It’s funny how our minds work and how a simple, everyday sound or scent can trigger a memory. Yesterday I was outside taking a dog to potty. It was a particularly humid evening, and I heard the summer sound of katydids waking up as the sun went down. For a brief moment I was transported back to my childhood, to summer nights at Vacation Bible School. All at once I was running around under the portico playing Red Rover while our parents were talking and cleaning up—the lightning bugs twinkling in the distance. I was sitting on the concrete steps outside the church eating wafer cookies and drinking Kool-Aid, being careful not to knock over the styrofoam cup. I lingered for a while in those memories because I’m preparing for Vacation Bible School in the nursing home. In thinking about my favorite moments and examining why they were meaningful, I kept coming back to the common thread that ran between them all—community.
I don’t think snack time sticks in my head and heart because the snacks were delicious, and I don’t think I so fondly recall playing games in the dark after church because those games were so much fun. (They were fun, though sometimes the older kids weren’t always nice to the younger kids—kids are kids whether at church or not.) I don’t think I remember making crafts in the church basement because we created such amazing works of art. I remember all these things because of the way they made me feel. Like I belonged.
Every night of VBS, we brought in money for the offering, which usually went to support a missionary overseas or an orphanage in an impoverished part of the country. To encourage us to bring in more money, a goal was set at the start of the week and tracked with a giant, homemade poster of a thermometer displayed in the front of the church. Every night, after the offering was counted, someone took a magic marker and colored in the thermometer to mark our progress. While that was an important activity, and I’m sure even our modest offerings made a big impact on the people we were helping, it’s not the money or the mission that I think about today. It’s the way we all worked together toward the goal of filling in that thermometer all the way to the top. That’s community.
Every VBS ended with a “closing ceremony.” We were grouped into classes by age or grade back then, and we stayed with that class every night for all activities. In the closing ceremony, each class took its turn filing up to the stage so that we could demonstrate the things we learned and awards could be given. There were certificates and trophies for things like most Bible verses memorized, most friends brought, or perfect attendance. The class that brought in the most money for the offering would also be recognized. Certainly, memorizing scripture was (and is) important; I don’t want to diminish the value of hiding God’s Word in your heart. For the competitive kids, being handed that trophy on stage in front of everyone was particularly rewarding. (That may or may not have been me.) Yet, just as with the other memories, when I think back to those moments, it’s not the awards that stick with me. There was a sense of community that was fostered by friendly competition. There are those today who would say that competition is bad or unfair in some way. I don’t think that ever crossed anyone’s mind back then. And if anyone had been perceived to be at a disadvantage in some way, adults would have made appropriate accommodations for them without making it a big deal. That’s what a community does.
Vacation Bible Schools today are big productions. And in full transparency, I’ve been the adult planning the big programs. But the Vacation Bible Schools I remember are the simple ones. We didn’t have giant sets and church- wide decor to match the theme. We didn’t have a music team leading worship, hyping everyone up by bouncing around and wearing funny outfits. (I’m not saying those are inherently bad, just that we didn’t have them.) My favorite times were when the music was led by one dad with a guitar. We sang songs like “Father Abraham” and “Peace Like a River.” His way of getting us excited and letting us be silly for a bit was singing a song like ”I like to eat apples and bananas” —the vowel sounds in the words apples and bananas changed each time you sang it through. We were in stitches by the end. And I crack up even now when I think about the song that started out innocently at first—”Shake another hand, shake a hand next to you…and sing along”—but always ended with “Pick another nose, pick a nose next to you.” We laughed and laughed!
I wonder if today’s kids will remember Vacation Bible School with the same fondness I do. Perhaps they will. And perhaps kids today expect big, over the top programs. It seems harder to impress them these days. But I don’t think you need loud music, elaborate decorations, and fast-paced nights of activities to generate community. Community is not created by bigger budgets. It is fostered whenever people laugh together, work toward a common goal, cheer one another on, and make sure that no one is left standing alone at the edge of the room.
As I prepare for Vacation Bible School with my friends at the nursing home, I find myself thinking less about the games we’ll play or the crafts we’ll make and more about the feeling I hope to create. Some of the people who will gather there have forgotten countless details of their lives. Most have been cut off from old friends or the places they once called home. Maybe that is the true gift of Vacation Bible School—not the decorations or the music or the prizes, but the simple assurance that we belong to one another. It is found in shared laughter over cookies and Kool-Aid, in singing songs that everyone knows by heart, and in the quiet understanding that we are part of something bigger than ourselves—a community of believers united in Christ.
