What do you regret in ministry?

I regret my years of acting with a complete lack of mercy, because I immaturely believed truth trumped mercy, and that God not spiritually gifting me with mercy was license to steamroll and brutalize all in the name “being honest”.

I regret my years and years of arrogance, particularly in my early years at Youth Specialties, where my sense that I was so special seduced me into cold-heartedness and dismissiveness with the very youth workers I was called to serve.

I regret every time I have gone on the warpath, calling out someone’s sinfulness or stubbornness or plain ol’ wrongness, only to find out that I had only heard half of the story. Particularly, even though it was years ago now, I regret calling a woman out on my blog (so stupid of me!), hurting her deeply, inaccurate in my assumptions about reality.

I regret rolling over and being the lap dog when my supervisor required me to lay off another employee who, while flawed like the rest of us, deserved better. And I regret that, in my soul numbness during those days, I didn’t do enough to truly celebrate or honor him.

I regret (ooh, this one is difficult to admit) all those times I subtly flirted with girls in my youth group, or played favorites with the teenagers I liked more (the ones who made me feel good about myself), or said something funny-but-hurtful to a teenager in order to get a laugh from others, or undermined parents, or made ministry all about me.

Argh. Really, I tend to be a chipper optimist who doesn’t live with much regret. But knowing I was going to write this post about regret, I thought it would be healthy to give a little heart and keyboard space to some ministry regrets. Those five paragraphs are what came out. Ack. Now I need a stiff drink, thank you very much.

Last year, I preached at my church on the subject of regret. Of course, the reality is: we all experience regret. Even God experiences regret (see Genesis 6:5-6). And since regret is a common experience, it makes sense that all of us youth workers will also have regrets about actions and inactions in our ministry lives.

There’s a funny tension here. Simply dismissing regret, which seems to be the pop-psychology soup du jour, is merely narcissism with a happy face. And it’s not, ultimately, helpful. Yet, being shackled by our regrets is a top goal of the evil one, since it’s the polar opposite of the life of freedom God made us for, and Christ saves us to.

So what should we do with our regrets?

First, I have to name them, with brutal honesty, and grieve the loss or hurt or pain or compromise they created. This is confessional stuff, and often requires asking for forgiveness. Paul writes, in 2 Corinthians 7, “Godly sorrow brings repentance that leads to salvation and leaves no regret.” Ah, yes, confession and repentance lead to freedom.

But there’s often a mess to clean up, the natural consequences of our actions or inactions. Sweeping those under the proverbial rug causes the regrets to linger around, often for years. Don’t confuse this for penance; but the freedom lovingly given us by a God who could have designed things otherwise has a necessary antecedent: consequences.

Finally, the failures of action or inaction that lead us to regret provide us – with the right mindset – the best learning lab in life. Maybe you’re not like me; but I learn exponentially more from my failures than I do from my victories. Of course, this requires a choice on my part, to turn over the rock in my soul and stare at the scary, squiggly things that live there. If I can face these nasties, I have an opportunity to learn. And with the help of the Holy Spirit, I put myself in the stream of transformation.

God doesn’t want me to live a life of regret. But I can’t pretend they don’t exist. I have to face them square on, and push into and through them, to the freedom offered on the other side.

I had convinced myself that I was speaking the truth; and whether it was spoken “in love” or not, speaking the truth was the thing leaders were supposed to do. But the young woman in my office started crying, and something tipped sideways in my self-analysis.

This crying young woman was the third meeting in a single day, all in my office, where I had spoken “the truth” to someone, only to have them end up in tears. After the first of these meetings, I felt a rush a power, confident that I was doing what leaders do. After the second, my confidence waned a bit, and I had an inner-Scooby-Doo saying “Huh?” But that third meeting; well, it started me on a path of change.

I’d always been a leader who was willing to be vocal with my thoughts and opinions (I’m sure, much to the frustration of everyone in my life). On those spiritual gifts tests, I’d always scored a flat-lined zero in the area of mercy. And here’s the silly part: I was proud of that.

When I worked in a church going through a massive transition, I was asked to be on a transitional leadership team, and was taken under the wing of the two older pastors leading the process. They were both naturally gifted leaders, but had similarly convinced themselves of the strength of their weaknesses. In fact, I remember to this day the exact wording of the mentoring I received from the two of them in one meeting. They said, “Marko, your lack of mercy is the strength of your leadership.” Hey, that sounded good to me (embarrassing and stupid as it sounds to me today). And for the next few years, I steamrolled people left and right under the ruse of “strong biblical leadership.”

