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Youth: The Future of Faith? - May 02, 2007
Youth Sunday is always an inspiration, especially if young people of the church are up front leading and involved in church ministry not only on Youth Sunday.
But at our small congregation (130 average attendance), this year Youth Sunday came April 22, just six days after the shootings at Virginia Tech, 150 miles down the road from us. The main elements of the worship service had been set in place long before, but the youth started our service with a memorial to the 33 who had died, with one lanky teen solemnly sounding a small bell 33 times and the other kids lighting 33 small candles shaped in the now well-known slanted logo of "VT."
I dug into my purse for a good supply of tissues. Youth Sunday and baptismal Sundays usually bring out the tissues for me, especially when my own children were participating, or had key parts, such as preaching. At our church one of the traditions of Youth Sunday is the "senior sermon" when any of the kids who are graduating that year have the opportunity to deliver the sermon for the day.
But this Youth Sunday, probably because all the events of the past week had primed the pump, so to speak, was among the most meaningful at our congregation. This was true even though none of my own kids were up front, or even, as young adults, present that Sunday.
Yet they were all my kids up front. The memories of all these youth, and many more came traipsing back. Memories of Sunday school and summer Bible school classes with difficult kids: the wisecrackers, the ones drawing guns and tanks and cars instead of pictures of Jesus and Joseph and Abraham. The quiet ones--one who we couldn't get a word out of while in preschool, and what a victory it was for my husband when the kid finally relaxed enough to say a word or two. The contrary ones, who had to have "quiet times" in the corner or hall. The enthusiastic biblical drama re-enactors, who sometimes got carried away with the drama and jumped loudly off of chairs and I knew the adult classes on first floor wondered what on earth was going on up there.
If I had not taught them in religious education classes, I wouldn't have all these memories, the connections with these young people, I thought.
Then they acted out a modern interpretation of the biblical prodigal son story, with the prodigal as a young guy who goes off to college and pretends like he's a drunken, partying, 19-year-old. He ends up working in a "poultry plant" instead of a pig pen (as in the Bible) just to scrape by. After a reading of the Luke account of the prodigal son and faithful father, one of the kids has a "Time with the Adults." The adults were invited to come forward and sit on the floor like the little kids usually do, on rugs. After a healthy turn out of adults creaked to the floor, Oliver shared a life-sized wooden carving brought back from Japan by his grandparents (Oliver's father told us later) who served as mission workers in Japan in the 60's. It surely came to the U.S. by boat, it was so big. It showed a native carving of a Japanese prodigal son and faithful father, comforting each other. It was stunning.
Then, our emotions were kicked the other way. Oliver, not sure how to tell adults they should get up and go back to their seats, said, quite seriously, "Do any of you need help getting up?" Everyone roared.
Then came time for the senior sermon, by a young man from Kenya, Richard. His father was killed in the 1998 terrorist bombing of the Nairobi embassy building when he was 9 years old. Richard told of his pain, of finding healing and hope. Of being welcomed in this country and by this church. Of experiencing the companionship of track teammates at his high school, and hitting a "wall" in the 880 and not thinking he could keep running, and then upon hearing the cheering of his coach and his teammates, somehow found it in himself not only to finish but to win.
Well, you'll forgive this usually reserved congregation for breaking into applause after his sermon. Needless to say, I wasn't the only momma with red eyes after church. But this was more than an emotional "student recital," which a youth Sunday can easily become. They had helped us, I think, worship God and understand more about God's loving, welcoming arms always outstretched for us, even when the worst happens.
We know that our youth may end up with lots of questions, doubts and even, God forbid, turn away from faith. They may become prodigals. Will we be there, ever praying, ever watching, to welcome them home? More importantly, have we sowed the seeds for a faith foundation at church and home? In the end, that is all we can do.
Contributed by Melodie Davis: [email protected] Melodie is the author of eight books and writes a syndicated newspaper column, Another Way
Youth Sunday is always an inspiration, especially if young people of the church are up front leading and involved in church ministry not only on Youth Sunday.
But at our small congregation (130 average attendance), this year Youth Sunday came April 22, just six days after the shootings at Virginia Tech, 150 miles down the road from us. The main elements of the worship service had been set in place long before, but the youth started our service with a memorial to the 33 who had died, with one lanky teen solemnly sounding a small bell 33 times and the other kids lighting 33 small candles shaped in the now well-known slanted logo of "VT."
I dug into my purse for a good supply of tissues. Youth Sunday and baptismal Sundays usually bring out the tissues for me, especially when my own children were participating, or had key parts, such as preaching. At our church one of the traditions of Youth Sunday is the "senior sermon" when any of the kids who are graduating that year have the opportunity to deliver the sermon for the day.
But this Youth Sunday, probably because all the events of the past week had primed the pump, so to speak, was among the most meaningful at our congregation. This was true even though none of my own kids were up front, or even, as young adults, present that Sunday.
Yet they were all my kids up front. The memories of all these youth, and many more came traipsing back. Memories of Sunday school and summer Bible school classes with difficult kids: the wisecrackers, the ones drawing guns and tanks and cars instead of pictures of Jesus and Joseph and Abraham. The quiet ones--one who we couldn't get a word out of while in preschool, and what a victory it was for my husband when the kid finally relaxed enough to say a word or two. The contrary ones, who had to have "quiet times" in the corner or hall. The enthusiastic biblical drama re-enactors, who sometimes got carried away with the drama and jumped loudly off of chairs and I knew the adult classes on first floor wondered what on earth was going on up there.
If I had not taught them in religious education classes, I wouldn't have all these memories, the connections with these young people, I thought.
Then they acted out a modern interpretation of the biblical prodigal son story, with the prodigal as a young guy who goes off to college and pretends like he's a drunken, partying, 19-year-old. He ends up working in a "poultry plant" instead of a pig pen (as in the Bible) just to scrape by. After a reading of the Luke account of the prodigal son and faithful father, one of the kids has a "Time with the Adults." The adults were invited to come forward and sit on the floor like the little kids usually do, on rugs. After a healthy turn out of adults creaked to the floor, Oliver shared a life-sized wooden carving brought back from Japan by his grandparents (Oliver's father told us later) who served as mission workers in Japan in the 60's. It surely came to the U.S. by boat, it was so big. It showed a native carving of a Japanese prodigal son and faithful father, comforting each other. It was stunning.
Then, our emotions were kicked the other way. Oliver, not sure how to tell adults they should get up and go back to their seats, said, quite seriously, "Do any of you need help getting up?" Everyone roared.
Then came time for the senior sermon, by a young man from Kenya, Richard. His father was killed in the 1998 terrorist bombing of the Nairobi embassy building when he was 9 years old. Richard told of his pain, of finding healing and hope. Of being welcomed in this country and by this church. Of experiencing the companionship of track teammates at his high school, and hitting a "wall" in the 880 and not thinking he could keep running, and then upon hearing the cheering of his coach and his teammates, somehow found it in himself not only to finish but to win.
Well, you'll forgive this usually reserved congregation for breaking into applause after his sermon. Needless to say, I wasn't the only momma with red eyes after church. But this was more than an emotional "student recital," which a youth Sunday can easily become. They had helped us, I think, worship God and understand more about God's loving, welcoming arms always outstretched for us, even when the worst happens.
We know that our youth may end up with lots of questions, doubts and even, God forbid, turn away from faith. They may become prodigals. Will we be there, ever praying, ever watching, to welcome them home? More importantly, have we sowed the seeds for a faith foundation at church and home? In the end, that is all we can do.
Contributed by Melodie Davis: [email protected] Melodie is the author of eight books and writes a syndicated newspaper column, Another Way
