Storytelling and Sunday School

One of the teaching techniques Jesus often used and is neglected in many Sunday School teaching opportunities is the art of storytelling. Whether it was stories about farming, weddings, or other practical stories (parables) about the kingdom of heaven, Jesus knew how to captivate an audience, leave them pondering a truth from God and wanting more. It is time to develop this art in your setting. Here are some things to consider:

 

  1. Look for stories that apply the central truth of your passage. As you think about the central truth in your lesson, search for stories that may help your students connect the dots. There are many great resources out there to help you in books and the internet. Many years ago, I used all of the Chicken Soup books like Chicken Soup for the Christian Soul to bring a point home. (You can get this one online for less than one dollar!) The internet is full of stories if you do some searching.

 

2. Share stories from your own experiences with others. As I mentioned in my last  blog, (Faith is in the Following), we see God working every day in someone’s life. (Always ask permission before using someone else’s story.) Stories of people you and others in your Bible study may know enhance the experience of learning. It puts a face to God’s truths.

 

Share your own experiences. Be honest and transparent with people about your failures as well as successes. By sharing your experiences, you are giving permission for them to share their experiences.

 

4. Find a storyteller in your Bible study class. Maybe you are not as gifted as someone else in the class at telling stories. Let the person know what the central truth is a week in advance and allow them to share a story at the appropriate time. You may want to talk with them during the week to see what they have come up with and make sure it is appropriate.      

 

     Here is a story as an example I read a few years back:

 

Becoming As Little Children –Author Unknown



http://www.inspire21.com/stories/christianstories/BecomingAsLittleChildren

We were the only family with children in the restaurant. I sat Erik in a high chair and noticed everyone was quietly eating and talking. Suddenly, Erik squealed with glee and said, “Hi there.” He pounded his fat baby hands on the high chair tray. His eyes were crinkled in laughter and his mouth was bared in a toothless grin, as he wriggled and giggled with merriment.

I looked around and saw the source of his merriment. It was a man whose pants were baggy with a zipper at half-mast and his toes poked out of would-be shoes. His shirt was dirty and his hair was uncombed and unwashed. His whiskers were too short to be called a beard and his nose was so varicose it looked like a road map. We were too far from him to smell, but I was sure he smelled.


     His hands waved and flapped on loose wrists. Hi there, baby; Hi there, big boy. I see ya, buster,” the man said to Erik. My husband and I exchanged looks, “What do we do?” Erik continued to laugh and answer, “Hi, hi there.” Everyone in the restaurant noticed and looked at us and then at the man. The old geezer was creating a nuisance with my beautiful baby. 


Our meal came and the man began shouting from across the room, “Do ya patty cake? Do you know peek-a-boo? Hey, look, he knows peek-a-boo.” Nobody thought the old man was cute. He was obviously drunk. My husband and I were embarrassed. We ate in silence; all except for Erik, who was running through his repertoire for the admiring skid row bum, who in turn, reciprocated with his cute comments. 
We finally got through the meal and headed for the door. My husband went to pay the check and told me to meet him in the parking lot. The old man sat poised between me and the door.

“Lord, just let me out of here before he speaks to me or Erik,” I prayed. As I drew closer to the man, I turned my back trying to sidestep him and avoid any air he might be breathing. As I did, Erik leaned over my arm, reaching with both arms in a baby’s “pick-me-up” position. Before I could stop him, Erik had propelled himself from my arms to the man’s

Suddenly a very old smelly man and a very young baby consummated their relationship. Erik in an act of total trust, love, and submission laid his tiny head upon the man’s ragged shoulder.


     The man’s eyes closed, and I saw tears hover beneath his lashes. His aged hands full of grime, pain, and hard labor, cradled my baby’s bottom and stroked his back. No two beings have ever loved so deeply for so short a time. I stood awestruck. The old man rocked and cradled Erik in his arms and his eyes opened and set squarely on mine. He said in a firm commanding voice, “You take care of this baby.” Somehow I managed, 
“I will,” from a throat that contained a stone.


     He pried Erik from his chest unwillingly, longingly, as though he were in pain. I received my baby, and the man said, “God bless you, ma’am, you’ve given me my Christmas gift. You see, m’am, I never saw my child grow up. My wife and son were taken from me in an automobile accident when they were both too young. I was never able to get over it.”


     I said nothing more than a muttered thanks and “I’m sorry to hear that.” With Erik in my arms, I ran for the car. My husband was wondering why I was crying and holding Erik so tightly, and why I was saying, “My God, my God, forgive me.” I had just witnessed Christ’s love shown through the innocence of a tiny child who saw no sin, who made no judgment; a child who saw a soul, and a mother who saw a suit of clothes. I was a Christian who was blind, holding a child who was not. I felt it was God asking, “Are you willing to share your son for a moment?” when He shared His for all eternity. The ragged old man, unwittingly, had reminded me…

“I tell you the truth, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.” — Matthew 18:3 (NIV)

About tonystopic

Seeker and connector to the abundant life as a husband (to Katrina), father (to Tara & Joseph) and Field Strategist/Sunday School Specialist for the Virginia Baptist Mission Board.
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