What a crock.

But that crying young woman loosened something in me. And through divine revelation or long overdue common sense (or some combo), I immediately knew I needed to change. But I had no idea how to make that happen (and, I was accustomed to “making” everything happen in my world).

I carefully selected two older men who I perceived to be gifted leaders, but also to be merciful, and asked them to mentor me in the areas of mercy and gentleness. At one of my first meetings with one of these guys, he stated the should-have-been-obvious: I couldn’t make myself have mercy; I could only ask God to give me mercy, and pursue a life of mercy. They other guy helped me understand something that became a framing idea for me: I’ll likely never score high in mercy on spiritual gifts tests; but I can still grow in mercy. This same kind of parallel plays out all over my life (I’ll never be perfect, but I’m still called to righteousness; I’ll never love perfectly, but I’m still called to be loving).

These two new understandings re-framed leadership and mercy for me, and put me on a multi-year quest of change. I met with these mentors; I read books on mercy (and the kind of leadership that was more Jesus-y than CEO-like); I journaled and prayed; and I asked friends to help me.

About two years later (yes, it took that long!), I received a great double-confirmation from God that I was making progress. In the span of one week, I had someone comment to me (who didn’t know of my quest) how gentle he thought I was. I could hardly believe someone would ever use that word to describe me. Then, a few days later, one of the secretaries of the church told me that the other secretaries had a nickname for me: the gentle steamroller. I laughed out loud when I heard this: yup, I still had that steamroller way about me at times; and I’m not even sure what a “gentle steamroller” would be. But I responded, “Hey, I’ll take that!” I thought it was the best compliment I’d received in a long time.

As I write this, it’s about 17 years later. I’m still a merciless jerk on a regular basis. I am still very capable of possessing the gentleness of a sledgehammer from time to time (and even of being momentarily proud of it!). But I can see change. I wish it were more immediate. The only thing that was immediate was my recognition of need for change. The process of change has been, and will continue to be, a long, slow journey of transformation.

How are you growing and changing as a leader? In what areas do you need to be transformed?

yesterday morning in church, a woman was sharing a stunning, vulnerable personal story; and in response to her trusting us (trusting me, since i was part of the audience) with her raw emotional honesty, i was moved. i mean: i felt. i choked up a little, and experienced a short visceral engagement. and in that, i noticed something.

i think i’ve been on spiritual auto-pilot for a month or so, all through lent and easter. funny thing is: i didn’t realize it until now.

i’ve been coasting. i’ve been moving through life, checking off to-do items (all of which i enjoyed, for the most part). i even had a 9 day vacation with my family, which had almost nothing to do with to-do items; but, in hindsight, i can see that all i did was throttle back, leaving the auto-pilot engaged.

my response at the moment isn’t guilt. i find that to be mostly useless, and new initiatives merely born out of a response to guilt are almost always nicely veneered legalism. instead, my response feels like: oops.

i engaged my spiritual auto-pilot seasonally when i was working in churches. in fact, i think these easter seasons were often a major time for the toggle switch to be tripped. my role was always frenetic, with the combination of whole-church expectations and youth ministry programs (i normally lead some sort of short term missions trip over spring break), and i have often found (maybe this is just my wiring) that during times of scheduled intensity, i don’t allow myself space for self-reflection, or presence and stillness, for emotional engagement.

funny thing is: in my world these days, spring break and easter are just the opposite of that historical busy-ness. my 6th grade guys small group had a two week break. my work, once spring break actually hit, was mostly put on hold (though my kids and i did finish writing a book over our time on vacation). i hardly ever used an alarm clock to wake up over the last two weeks. but i still fell into the auto-pilot pattern.

i know the party line for re-engagement. i taught it for years, back in the day. discipline. yup, ramp up the discipline to take steps toward vibrancy.

but as i’ve grown older, and more honest with myself, i know that’s not the answer for me. i don’t want to make a panacea declaration here, because for some, discipline might be exactly what’s called for. but for me, i’ve found that a steroid shot of discipline moves me into a hollow repetition. it treats my soul like just another item on my to-do list. and that, i’ve found, doesn’t take me where i really want to go, which is into the arms of jesus.

