Why Sending My Daughter to Sunday School Makes Me Nervous
By: Jonas Ellison
Tags: Spirituality, Christianity, Parenting, Religion, Theology

I’m working through something here (publicly, in writing, as I do). This is not a definitive statement or a concrete stance of mine. Merely some hesitancies and nervous musings about sending my six-year-old daughter to Sunday school at church.

We’ve done it a couple of times — so far so good. But I’m nervous about sending her on a regular basis. Now, before I go much further, let me say that I absolutely love our congregation. I feel like we found the unicorn of churches. We’re a ‘Reconciling in Christ’ congregation (we’ve made a public commitment to welcome, include and celebrate LGBTQIA+ people). Our Lead Pastor (and my mentor) is a bigger geek than I am when it comes to spirituality, contemplative Christianity, and mysticism. Our fellow parishioners are welcoming and vibrant and lovely. Our music and choir talent is phenomenal — we could seriously give the Chicago Philharmonic a run for their money. And, it seems, our Sunday school crew is passionate about working with kids (muy kudos to them). The people who head the program have been doing it for quite some time and it seems the kids are happy there. They very well may have a program that’s perfect and healthy and non-toxic (theologically speaking).

However, I’m nervous about Sunday school. Like, in general…

[Huge disclaimer/confession: I’m a total helicopter dad. So there’s that.]

All it takes is one enthusiastic teacher who has a toxic relationship with the divine to program in my daughter’s mind a skewed standing with God. I know it seems like no big deal. I mean, who cares, right? It’s just Sunday school, Jonas…

But I’m of the belief that statements about God take on utmost importance in the human mind. If she’s told that “Jesus died for her sins,” meaning: “Because you’ve been bad, Jesus’s daddy had to murder him on a cross to make up for it,” (or any number of statements/narratives that portray the divine in a violent way) — it can have traumatic effects on a young mind (hell, even on an older mind).

I mean, we can’t escape the fact that the story of Jesus includes an execution scene. What five or six-year-old can possibly see anything other than some dude being killed? It’s terrifying to a child seeing a man nailed to a cross. It can be downright traumatic.

Now… As I wrote about last night, I’ve become privy to a vein of theology around the cross that carries a deep, beautiful, and loving intentionality to it. But for the longest time — even in my early adult years — I saw it as an act of divine child abuse. And I couldn’t reconcile that. I couldn’t be a Christian.

I just don’t know if kids are ready for it until they reach a certain level of maturity. Until their minds are able to grasp what’s happening underneath the external events of the crucifixion.

I digress…

I want to say that I trust the main instructors who teach Sunday school at our church. And maybe I should trust them more. I’m not above admitting that I’m likely too paranoid and overly protective and could very well be shielding my daughter from something that actually might be good for her. That could be the case. I’m well aware.

BUT, all it takes is one toxic phrase. One volunteer helper filling in on a Sunday can throw the whole thing off. One picture image implanted in my daughter’s sponge-like mind can set her on the wrong footing with God. Enough of these will make her walk away from faith as soon as she can (and I couldn’t blame her).

Right now, she has such a beautiful relationship with God…

She willingly sits through Sunday service with us. Though she doesn’t fully participate, she’s happy to be there and takes it all in.

Most nights before bed, we light a candle and say a prayer together. I ask her if she can feel God in her heart and she closes her eyes, puts her hands on her chest, pauses for a moment, and says, “Yes, Daddy, I can.”

When she has nightmares, the next night we say a prayer asking God to let her know that she is protected and enfolded by His love. To watch over her while she sleeps and give her dreams about her most favorite things.

When she has a bad day and gets in a fight with her friend, she asks God to help her and Elaina never fight again.

And when my wife and/or I have to lay down the law on something (occasionally, it happens), we pray that even though mommy and daddy may have gotten upset, God only knows love for her and has never stopped loving her the whole time. Unlike from mom and dad, there is no yelling or law-wielding from God. Only love.

To put this sacred relationship between my daughter and God in the hands of a Sunday school volunteer just seems like such a big risk, especially at her age. At least until the proverbial cement dries a little bit more.

But I feel like such an untrusting hypocrite. Because if all goes as planned, one day, I’ll be the pastor of a church and we’ll likely have a Sunday school program that I’ll encourage families to attend. (I’m holding this in prayer right now.)

Explaining God to kids is such a sensitive thing. They’re not just learning about science or math — something they can remove themselves from. They’re learning about their relationship with the ground of their very being.

They’re learning about their identity, worth, and value. They’re learning about what it means to be a human and what it means to be loved by God.

To add to my general nervousness, as I alluded to earlier, there are the things I’ve been learning about mimetic theory and nonviolent atonement that are totally reversing the script that I was handed as a child about God. Why make her do the reversal too? Why not wait until she’s a little bit older and teach her about this way of relating to the divine — a purely loving and merciful presence?

Or am I just grasping for control?

God help me…

I just can’t help but believe that it’s because of toxic (albeit well-intentioned) Sunday school sessions that have turned so many people away from (and against) the church. I also believe that it’s because of toxic (yet well-meaning) Sunday school teachings that have created toxic clergy members.

Thanks for listening to my rant. We’ll get through this:) Maybe I’ll learn more about our church’s program and let her go. Or maybe I’ll wait until she’s ready to learn more about her relationship with God (right now, she’s not super interested, so why force it?). Or perhaps we’ll just keep doing what we’re doing praying through things and learning little things as we go at home.

All I can ask is that God lead the way.