“The Guardian Angel of VBS”
It’s Vacation Bible School time. As I read the newsletters of churches I’ve served, most of them are touting VBS. Which brought to my mind the summers Jennie and I were drafted into the VBS infantry during our ministry at Compton Heights Christian Church in St Louis way back when (1985-1989).
Carol Mead was the guardian angel of Compton’s ministry to the children and youth of the Shaw Neighborhood that stretched north, south, and west from the church. Jesus said, “Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these” (Matthew 19:14). Jesus cribbed those words from Carol. Her tireless advocacy and unswerving support of the children and youth who found welcome and refuge at Compton were a wonder to behold.
Carol, assisted by a handful of volunteers from three churches within a few blocks of Compton, directed the mother of all Vacation Bible Schools every July. Our congregation had few children and youth, so we reached out to the neighborhood around us and invited the neighbors' kids. They came. Over one hundred every year. And our four congregations, in a loaves and fishes kind of miracle, found enough willing and (sort of) able bodies to lead the program.
The adult-child ratio was about 25:1. It felt like 250:1 to those of us like Jennie and me who served as teachers and were assigned a passel of rambunctious, contentious, street-smart kids whose familiarity with things churchly and whose attention span in a cramped second floor classroom with no air conditioning was next to nil. To top it off, our VBS ran not from 9 a.m. - noon, but from 9 a.m. – 3 p.m. And not for one week, but three. I look back and wonder how we did it.
It was Carol.
In his letter to the Corinthians, Paul listed things he’d been through during his ministry: “Imprisonments, countless beatings, five times received the forty lashes less one, three times beaten with rods, stoned once, shipwrecked three times, adrift at sea for twenty-four hours, in danger from robbers, suffered many a sleepless night, constantly hungry and thirsty, often near death” (I Corinthians 11:23-37). Impressive. But did he ever go through three weeks of VBS?
I learned many things those years, including the fact that hot air really does rise, that a teacher’s patience with ten-year-olds decreases as the temperature increases, that a ten-year-old’s attention span decreases as the temperature increases, and that when a ten-year-old’s attention span decreases, they will either squirm, pinch the kid sitting next to them, ask to get a drink, ask when it will be lunch time, or ask to go to the bathroom. With all those dynamics in mind, I knew I had about fifteen minutes each morning, a half-hour at most, to get in a few words edgewise about Jesus. During the other five and one-half hours of each day, my words about Jesus were limited to my pleading to him for patience, a cool breeze, and three o’clock.
Through it all, Carol remained what family systems therapist Edwin Friedman calls “a non-anxious presence.” She was utterly unflappable. In Exodus, God is introduced as “Merciful and gracious, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love” (Exodus 34:6). The child of God named Carol did not fall far from that tree.
What I never figured out as I reminisce about those yearly marathons is why I kept going back. Each year, right after the closing program, I’d vow to never do it again. I would put my foot down and make myself perfectly clear. “If nominated to teach VBS, I will not accept. If elected, I will not serve.” Every year I said that and every year, come July, I’d find myself in the same sweltering room with two dozen ten-year-olds.
Likewise, throughout my forty years of ministry, I’d vow I’d done my time as a VBS teacher. Others can step up, I’d say. Then I’d think of Carol stepping up year in and year out. Or I’d think, I’m an empty-nester, old enough to be these kids’ grandfather. And I’d think of Carol, graying hair in a bun, her warm, gentle smile radiating from her lovely visage. In my mind’s eye I’d then see all the other VBS volunteers, veterans of innumerable mid-summer campaigns answering the call yet again, coming back for more. And I’d agree to do it again.
I know why I gave in. It never failed. At some point during the course of the week, in the midst of the construction paper and glue, the music and snacks, the prayers and pleas to use the bathroom, none other than Jesus Christ made an appearance at Vacation Bible School. Christ came. It never failed. Those who take part year in and year out can testify to this phenomenon. And once he’s come to you, you’ll go through anything to encounter him again, be it shipwreck or imprisonment, be it beatings or sleepless nights … be it teaching Vacation Bible School to a slew of squirming children.
Enlisted again, I’d report for duty on the Monday morning of a new VBS. It wasn’t dread; it was anticipation. It was adrenaline. It was Carol and people like her who, like Jesus, welcomed the children to come unto them. It was kids getting it at some precious moment, it being that they are Beloved in God’s eyes, each gifted and graced and part of a family that transcended the brokenness many of them knew at home.
Year in and year out Carol served as Director of VBS until she died far too young of a heart attack.
A few summers ago, in the months leading up to my sixty-fourth birthday, I arrived in Columbia, MO, to begin an interim ministry. My first day coincided with their first day of VBS. Jennie and I did our part in memory of and thanksgiving for Carol.
But that was my last time … until next time.