instead, the best way i’ve found to trip the fuse on the auto-pilot is to engage my emotions. it’s in my emotions that i find jesus waiting, patiently, saying, “yup, i’ve been here all along, waiting for the moment you would return.”

there’s a noticing that comes first, i suppose:

• noticing the beauty in the complexity or simplicity of a musical composition.
• stopping to take note of the verdant green bursting forth in my backyard, the amazing purple of the wisteria blossoms outside my office door, or the pink glory of the wall of bougainvillea on the path to our laundry room (a.k.a. ‘the garage’).
• hearing the thumping joy of experimentation passing easily through our walls as max (on drums) and his 8th grade bandmates (on guitar and bass) pound out a song they’re inventing.
• noticing the tiredness or pain or hope in the eyes of someone i’m meeting with.

but the noticing isn’t quite enough in and of itself. i have to choose to allow myself to feel something in the moment of noticing. and those feelings, that’s when things start to click. that’s when i start to feel vibrancy return, start to feel my soul wake up from it’s auto-pilot slumber.

does this make sense to anyone else? have any of you been almost crushed–or at least drained–by the expectations and pace of this past ministry season? is there something in the noticing and feeling that could reset your soul?

marko here: dave palmer has been my friend for a decade or so. we’re in a group of guys who meet once a year to dig into each others’ lives. and he worked with me at ys (as our vp of marketing) for a couple years. dave’s a buddy, and someone i really believe in. all that, and that i agree with what he’s written here, is why i agreed to have him guest post on my blog (something i rarely do). that, and, i’m on vacation, and this was a good post i didn’t have to write! Blue Like Jazz opens friday (or, with some midnight shows tomorrow night). here’s the website (where you can find showtimes), and here’s a section of the site with tons of free resources for ministry (and home).

Why I’m Taking Teenagers To See Blue Like Jazz
As the Blue Like Jazz team has screened the film for audiences across the country and across the spectrum of faith, one of the things that keeps coming up is the “appropriateness” of the film for high school age teens. The film’s PG-13 rating and depiction of collegiate parties and hijinx seems to give some people pause, and I understand that. I’ve been a volunteer youth worker for the better part of the past 20 years, and have scores of friends who are in the same position. And so aside from my obvious bias in the film’s favor that I have as part of the team that is promoting it, I’d like to express a few thoughts about why, as a youth worker, I am taking a group of teenagers to see Blue Like Jazz this weekend.

1) I’m taking those that I believe are ready for this conversation. Among the teens with whom I’m in regular contact, I know 13-year olds who will devour this movie and have their souls refreshed, and 18-year olds whose minds will be blown. I also know their families, and have taken steps to talk through the themes of the film with them to assure that we’re engaging the right kids, as well as offering to equip parents. That said, most of them have seen The Hunger Games, Transformers, The Social Network and other PG-13 films with content that is, in my estimation, equally as challenging, racy or mature as Blue Like Jazz, if not moreso in the racy department (Transformers & Megan Fox, I’m talking about you).

2) Teens are capable of more than we give them credit for. By the time our teens are in high school, many, if not most of them, are reading Plato, Aristotle, Chaucer, Shakespeare, Keats, The Brontes, Twain, Hemingway, Faulkner, Steinbeck and others. It’s mind-boggling to me that teens that are eminently capable of tackling great works of literature can be treated with kid gloves when it comes to more conventionally faith-infused entertainment choices. If these teens are engaging with these great works of literature, then rest assured they are grappling with the meaning of existence, what they really believe and where they find truth. This really funny movie, Blue Like Jazz, that asks many of the same questions, is not above their heads or beyond their years, and it’s disingenuous of us as leaders to assume that that’s the case.

3) This is a huge opportunity for huge conversations. We know from the research done by Fuller Youth Institute and their Sticky Faith Project, as well as studies by the Lily Foundation, Barna, and Notre Dame youth scholar Christian Smith, that the ability to foster an atmosphere that allows for the articulation of questions and doubts about faith is one of the greatest factors in developing a faith that extends beyond high school. If we shut down those questions in faith communities, where do we think they’ll happen, if they happen at all? I’m not romanticizing doubt, as it is hard work, and often disorienting, but I also don’t think that we are serving our youth well if we shut down or shut out the ability to ask and wrestle with big questions, and this movie does just that.

