The church of the "Top Notch"

Seventeen-year-old Sally and her 14-year-old brother John are no longer excited to attend Sunday school at the Church of the Blessed Virgin Mary and Saint John in Bab Al-Louq, Cairo's Abdeen district.

They had been regulars since they were little, which is why their growing reluctance has alarmed their mother Hala Ishaq, a woman in her forties who works at a private hospital. She fears the bond between her children and the church is weakening.

Sunday school is a regular activity offered by churches in Egypt. It includes various age-based classes, referred to as "gatherings," which cater to elementary, middle, and high school students, as well as to youth, women, families, and the elderly. The sessions typically feature hymns, Bible studies, and spiritual or social discussions, led by priests and volunteer instructors known as "khuddām".

Churches also organize trips and summer activities, the most prominent of which is the annual Festival of Al Kraza/Preaching.

Determined to offer her children a "better" social environment, Hala opted for a well-to-do church community, even though it required a significant sacrifice. Her family lives in Al Marg, a working-class neighborhood in the far northeast of Cairo, which meant Sally and John had to travel over 26 km each way, once a week, just to attend.

Hala hoped the exposure to children she referred to as being from "decent families" would elevate her children's educational and social standing. But the decision came at a steep price.

As the sole provider after her husband abandoned the family and ceased all financial support, Hala's income, below Egypt's minimum wage, was stretched thin. She scrimped to buy her children clothing and shoes that matched those worn by their more affluent peers. She also paid costly fees for Sunday school trips and summer camps. She worried that her children would feel out of place or internalize a sense of inferiority.

A misguided effort

Despite all the sacrifices, Hala's plan backfired. In 2015, the church introduced internal guidelines that divided Sunday school sessions according to the type of school the children attended: international, private national (whether Arabic or language-based), or public. This stratification mirrored existing class divisions and opened the door to bullying and social exclusion.

The reality was simple. Wealthier children went to international schools, middle-class children to private national schools, and poorer children to public schools. Suddenly, a child's spot in Sunday school was determined by their social class.

Sally and John say they began feeling out of place, marginalized by the stark economic differences and social cues, especially when some of their peers refused to play, sit next to them on church buses, or even share rooms during trips.

The church had scheduled Sunday classes for Arabic school students on Tuesday, the same day it distributed donations to the poor and referred to in church parlance as "Brothers of the Lord." For the children, this became a symbol of shame and exposure.

The siblings described the behavior of their instructors as dismissive when it came to bullying or exclusion. They often sided with wealthier kids, rarely showing empathy or fairness toward poorer ones.

"My classmates found out we were poor," John said. "They noticed that my mom receives aid along with the Brothers of the Lord. After that, they didn't want anything to do with us. Before that, we used to attend together, play together, go on trips together. There was no sense of difference between us."

Sally added, "They mocked me because my mother can't read or write. Then, they started whispering that I had lice. That made them refuse to share a room with me on trips."

A circle for the elite

Margaret Adel, a journalist and Sunday school instructor at the Church of the Virgin Mary and St. Bishoy in Cairo's Fifth Settlement, described the situation as reflecting an elitist mindset.

She pointed out that although the church is located in an area with a wide range of schools, it nonetheless implemented an unexpected classification system that segregated students based on the type of school they attended.

She wasn't opposed to splitting up English and Arabic classes or having multiple sessions to accommodate different schedules. What disturbed her was what she called "class-based filtering."

Commenting on the reception of aid and distribution practices, Margaret noted that anyone going to church on Tuesday is assumed to be there for help. "It completely contradicts the biblical teaching of giving in secret," she said.

Shereen Wasfi, a teacher in the "elite classes", said the creation of international school classes was a response to parental pressure. "We're dealing with wealthy families who created their own circle and didn't want anyone unlike them entering it. The division happened naturally—because the kids couldn't keep up with their rich classmates."

No protection for the poor

Sally, now in vocational high school, shared a painful memory. She was once accused of stealing a swimsuit during a church trip. She cried all night and refused to eat. The trip supervisors eventually calmed her and promised to buy both girls new swimsuits.

"They even bought me one," she said. "But that just made me feel like they believed I was the thief."

