Why I Do Youth Ministry

I don't clearly remember many moments of my life.

Oh, I remember general things: feelings of happiness, confusion, excitement, enjoyment...

I remember events: vacations, classes, park days, concerts, hospital visits...

But moments? Not so much.

There is one, though.

A thirteen year old girl sitting on the floor of the conference room, attending a retreat meant for her older sister's confirmation class. The sisters had gone together, the younger having been granted special provision by the youth minister to attend.

She sat there surrounded by other, slightly-older-than-her teenagers. Together, they had been playing games, making up skits, learning hand motions for praise and worship songs.

And that thirteen year old girl? She made herself a promise.

She looked up at the chaperones, the twenty-somethings who were running the retreat, and she promised herself that one day she would be one of them. But she would be different.

Because this thirteen year old girl was bored. She was humiliated. She was frustrated that this candied version of Catholicism was what they were given. They had deemed the teenagers to be "too young" for the tough, intense, real stuff.

She was... angry.

They were being spoon-fed a watered down, mushed up version of the faith. It was packaged in a basic, intensely feeling-centric, "fun" bundle. "When I'm an adult," she promised herself on a sunny Saturday afternoon in the mountains, "I'm going to run a retreat that is actually Catholic."

Yeah, I was that thirteen year old kid with what could very well be called a bad attitude.

The problem was it wasn't the kind of bad attitude that retreats are designed to conquer. This kind of bad attitude was exacerbated by the very same things intended to eradicate the bad attitudes. 

Fast forward eleven years.

I was on retreat yet again, same place, much different setting. Well, not so different. We still played a lot of games, did arts and crafts, shared our feelings, and were kept so busy that you barely had a moment to think. But those things were countered by witness talks that were big, important, life changing stories.

Big pits of despair, loneliness, and loss were suddenly filled by an overflowing amount of light, happiness, and joy. It was like a magic trick.

What was black became suddenly white. Was was infinitely heavy became now unimaginably light.

The faith of a Catholic was presented -- maybe even dropped into our laps -- as the biggest, most important, enormous, and overwhelming state of life. 

... but what was the same? Where was the touch of sameness between the thirteen year old heart and the twenty-four year old one? The uncomfortable feeling. Something was still missing. I was still somehow wrong. My faith didn't match the paradigm. Before my faith seemed too grown up. Now my faith was so little, so not dramatic.

Listening to those talks, I recognized nothing of their tales in my own life. And if these were the people chosen to present the wonders of our Catholic faith to other young adults, well, then... I must be doing it wrong.

Because my faith isn't that way. It never has been that way.

My faith has been quiet, persistent, constant. Sometimes it has been full of warmth. At other times it has felt coolly routine. Some days it has been easy to be loving. On others, it has been impossible to feel loved. It has highs and lows, but they aren't cliffs and canyons... just gentle hills.

It has never been fluffy. It has never been dramatic.

Mostly? It's been in the little things.

I haven't had any grand conversion. No moment where I shouted "I choose YOU!" to Christ because that was never even a question.

People talk about "coming of age" in their faith. A pivotal moment. A maturity. A new face. A new life. A new love. A habit that suddenly become enormously substantial and meaningful.

But mine? only a steady, nearly imperceptible progress in its slowness and subtlety.

And you know what? That's ok.

But you know what isn't ok? That no one told me that. People told me to look for the grand, mysterious gestures of God in my life. I would see those graces and my life would be changed forever. But that isn't the whole story.

Most of the grace? It's in the little things.

And that's ok. Not just ok, actually. That is perfect. Some of the most perfect faith is found between the fluff and the weighty.

The gift of faith doesn't need to be a big package, brightly wrapped and tied up with ribbons. It doesn't need to make its presence known with grand fanfare. In fact, the gift of faith is in the tiny, in the corners, in the itty bitty things that fill our days, weeks, months, and years. Those gifts even fill our minutes if we only stop to look.

Sometimes that retreat team tries so hard to reach everyone, that they can miss most of everyone.

That thirteen year old girl is keeping her promise. That thirteen year old girl -- that younger-but-just-as-impatient, version of me -- is why I do youth ministry. For the teens who feel that youth group is a place where adults condescendingly share bits of the faith, because they are judged to be too young for the real stuff.

But I know now that I also need to do it for the teens who lack a flash-bang dramatic moment in their faith. The teens that feel their faith is inadequate simply because it lacks drama and charisma.

I have to do it for the Catholics who feel too big or too small, but never just right.

Because if they are truly united in Christ, they can never be anything but just right.

They just have to find Him.

And my deepest hope is that I would be able help them do that.