4) The opportunity extends to parents. For parents, having big conversations about faith and doubt and questions and longing can be as nerve-wracking as conversations about sexuality, divorce or other tough topics. But the chance to have those conversations allows for a greater sense for teens to better know their parents, and vice versa. Mike Gaffney, VP of Young Life College, has this to say about the film: “When I first saw this movie, my hope was that every parent of a graduating senior and college freshman would see this with their child and that they would discuss it afterwards. This could make a huge difference in helping these students transition, and parents understand, the things their kids are struggling with. It would be great for those of us mentoring these students to see it and dialogue with them as well.” By letting the story of Blue Like Jazz be the template, conversations can be focused on that story first before parents and their teens weave their own stories and experiences into it.

5) It takes the taboo power out of doubt. When teens realize that their parents, friends, pastors and other adult influences may have had similar questions, doubts and seasons of struggle, it takes the taboo out of doubt and makes it something that can be addressed openly. It also lets teens know that they are not alone in this struggle, which can create a vacuum that is shut off from the real heart of the process – that we can go through this together.

6) It’s funny. Often lost amidst the loftiest conversations about Blue Like Jazz is that it is a comedy. It’s hilarious, pointed, sharp-witted and beautifully whimsical in places. I believe in the redemptive power of humor and how it allows us to open ourselves up in a way that feels safe and fun – no small challenge for anyone to create.

7) It’s real. As one of the 13 year olds in my Sunday School class asked rhetorically about the recent brouhaha over the rating of the documentary Bully, “are the ratings people afraid that we’ll see what we already experience at school every day?” Blue Like Jazz shows a real struggle of faith and doubt in an honest way, with the college experience captured in spirit, and an inspiring look at what happens when people take real risks by asking big questions and walking through that process together. It’s these risks that help us to know others and be known ourselves. It also helps us to model the search to know God and be known by God, which is perhaps what all of the struggle is really about.

As people who want our teens to be in relationship with a redemptive God, it’s natural that we can be afraid of big questions to which we may not have answers. But I am certain that these huge questions do not scare God. In fact, I think that God applauds us when we emulate Jacob, wrestling through the night and refusing to stop unless a blessing is given, a part of us is known and recognized, and the questions are given respect. I believe that the teens I’m taking will rise to the challenge of this movie and embrace it as something that affirms their search for truth and understanding. I invite you to join me along the way.

i launched a new initiative via my blog some time ago, something i was extremely proud of and excited about. within a few minutes, i received my first comment. it was from and old college buddy, who i’ve loosely stayed in contact with thanks to our digital world.

his comment was negative and dismissive, along the lines of, “this is a bad name, and i hope, for your sake, it’s not too late to change it.” his terse little comment, on the public space of my blog, rattled me and left me on edge all day long.

i’m not a newcomer to criticism – including both the well-meaning kind and the mean-spirited kind. in fact, there’s even a website or two that have called me out as a heretic! and i receive plenty of negative comments on my blog, and in real life. but there was something about a comment this strong from a friend that really threw me off balance and filled me with anxiety.

i told my patient and calm wife about the comment, making it clear that my friend was being an idiot. she responded, in that gentle spiritual director voice of hers, “you like to think of yourself as thick-skinned; but you’re really very sensitive, and you can have very thin skin sometimes.” she smiled.

my first response was defensiveness. i knew better than to verbalize this (i knew i’d “lose”); but i thought about how wrong she was, and what a complete tool the guy was being.

but, reality slowly sunk in. ok. i’ll admit it – even to myself: i am sometimes caught off guard by my insecurity. i come off as this over-the-top confident guy; and, most days, most minutes, i do experience a sense of drive and purpose that provides confidence rails to run on. but there’s this fragile guy in there also, cowering in a corner when Mr. Confidence has the stage.

this whole thing is such a tension for those of us in ministry (or any kind of leadership, i suppose). confidence misplaced is arrogance and a complete lack of dependence on god. we’ve all seen that kind of leader. nope, don’t want to be that guy.

but the ragingly insecure leader, whose every word and action is colored by his or her lack of confidence is equally undesirable. i’ve been around those leaders plenty, and i can’t trust them. i never know if what they’re saying is actually true.

