Jeff Lucas: How I became a Christian

It was a rash, spur-of-the-moment decision to go to a church that day. Previous encounters during my 17 years of life had not been too impressive. As a child, I attended Sunday school three times. I felt confused, because those were the days of fuzzy felt, where paper cutouts of biblical characters were stuck on a felt board, which apparently wasn’t fuzzy enough, because Moses kept falling off. This led me to the mistaken impression that Moses was a sky diver, which he was not. 

I’d also attended a rather formal church where the organist sat perched high up in a loft at the front of the building. We watched his back during the sermon, and sometimes he would start leaning to the left, succumbing to slumber as the preacher droned on. My prayers back then were, uncharitably, that, like fuzzy Moses, he might fall headlong out of the organ loft, which was rude of me. My interest in the gospel was not sparked.