I have written several posts about Clarence High School in Bangalore. I joined this school in 1978 as a student of the VIII Std. But some years before I joined the school, I attended the Brethren Sunday School, which was held in the Clarence School premises.
I loved the Sunday School assembly that was held in the cool dark school hall, where we sang choruses like “I am feeding on the Living Bread,” “There’s a race to be run,” “God is still on the throne,” and Fruit Salad.” I remember Esau Jacob playing the guitar and making us sing “Great change since I was born” with the stanzas going like “Things I used to do, I do them no more,” and “Books I used to read, I read them no more.”
I remember two of the girls in my Sunday School class—Gladys Mathai and Sara Koshy. Maybe I remember them because they became my school classmates later when I joined Clarence.
But my most precious memory about that Sunday School is Mrs.Pritchard, our class teacher. She was so unique that it will be hard to describe her. She was a Burmese lady who had lived in Calcutta for many years and moved to Bangalore after she was widowed. She wore something like a wrapron skirt with a shirt. She always wore a scarf and carried a basket. She was a big tall woman by Indian standards. I found a picture of a Burmese girl on the Internet (that I have changed a bit and used with this post) and thought, “Mrs. Pritchard might have looked like that when she was young.” Maybe it was because Mrs. Pritchard also wore her ankle-length skirt way up higher and slippers.
I remember her teaching us from the Proverbs. We learned about the ant, sloth, lazy man, and people who winked. We learned about how we ought to prize godly instruction.
It does not matter really what she taught us. It was obvious that she loved the word. I am not sure if it was because she loved it so much or because she was old, but she literally drooled and needed to dab the corners of her mouth constantly.
My reading today took me to Proverbs 6, and when I read the following, I remembered Mrs. Pritchard.
Go to the ant, you sluggard!
Consider her ways and be wise,
Which, having no captain,
Overseer or ruler,
Provides her supplies in the summer,
And gathers her food in the harvest.
How long will you slumber, O sluggard?
When will you rise from your sleep?
A little sleep, a little slumber,
A little folding of the hands to sleep—
She has gone to be with her precious Lord many years now. It will be wonderful to meet her again.