so this must be one of those tensions to be nurtured, rather than problems to be solved. i need to bring my insecurity to god, as well as my confidence. i have to cultivate dependence and assurance.

and i have to notice, rather than react. if i can give myself a fraction of the grace god flows my way, maybe i can pay attention to my extremes and submit both of them for transformation and growth. at the end of the day, maybe my “thin-skinned” moments can remind me of my humanity. i am not the messiah. that role has already been taken.

a special treat this week in the “overheard” series…

in my 6th grade guys small group, we’re reading through luke and acts. after we read, benton (whom i call benetton to clearly differentiate him from the other ben) often asks if he can summarize or retell one of the stories. they’re always amazing, so i filmed this one.

this is ben retelling the story of stephen going before the sanhedrin, from acts 6:8 – 7:59:

(part 1 of this series introduced the subject at length, and part 2 suggested that the real issue isn’t materialism, but consumerism, and that we treat teenagers like consumers in many youth ministries, so challenging them on materialism is a non-sequitur.)

What’s a good youth worker to do?

Go ahead: teach about materialism. Like I wrote previously, talk with your teenagers about how the accumulation of stuff as real life is a dead-end, an endless roundabout of temporary satisfaction. Talk about the amazing counter-cultural idea straight out of the Kingdom of God that stuff will never truly satisfy, and that true and full living will never be found in money, toys, gadgets, cars or clothes. Offer up for consideration the life-giving practices of living-with-less, serving, and giving.

And don’t just talk about these radical ideas: offer them up as the practices and programming of your ministry. I’ve never seen anything confront materialism in a teenager’s life like the hard, in-your-face realities of an effective cross-cultural missions trip or work project.

But always keep in mind that our most effective teaching and programming will never have full impact unless we begin to undo the consumer-driven underpinnings of our ministry thinking and assumptions. Start with assumptions: ask yourself (and your entire ministry team – even students), “What are the assumptions driving our ministry to teenagers? What assumptions do we have that could be a reflection of an unintentional courtship with consumerism?”

Also look at your “measuring sticks”. What do you measure to determine if you’re effective? You might find that some or all of your success metrics are reflective of an underlying approach to treating teenagers as consumers. Of course, that would mean that you need some new measuring sticks! What non-consumer measurements could reframe the assumptions of your ministry? What non-consumer measurements could you begin to use (in the wake of rejecting or diminishing those that are consumer-driven) that would be truly reflective of Kingdom values? How can we measure whether our groups are embracing Grace and Mercy, Justice, and the journey of Discipleship?

At the end of the day, it’s only when we truthfully and courageously confront our own consumerism and our consumer-driven thinking about youth work, combined with effective teaching and programming in the area of materialism, that we can hope to see change. If we do these things, and model these values in our own lives, then we can hope to have teenagers see through the materialistic veil placed on them by our cultures (and our churches!).

(part 1 of this series was the intro, on why this matters…)

Prepping for a different perspective

Sometimes an extreme example can help (although sometimes it’s easy to distance ourselves and say, “well I’m not that bad!”).

Dissing on “attractional” churches and youth ministries has almost become a cliche. But it’s still the sexy second wife (who’s had work done) of the youth ministry world.

Attractional isn’t a commonly used word – and it wouldn’t be used by most youth workers embracing it. Did you see the movie “Field of Dreams”? This is the “if you build it, they will come” philosophy of youth work. To be honest, there are thousands of churches attempting to take this approach.

Here’s how this plays out in extreme (not so extreme that it’s not the reality in hundreds of examples): First, a church assumes that great youth ministry is about lots of activity and lots of teenagers. so, assuming this is how it’s done, they hire a hot shot youth pastor with a seemingly great bag of tricks, and throw resources at him or her (because, after all, his vision for doubling the size of the youth group and reaching hundreds of heathen teens was very compelling). the youth pastor, now with lots of resources, and already operating with an attractional philosophy, makes a logical leap: “if they will come because we built it, then they will come in much larger numbers if we build it really big and flashy!” So they build youth ministry facilities better than any rec center you’ve ever seen and offer the most kick-butt high-activity and high-volume youth ministry ever conceived. And, confirming their suspicions, lots of teenagers are “attracted” (it’s a good show, so why wouldn’t they come, and with the right quantity of resources, you can actually create that veneer that this approach is working).

