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Sunday-School Success
Sunday-School Success
A Book of Practical Methods
for Sunday-School Teachers
and Officers
By
Amos R. Wells
Author of "Business," "When Thou Hast Shut Thy
Door," "Social Evenings," etc.
[Illustration]
NEW YORK CHICAGO TORONTO
Fleming H. Revell Company
Publishers of Evangelical Literature
Copyright, 1897, by
FLEMING H. REVELL COMPANY
THE NEW YORK TYPE-SETTING COMPANY
THE CAXTON PRESS
Preface
In these pages I have described the methods of the most successful
teachers and Sunday-schools I have known. While a large part of the
book is the direct fruit of my own experience in Sabbath and secular
schools, it sets forth, as every teacher will understand, what I have
learned from my failures rather than from my successes.
Though the volume has something to say on all the great Sunday-school
problems, it does not pretend to be a complete manual; indeed, who
could prepare one on so stupendous a theme? If it justifies its
appearance among the admirable treatises already published for
Sunday-school workers, it will be because it presents with frankness
the methods found helpful by an average teacher, who never had charge
of a large school or a large class, but in district school, small
college, and small Sunday-school has struggled with the practical
problems of a teacher, and in some of them at least, like Sentimental
Tommy, has "found a way."
A large number of these chapters have appeared in the "Sunday-school
Times," and others in the "Sunday-school Journal" of the Methodists,
the "Pilgrim Teacher" of the Congregationalists, the "Westminster
Teacher" of the Presbyterians, the "Baptist Teacher," and the "Golden
Rule." I am grateful to these periodicals for permission to include
this material in my book.
AMOS R. WELLS.
BOSTON, September, 1897.
Contents
PAGE
I. THE TEACHER'S CROWN 9
II. WHO SHOULD TEACH IN THE SUNDAY-SCHOOL? 14
III. PREPARING THE LESSON 21
IV. SOMETHING ABOUT TEACHERS' MEETINGS 32
V. A TEACHER WITH A SCHEDULE 39
VI. MY LESSON CHART 42
VII. THE VALUE OF A MONOTESSARON 46
VIII. GETTING ATTENTION 52
IX. KEEPING ATTENTION 57
X. THE IMPORTANCE OF QUESTIONING 64
XI. A GOOD QUESTION 69
XII. INSPIRING QUESTIONS 75
XIII. TRIGGER-TEACHING 80
XIV. GALVANIC TEACHING 85
XV. SERIAL TEACHING 89
XVI. TEACHING THE PSALMS 95
XVII. THOSE TEMPERANCE AND MISSIONARY LESSONS 104
XVIII. TOPICAL LESSONS 114
XIX. INTRODUCING THOUGHTS 119
XX. ILLUSTRATIONS AND APPLICATIONS 125
XXI. RIGHTEOUS PADDING 130
XXII. THE SUNDAY-SCHOOL AND THE NEWSPAPER 134
XXIII. ON TAKING THINGS FOR GRANTED 139
XXIV. UTILIZING THE LATE SCHOLAR 143
XXV. SIDE-TRACKING THE TEACHER 146
XXVI. THE PROBLEM OF THE VISITOR 150
XXVII. "UNDER PETTICOAT GOVERNMENT" 154
XXVIII. THE TEACHER'S THREE GRACES 160
XXIX. SOMETHING TO BELONG TO 163
XXX. THROUGH EYE-GATE 167
XXXI. FOUNDATION WORK 178
XXXII. THE TRIAL BALANCE 193
XXXIII. AT THE HELM 201
XXXIV. THE SUPERINTENDENT'S CHANCE 209
XXXV. THE SUNDAY-SCHOOL AND THE WEATHER 213
XXXVI. A PROFITABLE PICNIC 217
XXXVII. A SINGING SUNDAY-SCHOOL 221
XXXVIII. A PRAYING SUNDAY-SCHOOL 227
XXXIX. S. S. AND C. E. 233
XL. TEACHERS IN 8VO 241
XLI. AROUND THE COUNCIL FIRE 256
XLII. THE INCORPORATION OF IDEAS 267
XLIII. FROM A SUPERINTENDENT'S NOTEBOOK 272
XLIV. FROM A TEACHER'S NOTEBOOK 287
Sunday-School Success
Chapter I
The Teacher's Crown
In one of those dreams which are truer than waking there passed before
me a long line of the Sunday-school teachers I have known. One after the
other they appeared--those that had taught my childish lips to repeat
the Bible words, those that had led my youth into the opening glories of
the International Lessons, those that had put to rest the rising doubts
of the young man and clinched his faith to the Rock of ages; those,
also, of less blessed memory, whom I knew in early or later years, that
had done none of these things, but other good things not so good.
