weird childhood memories: the Sunday School songs edition.

Like a great many Midwesterns, I grew up going to Sunday School – whether I liked it or not.

And I did not.

To the untrained eye, I was the picture of a good Lutheran. I was a blond haired blue eyed Scandinavian, to start. I earned perfect attendance through almost every year of Sunday School (which began at age three and continued through your freshman year of high school). I was in church nearly every Sunday. I went to church camp – both day camp and week-long sleep away camp. I was a member of Luther League. I was dutifully confirmed at age 15. 

Same face as the one above, but add nine years.

I taught Sunday School with my friend Bob for three years. I knew the correct answer to “go in peace, serve the Lord” is “thanks be to God.”

But on the inside, I was not buying a single word of it.

 

Classic fake smile.

A born skeptic, I was not convinced that some guy named Noah filled a giant boat with two of every animal while a vengeful God killed everyone else. I did not think women were created from some guy’s rib. I did not think some mystical dude in the sky was watching our every move. None of it made any sense to me.

So I bluffed my way through; feigning the part of the obedient believer. To me, church and Sunday School were just one more thing to get through… one more thing I wouldn’t have to do when I became an adult and could make my own decisions about how to spend my Sundays.

I'm on the bottom right, looking super psyched to be there.

But that’s not what we’re here to talk about today.

We’re here to talk about Sunday School songs.

Sunday School was an hour every Sunday. From the age of three up until third grade, the first half of Sunday School was spent in the chapel, singing songs. The second half was spent in the classroom. When you became a fourth grader, you graduated into a full hour of Sunday School.

This story is about that half an hour of music.

The songs we learned to sing as small impressionable children have stuck with me forever. Some of them were pretty typical and harmless, like “Jesus Loves Me” and “This Little Light of Mine.” The warm-and-fuzzy lineup was pretty solid, like “Jesus Loves the Little Children,” “I’ve Got the Joy Down in My Heart,” and “He’s Got the Whole World in His Hands.” My favorite was “Something in the Garden,” which has nothing to do with religion at all. It involved a few lucky children choosing what kind of animals you would find in the garden, and then the entire group would make the corresponding songs.

We also sang about some very specific Biblical stories, such as “Father Abraham Had Many Sons” (which involved a sort of hokey-pokey type dance) and “Zacchaeus” about a tiny guy who sat in a tree to see Jesus. We all learned how to spell “Christian” by singing “I am a C.”

If you’ve ever set foot anywhere near an elementary Sunday School program, chances are you’ve heard these songs.

Sure, these songs were all good and well. The beaming Lutheran parents loved to hear their adorable Lutheran children sing them at the front of the church before a captive audience one Sunday a month.

There was a whole set of other songs, though, that left a weird taste in my mouth.

Leading the pack was Doug Larson.

Doug Larson was the bane of my Sunday School existence. He was/is a Christian children’s musician, and he made a living off touring the Midwestern Protestant church circuit in the mid-to-late 90s. My church would hire him every so often to come and hang out with the kids, teach them a few songs, and then perform them for churchgoers. My church also hired him for a week at a time in the summer to lead the annual day camp. 

I don’t remember if Day Camp was half a day or the whole day, but to me, it lasted FOREVER. My friend Sarah was my saving grace. She and I would sit together and roll our eyes in sync. We made up our own actions and interjections to some of these songs. It was the only way we could get through the day.

Partners in crime.

Doug Larson hated us.

He was a large man who gave a great face to adults, but left alone with us kids, he was short-tempered and ill-humored. Sarah and I would not have been any older than 10 at this point, and he could not understand why we weren’t taking the Word of the Lord seriously. By no means were we the only ones. What do you expect from a bunch of elementary-aged kids trapped in a church on a beautiful summer day? I remember Doug Larson screaming at us until he was red in the face. He told us that “Jesus doesn’t love children who don’t pay attention.”

Nice.

Doug Larson’s favorite song (and a big hit with the elder Lutherans with a taste for lame Scandinavian humor) was “Pharaoh Pharaoh.” Sung to the tune of “Louie Louie,” it tells the tale of Moses leading his people out of Egypt, but with interjections of “uffda” and “ya sure you betcha.” Even before my age was in the double digits, I found this to be trite.

The other Doug Larson staple was a song called “Clap Your Hands,” in which every verse involved some kind of action involving touching someone next to you. I am NOT a toucher, so this song made me incredibly uncomfortable. The actions all followed with “right next to you”: rub another back, shake another hand, bump another hip, and slap another knee (why “another,” I do not know).

For a time, my family was the proud owner of a Doug Larson cassette tape. 

THIS ONE.

I could NOT get away from Doug Larson. I would hide the tape on occasion to be spared another minute of Doug Larson’s falsely friendly voice, but someone always managed to find it. Doug Larson Mania eventually trailed off after the church paid him to do a program, but he flaked and kept the money. Or so the story goes.

(I would highly encourage you to check out Doug Larson’s site, which I found while researching this story. Each album cover has a link to audio clips of his songs, so you can hear the MAN HIMSELF singing these songs.)

https://www.douglarson.org/media-gallery

Believe it or not, Doug Larson wasn’t the only source of strange songs from Sunday School. Nearing the end of my Sunday School music career, we learned a song called “Awesome God.” 

It was a BIG DEAL. It was supposed to be POWERFUL and make you FEEL THINGS. It made me feel annoyed. Sarah and I gave it the same treatment as “Pharaoh Pharaoh” and made up our own actions. The chorus states that “He reigns from heaven above with wisdom, power, and love.” Sarah and I made wiggly fingers for reign/rain, pointed up for heaven, pointed at our heads for wisdom, made a muscle for power, and made a heart with our hands for love. But this time, the music teacher LOVED the actions and had us teach them to the whole group. Born from sarcasm, these actions may still be a part of Trinity Lutheran repertoire.

The final alarming song we sang was called “Lord’s Army.” This is one of the few songs I enjoyed singing as a kid, mostly because it was upbeat and not too Jesus-y. Looking back, though, it’s a bit unsettling. The song is about how we many never be in a real army shooting at enemies, but we are indeed in the Lord’s army (punctuated with a salute and “yes sir!”).

Looking back on my Sunday School and church upbringing, I am actually glad I experienced it. Spending so many years on the inside gives me an understanding of religion that I would not have had otherwise. I saw it less as a spiritual experience and more as a sociological study. I understand the group dynamic, and I understand a church’s strong role, especially in small towns like my own. I get it. But it just doesn't mean to me what it does to many others.

And that’s ok.