My First Day of Sunday School--a 60's memory

We have a strange custom here of sending children to "sunday school"-- two words that were never meant to sit beside each other. School on Sunday ? Oxymoronic. I remember the earliest years of my "religious education"-- we made silkscreened pictures of praying children and origami swans. It was great fun, being creative and mingling with the other children. It was a comfy place, with cooperative play and kindness enforced-- no fear of ill manneed bullies spoiling the fun. Suddenly, or so it seemed, I was too old for the little kids group, and graduated to the more formal indoctrination process.
The lady in charge of us was an older plump white haired dear named Mrs. Winsett. She had a kind face and a soothing voice, and a really soft lap to sit on. She had us pull our chairs into a circle-- I dug that ( lil' pagan me). Then she asked us to close our eyes and imagine what god must look like. That struck me as a bit silly-- if someone is everywhere at once, how could they look like anything but a thin mist- at best? But I was game, so.... kabam! I instantly got an image! It was of a thirty-ish man with black hair, dark eyes, olive complexion, wearing a white nehru jacket, sitting on a flying carpet. He looked alot like Alejandro Rey ( though "The Flying Nun" had yet to debut). It was thrilling, and I was eager to share with the group-- up goes my hand-- but fortunately, Mrs. W. chose to go around the circle, starting with the wee lad to her left. He spoke of an old man with a long white beard. I was amused, and somewhat embarassed for him, anticipating how humiliated he would be when the next kid told him about the flying carpet guy. But, to my surprize, the next kid parroted the first, and so on.
I was lost in thought waiting for my turn. I was remembering a conversation I'd had with Ma about a year before. I'd been playing with my building blocks in her room, and had just built a towering high rise in one minute! Look, Ma! I put up a block of flats in one minute! She oohed and aaawed, and asked me "Who are you? Tony the Tiger?" I replied "NO, even better-- I'm Jesus!" Bless Ma-- she totally kept her cool-- annd we had a chat about how other people would find such a statement offensive. We concluded the chat with the understanding that religious matters were quite sensitive, and the best course of action was not to " rock the boat " or otherwise provoke superstitious ire.
So there I was, dreading my turn, not wanting to lie, but understanding that it was probably the safest thing to do. When my turn came, I mumbled " I saw the same thing he saw".
I don't know what I felt the worst about-- lying, or knowing I was alone in my vision. Heavy shit for a 4 year old.