supposed to be teaching that day's lesson. So I said, "Well, I guess I am, then."
And I did. I had a lot of help from the class, with many comments and shared experiences. And I got to slip in one of those apocryphal J. Golden Kimball stories, and that kept everyone interested.
I am convinced that when scholars in the employ of King James were collecting and translating the Bible, they left the following out of the Beatitudes:
Blessed are the flexible, for they shall not be bent out of shape.
Amen.
posted by Michael at
2:38 PM
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