Materialism isn’t really the problem

Why look at a wrong-headed philosophy of youth ministry in the midst of a blog series on materialism? Well, because I don’t believe that materialism is our root problem. I think materialism is a symptom. Consumerism is the real problem. And our churches have so completely bought into consumerism (at least most churches that aren’t conversely stuck in traditionalism), it’s almost absurd to try to teach our teenagers about the problems of materialism.

This isn’t a post about church history and models of ministry, so I won’t go into too much detail here – but somewhere in the 2nd half of the last century, propelled by our modernistic propensity to view everything as quantifiable, objectifiable and mechanical, our churches fully embraced “growth” as the ultimate goal (sounds nice and organic, doesn’t it?). Again, I’m simplifying here, but stick with me: in order to get more people (or more teenagers), we started making changes, many of them long overdue, in our programming and worship and architecture and everything else about church ministry. Many of these changes “worked” in terms of making church (or youth group) more attractive. While the church is struggling in many quarters, churches who adopted these innovative approaches often experienced significant numerical growth.

Now, please don’t misread me. I believe many of the changes many churches have experimented with or implemented have been good and needed changes (and, for the record, i know many larger church youth pastors–even some of those with amazing tricked-out youth centers–who are good and godly people with pure motives). The problem is, the church accidentally swallowed something else along with the good changes: noncritical assumptions that treating parishioners (or teenagers) as consumers is just how things have to be done these days.

That’s my point here: it’s rather useless to challenge teenagers on their materialism if our entire ministries are built on treating them as consumers!

Top 10 signs your youth ministry might be built on consumeristic assumptions:

(Warning: some of these are intentionally overstated, and reveal why a friend in Ireland once called me “a sarky git”.)
10. You talk about “my group” (that’s ownership language – the language of consumers).
9. Your mission statement: More teenagers, more often.
8. You constantly pressure your teenagers to bring friends. Those teenagers whose natural outgoing personality makes this easy are considered the most spiritual.
7. Guilt and manipulation are seen as necessary evils, and reframed as “speaking the truth” or as “the gospel”.
6. The biggest buzz you ever had in ministry was the time you were able to report ten “decisions for Christ” – whether those teenagers were ever seen again or not.
5. You’ve pondered how to make Christianity as simple as possible for teenagers.
4. The result of your youth work is nice teenagers who are willing to attend church.
3. The ministry “tools” you’re sure will really get things moving: a great sound system, a hip youth room, and truly awe-inspiring PowerPoint slides.
2. You daydream about the things you’ll never have: laser lights and a fog machine.
And the #1 sign your youth ministry might be built on consumeristic assumptions… When you talk about “growth”, you’re only referring to numbers.

(coming in part 3: what’s a good youth worker to do?)

I have a friend who’s on welfare. He’s brilliant and creative and funny. He’s a fantastic writer, and has dreams of getting published. As employment, he’s waiting for that dream to come true. His wife had a minor injury at work a few years ago and went on disability. Now, if she gets a job, the disability will be cut off. So they have absolutely no money. And they have three teenage kids (all of whom, by the way, are fully capable of getting a job and helping the family, but don’t).

My friend’s teenage kids, who have a nice gaming system, feel completely ripped off that they can’t get a newer gaming system. They lounge around the house complaining about how much it sucks that their parents can’t get them the new system, while dozens of games for the fully functional gaming system at their feet retire to the land of forgotten toys.

Why does this bug me so much? Well, a few reasons. But the reality is, the whole thing bugs me because it exposes everyone’s materialism – certainly my friend’s teenage kids, but also my friend and his wife, and yes, even mine. See, while I really enjoy this friend, and like hanging out with him, I’ve not yet had him over to my own home. I’m concerned that he will only see me as a source for money or other stuff. I don’t have the gaming system his kids want, but I have a lot of stuff. And the potential that my friend could view me as a potential lava-flow of cash only exposes me! If I weren’t materialistic, and a champion-level collector of new gadgetry, my friend’s potential perspective wouldn’t be an issue.

Let’s face it: we’re all materialistic (at least most of us). Trying to say that this generation of teenagers is so different, so much worse – I’m not sure I buy it (ha, get it? “Buy” it!). Anyone young enough to have completely missed World War II (that would be most of us) has no real sense of limitations on spending. So what is different about today’s teenagers and materialism?

