The Journey of Life
http://www.thejournalofstudentministries.com/articles/122/1/The-Journey-of-Life/Page1.html
Dave Decker
Dave Decker, Jr., seeks to care about those “under the lights” through his unfolding non-profit, When the Lights Go Out (wtlgo.org). By Dave Decker
Published on 05/12/2008
As I talk with my buddy on the phone, getting the skinny on the retreat he’s having me speak at, he drops the ol’ “um…and like…I know you’ll do this anyway, but we like really want a clear presentation of the gospel.”
“Okay…” I reply, biting my tongue.
I’m often asked to speak at retreats and functions within Christendom. By often I mean occasionally. Um…by occasionally I mean three times in the past four years. Each of these three requests has brought with it an awkward request of me, a youth pastor of 15 years who’s managed to not lose a kid, kill one, or suffer too major a catastrophe.
“Okay…” I reply, biting my tongue.
I’m often asked to speak at retreats and functions within Christendom. By often I mean occasionally. Um…by occasionally I mean three times in the past four years. Each of these three requests has brought with it an awkward request of me, a youth pastor of 15 years who’s managed to not lose a kid, kill one, or suffer too major a catastrophe.
As I talk with my buddy on the phone, getting the skinny on the retreat he’s having me speak at, he drops the ol’ “um…and like…I know you’ll do this anyway, but we like really want a clear presentation of the gospel.”
“Okay…” I reply, biting my tongue.
I’m often asked to speak at retreats and functions within Christendom. By often I mean occasionally. Um…by occasionally I mean three times in the past four years. Each of these three requests has brought with it an awkward request of me, a youth pastor of 15 years who’s managed to not lose a kid, kill one, or suffer too major a catastrophe.
This request feels more awkward to me probably because it’s asked at all as opposed to the tone of the person’s voice asking it. In other words, apparently these concepts of “living the gospel,” “being the hands and feet of Christ,” “letting my ‘lifesong sing’” have escaped me, and it’s incumbent upon the function’s organizer to remind me that I should be pointing kids to Christ—lest I forget.
If that sounds a little like I’m offended, it’s because I am. How is it that we’re walking with a generation of young people, desiring that they get covered in the dust of their Rabbi, and at the same time worrying if we’ll somehow get them to check a box or pray a prayer during a retreat?
See, these requests for “a clear presentation of the gospel” aren’t in and of themselves upsetting to me; of course I’ll present the gospel clearly. But that should ring through every lesson and from every heart that beats for young people in our communities of faith. Rather, the really upsetting thing is the idea that we do this one-time mob hit with the gospel, and then “bibbity boppity boo,” like magic, all is well in our kids’ lives.
Except when it isn’t.
The slipper will fall off, and the coach will turn back into a pumpkin. And then when the event is over, and the magic’s gone, the student is left only with a remnant of a retreat, only a reminder of a rager—not a relationship with the Redeemer.
I know that our relationships with Christ need to start somewhere, but if we look to present them as events instead of journeys, when those events are over, will those in our charge have actually gone anywhere?
When I ask a student if she knows where she’s going, I don’t want her to consider only where she’ll go after she dies; rather I want her to think about where she’s going to live—because Christ came so that our kids could have life, and life abundant.
“Okay…” I reply, biting my tongue.
I’m often asked to speak at retreats and functions within Christendom. By often I mean occasionally. Um…by occasionally I mean three times in the past four years. Each of these three requests has brought with it an awkward request of me, a youth pastor of 15 years who’s managed to not lose a kid, kill one, or suffer too major a catastrophe.
This request feels more awkward to me probably because it’s asked at all as opposed to the tone of the person’s voice asking it. In other words, apparently these concepts of “living the gospel,” “being the hands and feet of Christ,” “letting my ‘lifesong sing’” have escaped me, and it’s incumbent upon the function’s organizer to remind me that I should be pointing kids to Christ—lest I forget.
If that sounds a little like I’m offended, it’s because I am. How is it that we’re walking with a generation of young people, desiring that they get covered in the dust of their Rabbi, and at the same time worrying if we’ll somehow get them to check a box or pray a prayer during a retreat?
See, these requests for “a clear presentation of the gospel” aren’t in and of themselves upsetting to me; of course I’ll present the gospel clearly. But that should ring through every lesson and from every heart that beats for young people in our communities of faith. Rather, the really upsetting thing is the idea that we do this one-time mob hit with the gospel, and then “bibbity boppity boo,” like magic, all is well in our kids’ lives.
Except when it isn’t.
The slipper will fall off, and the coach will turn back into a pumpkin. And then when the event is over, and the magic’s gone, the student is left only with a remnant of a retreat, only a reminder of a rager—not a relationship with the Redeemer.
I know that our relationships with Christ need to start somewhere, but if we look to present them as events instead of journeys, when those events are over, will those in our charge have actually gone anywhere?
When I ask a student if she knows where she’s going, I don’t want her to consider only where she’ll go after she dies; rather I want her to think about where she’s going to live—because Christ came so that our kids could have life, and life abundant.