Christians rightfully revere the Bible. It is the “Good Book”; the “Word of God for the people of God.” We study the Bible, meditate on its words, and argue about the proper way to interpret the text. Sadly, our reverence for our sacred book often keeps us from enjoying the funny stuff. Students may chuckle at the racy parts of the Song of Solomon or guffaw when Balaam’s donkey opens its mouth to speak.

“Get the f--k away from me!”

That’s the reply I got when I approached a kid I knew and asked, “Hey, what’s up?” while he was talking with his friends.

As a seventh grader in youth group, I was always the first to volunteer to participate in object lessons. It was my time to shine, my chance to take center stage—my opportunity to impress the cute girl at my church.

42,000 Feet Somewhere over Utah...

The young guy sitting next to me was pouring over a book by the Dalai Lama. I wondered, Under his veneer of youthful bravado, is he seriously asking questions about life and purpose?

When the reporter from Time asked me to sum up what happened, I called it “the greatest evangelistic opportunity the church has ever missed.”

Here’s a series of fantasy stories read and beloved around the globe, reaching hundreds of millions of people of every race, religion, age, gender, nationality, and political persuasion—and translated into 65 languages.

There’s a moment when the skateborder seems to defy gravity and rises above the edge of the concrete basin and—just for that one moment—we can see the underside of the skateboard: Band names, art deco designs, urban icon graphics, and occasionally a cross.

But are the crosses we see on athletes, pop stars, and models for decoration or evangelism?

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.

Most of those who grew up in church have at least one special memory of summer camp tucked away in the back of their minds.

Whether it was a moment of truth around a campfire or a life-changing mission experience, camp has a way of making its mark on the lives of young people (and the adults who accompany them).

When I began my first surfing lessons in Hawaii recently, I was surprised at how quickly I got up (on my first try) and rode my little two-foot wave toward the shore.

The only time I really ever talked to Mike Yaconelli (a man I thought of as the unofficial “godfather of youth ministry”) was the night we met for tacos and french fries.