Well, first of all, they are materialistic. They want stuff. They have massive spending power, and Madison Avenue spends millions to open the pocketbooks of teenagers (and their parents). This is overly simplistic, but there are a couple key factors in play here:

- There have always been materialistic stuff-hoarding people. But materialism was never embraced as a cultural norm – as something to be proud of — until the 1980s.
- Connected to that reality, teenagers of the 1990s and 2000s embraced the materialism they saw exhibited in their homes and the world around them. They have lived with a heightened materialism their entire lives.

This is one of the reasons we tend to notice the materialism of teenagers. Especially for those of us who were teenagers prior to the 90s (for me, WAY-prior to the 90s!), there is a new embracing of stuff that wasn’t present to the same degree when we were teenagers.

But let’s not pretend this is the real issue.

I’m not denying that materialism is a major issue, a distraction from living fully in the kingdom of God, and that we’d be irresponsible as youth workers not to talk about this with our teenagers. It is, and it does, and we would be if we didn’t (did you follow that?).

Jesus spoke clearly about the love of stuff and how it erodes real life. That gadfly teaching of his about the guy with the perfect pearl is the annoying pea that distracts all of us under our princess-like pile of mattresses.

If we believe that Jesus knew what he was talking about, we have to embrace the fact that the accumulation of “stuff” impedes teenagers’ ability to live the fullness of life Jesus promises in John 10:10. Of course, the problem is, our teenagers are soaking in a culture that constantly tells them the accumulation of stuff is fullness of life. So merely talking about the evils of materialism is like talking about the evils of water to fish – it just doesn’t compute. Our once-in-a-while diatribes about the love of money just come off sounding like antiquated sentimentalism for the good old days; or worse yet, like complete and utter hypocrisy.

Think of it this way: simply telling teenagers “sex before marriage is bad” doesn’t do much to reframe their thinking about a message that is so counter to everything else they hear and experience. To effectively talk about sexuality, we have to offer a counter-story – a better story about goodness and ultimate fulfillment, not just condemnation and consequences.

The same is true with materialism. Our teaching can’t focus on the negative. We have to propose an alternate reality – a better reality, a “more real reality” – of how living fully in the Kingdom of God, without a focus on getting more stuff, is a better way to live. And not just better in its moral value, but better in its fruit. We have to show examples of passionate, highly-fulfilled people who haven’t found their meaning in possessing more. We have to teach about the revolutionary way of Jesus, the upside-down realities of the Kingdom, that promise the greatest meaning and passion and purpose in life through serving others, through selling what we have and giving to the poor.

Don’t forget, all this is highly abstract. And most teenagers are fairly limited in their ability to fully grasp abstract ideas. So we have to work hard to concretize these truths – talking about what it really looks like to live in an affluent culture and still embrace life-giving Kingdom values.

Of course, the best way to teach this is to live it out in front of your teenagers. Ah… that’s part of the rub, isn’t it?

(coming up in part 2: “why materialism isn’t really the problem” and “the top 10 signs your youth ministry might be built on consumeristic assumptions”)
(coming up in part 3: what’s a good youth worker to do?)

My kids with my parents! (I feel a story about to break out.)

there’s more to this than the obvious surface stuff of finding out dirt on their dad. hearing these stories helps my kids gain more of a sense of identity, connecting them to the lineage of their origin. the stories become part of who they are. the stories become their stories.

throughout history, our current culture stands unique in our affinity to facts. families, throughout time, have been more interested in stories. in fact, education in jewish households was more about storytelling than anything else. before anyone had a copy of the bible or torah in their homes, oral histories (not even printed stories, let alone printed propositions) were the primary means of remembering who we are, of remembering where we came from.

case in point: the passover seder dinner is all about storytelling. each element of a passover dinner is meant to call up another important element of God’s great rescue, reminding the teller and listeners who they are as god’s chosen, as god’s beloved.

of course, jesus is a fantastic example for us in this: he was an amazing storyteller, often preferring a story (real or imaginary) over other forms of communication. jesus knew that stories capture imagination. stories allow listeners to find themselves in the characters. stories – especially the right stories – encourage us, as the lion king’s mufasa reminded his son simba, to “remember who you are.”