Later, the other girl admitted she had found the missing item but stayed silent to avoid embarrassment. The damage, however, had already been done.

Dr. Samia Qadri, a sociology professor at Ain Shams University, believes that segregation inflicts lasting psychological harm on socially disadvantaged children.

Speaking to Al Manassa, she cited the biblical verse, “It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick,” noting that it had long served as a guiding principle during her years overseeing Sunday school at St. Demiana Church in Giza.

"In our camps, we gave all the kids matching swimsuits and cooked the food ourselves so they could all eat together," she said. "We try to erase class differences through fairness, love, and equal attention. That's the message of Christ, who said, 'Let the children come to me.'"

Samia warns that such segregation might lead to alienation. "Historically, the church has embraced all social groups. Whenever a bishop is seen as favoring the wealthy, revolts break out, and congregants leave."

Samia believes that integrating students from different backgrounds fosters compassion and healthy competition.

Catering to the privileged

Father Raphael Kalini, the priest who introduced the Sunday school divisions in a high-end church in 2013, defended the decision. He now serves at St. Shenouda Church in Mokattam.

"The decision wasn't random. It came after a child refused to sit next to a janitor's son" he told Al Manassa. "Even though the boy in question was excellent—both academically and morally."

Kalini argued that the church shouldn't intervene directly but preach broadly. "When we choose vacation spots," he said, "we can't please everyone. The international school kids are used to five-star resorts, birthday parties at Disneyland, and flying their friends in. Poorer kids can't afford that, and the church has to subsidize them at a high cost."

Kalini observed that working-class children often hide during gatherings. "They sit under the chairs so no one notices them," he said. "It's not just about money. It's language, culture, behavior, and appearance."

Even in major services, he said, porters and their children voluntarily isolate themselves in the back rows. "They feel uneasy interacting with those they serve, preferring to keep a distance rather than engage as equals. Their appearance—like wearing a 'galabeya' or headscarf—makes them stand out."

He concluded that only scouts programs manage to bring everyone together, thanks to their values of simplicity, nature, and uniformity.

The priest points out that social differences are not only felt from the bottom up—the opposite also occurs. He recalled a student at St. Mark's Church, one of the most prominent churches in Heliopolis, who had been bullied because she attended an international school, spoke no Arabic, and used translated books.

The ridicule led her to stop attending church altogether. However, after learning about the new Sunday school divisions in the Fifth Settlement's churches, she returned deeming it a safer environment.

Not all children fall neatly into these categories. Sixteen-year-old Anne Ramiz, a national school student whose father is a doctor and mother a university professor, said she feels stuck in the middle.

"My English is better than public school kids but not as good as the international ones," she said. "I don't know where I belong. I feel lost in my own church and sometimes wish I didn't have to go at all."

A pastoral choice

Kalini insists the divisions are a success. "We used to hold classes on Friday. Now it's Saturday night for private schools and Thursday for public ones. When some parents tried to sneak their kids into the Saturday session for better gifts, we moved them back to Thursday."

He added that Thursday activities now include a dedicated liturgy, valuable gifts, and free meals. "Attendance doubled from 70 to 140 in one month," he said, citing that as evidence of success.

In upscale neighborhoods, liturgies are often informally segmented: Sundays are typically reserved for the upper class and business professionals, Saturdays for employees and working-class families, while Fridays are open to everyone, Kalini noted.

Father Moussa Ibrahim, spokesperson for the Coptic Orthodox Church, said the decision to divide Sunday school is a pastoral one. "Educational backgrounds affect cultural understanding, so we adapt the content to match each group's knowledge and language."

He rejected claims of discrimination, saying, "This shows how much the church cares—making sure the message is suitable for each group. All children are given space to learn."

He emphasized that "any organizational structure in the church aims to ensure the quality of the message and its relevance to the children's social background. This includes recreational activities like trips and summer camps, all of which serve a pastoral and service-oriented purpose."

Despite the church's intentions, Sally and John no longer want to attend Sunday school in the wealthy neighborhoods. It makes them feel inferior. And unless something changes, they may soon leave the church altogether.

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(*) A version of this article first appeared in Arabic on December 22, 2024.