Every Louisiana Baptist pastor has been there this summer. “We want you
to come speak to our opening assembly, pastor,” the Vacation Bible School
director says.
Every Louisiana Baptist pastor has been there this summer. “We want you
to come speak to our opening assembly, pastor,” the Vacation Bible School
director says.
“Our emphasis has been on missions, but if you want to talk with the children
about something else, they would love to hear that, too. Just remember, we have
to dismiss in 15 minutes, or Ms. Prompt will be upset.”
The day arrives, and you remember you have not remembered to prepare what you
will say to those bright-eyed, wiggly, restless five- through 10-year-olds.
“I want to talk with you about missions,” you are surprised to hear
yourself say.
You excitedly wait to hear what you will say next. “First, I want you
to know that I am a missionary,” you begin. “Youre a missionary,
Im a missionary; youre a missionary; we are all missionaries.”
What will come next? “We are just missionaries all over the place here
at home,” you add.
“Im hungry,” one little girl says to the boy sitting next to
her.
“Me, too,” he replied. “Are refreshments next?”
“I actually felt called to missions,” I say to the three out of 30
children who seemed to be listening, at least to a small degree.
“When I was your age,” I begin, pointing to a young man two rows
back who may have been listening.
“How old are you?” I ask him.
“Ten.”
“Ten. Ten. Thats good. Ten. When I was your age, I heard a real,
live missionary speak.”
Not a single eyebrow rises at the term “real-live.”
“He was showing us all kinds of things he brought back from where he was
a missionary,” I continue. “And for his grand finale, he unrolled
this felt thing, and it rolled all the way down the table and dropped off the
end. You know what was mounted on that felt?”
Eight kids shook their heads “no” and 22 sat motionless and expressionless.
“A snake skin,” I say with excitement.
“What a stroke of genius to tie in how God called me to missions with
that snake skin,” I think to myself. “Just right to gain the attention
of children.”
The message goes from there to about how God could be calling them to missions
just as he called me that day. I talk about the wonder of missions and the greatness
of the Great Commission. I wax eloquently because I really do believe in missions
and could be awakened in the middle of the night, given three minutes notice
and talk about the mission imperative.
Then, I graciously and humbly open the floor for questions. I expect many concerning
my flaming missionary message. The next Lottie Moon may be sitting before me.
“You know, you know, you know … what?” the pretty little blonde
8-year-old says.
“What?” I respond.
“My momma, you know what she did?” the little girl continues. “My
momma, she caught a snake and put it in a trash can, and you know what? It was
still alive.”
I recognize the next cherub.
“You know what? My daddy, well, my daddy, you know, he cut a snakes
head off with a shovel,” the boy with the bright red hair says. “And,
and, and … you know what? You know, he was still alive so my daddy cut his
head off again with the shovel.”
Every child in the audience suddenly recalls a snake experience and feels compelled
to share it. Waving little hands attached to the waving arms of every child
are in the air as they strain to tell their snake story.
“You know what?” one says. “My grandma, … my grandma, she
… I saw a snake at my grandmas, and it scared me, and I runned into
the house.”
“I saw a snake one time by the lake, and he was black, and you know what?
He was right there.”
Still no questions about the Cooperative Program.
“My brother scared me with a snake one time, and my mommy, well, my mommy
made him go to his room. And you know what, Mommy was mad.”
After several other snake stories, I ask, “Great, now, does anyone have
any questions about missions?
The little boy leans over to the little girl and asks, “Did you say refreshments
are next? Im hungry.”
God bless the folks who lead our children in Vacation Bible School. I remember
my VBS teachers would ask me questions and were shocked when I could sometimes
answer them because I had been upside-down in the folding chair, shooting rubberbands
at the churchs prized cockroaches during the entire presentation. Kids
learn when we do not suspect it, and at Vacation Bible School, they can learn
the right things.
At least knowing when to quit, I sit down, and as the director closes the meeting,
I lean over the bench to ask the little girl sitting behind me: “Where
do they serve refreshments? You know what? I would love some of that purple
Kool-Aid.”