i love what paul (in a fatherly voice) writes to young timothy in 2 timothy 1:5 — i am reminded of your sincere faith, which first lived in your grandmother lois and in your mother eunice and, i am persuaded, now lives in you also. paul doesn’t unpack the stories here, but he reminds timothy of stories tim knows well, and has heard over and over again his entire life, stories that tell him, “remember who you are.”

we parents tended to be pretty good about storytelling with our kids when they were little. we bought all those cardboard covered picture books and read them out loud until we wanted to do imaginary harm to the imaginary characters. we sat with our kids watching veggietales or other cute story videos. stories that were cute until about their seventh viewing (and not so much at their seven hundredth viewing). we sat on the edge of their beds at night, making up wild and wonderful tales, full of humor and pathos and wonderful morality and lessons of courage. try that with your 17 year-old son! (no, really, don’t.)

so when did we stop telling stories with our kids? and, more importantly, why did we stop telling stories with our kids?

sure, our stories have to evolve a bit, if we’re going to continue them with teenagers. storytelling with teenagers is less about snuggling and unicorns, and more about the real stuff of life. remember, normal teenagers view their parents as permanently middle-aged. they don’t have much imagination about what you were like as a child or teenager, unless you tell them.

if lines of communication are already open and strong in your family, storytelling is a great way to keep them that way. and you’ll be amazed at the other stuff that will come up before, during, and after stories.

but if lines of communication are already strained, i’d like you to hear a few things. first, don’t panic. you’re normal. yes, this is difficult; but it’s normal. in fact, your goal as a parent of teenager is to wean them from the dependence on you that was normal when they were children. relationships and independence and communication all – necessarily – shift during these years. to try to keep them from shifting actually does damage to your teenager’s development. but consider using stories to create a safe DMZ of communication.

even though it will feel forced at times (that’s ok – some level of uncomfortability is ok), structure some sharing times that are built around stories, not check lists of “what did you do?” that feel more like a gestapo interview than loving parental involvement. my friend, who now has a great relationship with his young adult son, used to tell his distant and moody then-16 year-old son, “you don’t have to like this, and you don’t have to make eye contact with me, and you don’t even have to say anything other than the bare minimum; but you will be going out to breakfast with me once a week until you’re 18, and you will listen to me tell you stories, and you will tell me one story about your week.”

storytelling, by the way, isn’t only important for younger generations. storytelling is beneficial for older generations also! in our culture of disposability and instant-everything, stories provide an anchoring, a macro-level picture of the values most important to us, values like obedience to god, courage, faith, hope, and love. 16 or 75, we all need to be re-anchored to those values.

one of the practices we have embraced in my family is storytelling around the dinner table. we have a no cell phones policy (which, these days, is less about taking phone calls than it is about texting or mobile facebooking or other interruptions that take place just below the edge of the dinner table). sometimes we take turns telling low points and high points of our day. with each of these comes a story. we all learn about each others’ values, each others’ needs, each others’ spiritual and emotional states. often, a story of the day will bring out a “that reminds me of the story of that time…,” with a request or one family member or another to retell one of our arsenal of favorites.

here are some ideas for you to try:

• host intergenerational storytelling dinners. instead of everyone bringing a dish to share, each person has to bring a story (or a few stories!) to share – real stories, not made-up stories. give the categories ahead of time, just like you would for a potluck, and have them choose stories in 2 or 3 categories. make sure you clear the date first with your teenager, because they’re who you really want there! shoot for at least one person or couple from every generation. allow for q&a after each story.
• highs and lows. described above as a practice my family uses, have each family member, over a meal, share a story of a high point and a low point of their day. if your family is open to it, you can add an ancient prayer element to this practice by together noticing where God was present in both the high and low moments.
• letter writing. yes, in these postmodern days, the art of writing snail mail seems almost ancient (especially to teenagers). but, particularly if you older relatives aren’t local to you, asking them to write out stories from their youth and young adult years can become family keepsakes.
• oral history recordings. many teenagers are skilled at simple video editing. challenge your teenager to interview grandparents and other older relatives (or, older people in your church) about what life was like when they were younger. video the interview, and edit it into a short piece you can keep. store them on youtube and share them with other family members (or church members), inviting them to add more.