And I noted in astonishment, as each came into view, that all were
decked with diverse crowns. I had not looked long before I saw that
these crowns were not arbitrary and artificial, but sprung from the
very substance of the character of each. They had all received their
reward, but according to their deeds.
First came a teacher whom I remembered merely as an eloquent talker. His
words were deftly chosen, his sentences smoothly formed. His teaching
was a charming harangue, bright with metaphor, flashing with sparkling
parables. I loved to listen to him. I was as proud of him as he was of
himself. To be sure, the only good thing he ever did for me was to
inspire in me the vain desire to become an equally eloquent talker, but
yet I was sorry he had not received a nicer crown. It looked very
beautiful, as if it were thickly studded with lovely pearls richly
iridescent in the sun; but when he came near I saw that each pearl was a
little bubble swollen from a reservoir within. These bubbles were
bursting all over the crown, fresh ones ever taking their place. It was
a very pretty sight, yet a very trivial crown, and I was sorry for him.
There were several worthy teachers in the line whom I remembered as
careful instructors in Bible history. They had every date at tongue's
end, knew the order of the books and their contents, the relationships
of the prominent characters to each other, all details of place and
customs. They could repeat Bible verses by the yard, and gave prizes for
such feats of unreasoning memory. They were mechanical, but thorough and
useful. They had taught me how to dig into the Bible and study it as
hard as I would study calculus. I was grateful to them for this, though
they did no more, and so was rather sorry to observe their frail crowns.
They were all of paper, neatly folded and plaited, and as I came nearer
I saw that each crown was made up of leaves of the Bible.
I saw there also two or three teachers who had always taught with a
sad countenance, teaching, not because they loved to teach, but
because it was their duty to. "These," I thought, "will be joyful, now
that their distasteful task is over and their reward has come"; but
when I could see their faces clearly they looked mournful as ever.
Their crowns were ebon black, pointed with little urns and lined with
crape, and they often shifted them, pressing their hands gloomily to
their brows, as if the crowns were very ill fitting and uncomfortable.
They wore them with a martyr's air.
There were several teachers whom I remembered with gratitude because
they had been so careful, in teaching, to emphasize always the
fundamental doctrines of Christianity. These doctrines were the warp
and woof of the solid fabric of their lessons. Over and over, in the
same set phrases, they pressed those great truths, until, strive as
one would, one could never forget them. But they never taught me the
relation between these blessed doctrines and my own life. For years
the formulas they had taught me remained for me mere words. And so I
was not at all surprised to find their symbolic crowns solid and rich,
but not attractive, for they were thickly set with jewels in the
rough. Here and there, from beneath the incrusting stone, some
magnificent gem would flash out, but the beauty and splendor of most
of them were hidden.
In my fantastic dream I saw another, who had been a good teacher and a
very poor one by turns. His piety and zeal were subject to great
fluctuations, and a Sunday's teaching from him, carefully thought out,
full of wise helpfulness, would be followed by a fortnight or more of
questions read out of a question-book, lifeless and mechanical. I was
prepared, therefore, to understand the meaning of his crown, which
bore many beautiful gems, but these gems gave intermittent light,
flashing out for a moment with most brilliant hues, then suddenly
growing dull and dark.
One alone of all I saw in my strange dream wore a looking-glass crown.
He had done his Sunday-school teaching, I had always feared, for the
praise of men, to be seen of them. His attitude, his pompous words and
gestures, irresistibly suggested to me always the posturing of an
actor before a looking-glass. And so his crown was all a
mirror--clear, bright, beautiful, but mirroring a looking-glass soul.
And now, closing the long procession, who are these I see? A
thrice-blessed band, to me ever sacred. There is the cheery little
matron whose brisk kindliness gave charm to my introduction into
Sunday-school life. There is the quiet and low-voiced lady whose
gentle teachings carried me many a step toward my Saviour. There is
the thoughtful and saintly woman whose prayers for the school-boy
went up, I know, night and morning; whose urgings were so earnest,
brave, and wise. And there is the noble-hearted man, familiar with a
young collegian's perplexities, sympathetic as a woman, trustful as a
hero, strong and uplifting in word and friendly deed. I see them all,
and from their glorified heads a wonder shining, a crown of light,
beautiful as the love-gleam from a mother's eye. And every one of the
crowding star-points of those crowns is for a life won to the happy
service of the Master.
As I gazed with tear-dimmed eyes at the dear vision, an angel stood at
my side and asked me, "What are all these thou hast seen?" "Forms," I
answered, "of Christ's teachers I have met; of my own teachers, these
last, all crowned as they have taught." "Yes," answered the angel, "but
you have seen more than that. You have seen among them the crown you
yourself will wear when your teaching days are over. Which shall it be?"