Moving from Rigid Faith Formulas to Holistic Human-ness

This post was part of my academic classwork, and therefore the tones doesn't quite fit the tone of my usual posts.

"How do I measure success?"

Compelled by the divine call of the Spirit upon my life to reorient myself towards God, my passion is to lead and nurture young people in their own spiritual journeys. This is the call and commitment of my heart.

It is this question that plagues my mind. How do I know if I’m succeeding? To be sure there’s an element of pride to be wrestled with in this question, but beyond that, there are vital questions for youth ministry. How do we measure success? What constitutes spiritual growth?

For a long time our approaches to youth ministry have been shaped by models such as Fowler’s stages of faith development, which focuses on cognitive development and how an individual’s faith progresses as their ability to think changes. This highlights that what we’ve probably looked to a measure of faith is how well a young person understands and articulates the content of the Gospel. It is a matter of how effectively we transmit the commitments of our beliefs, values and doctrines to young people. 

The authors of The Reciprocating Self, propose a model of understanding what it means to be human, which changes how we might look at faith development. Grounded in Trinitarian theology, they view that the goal of being human is to become fully ‘reciprocating’ selves, able to give and receive love both in terms of the divine and human other. Spiritual growth then is not just in terms of cognitive commitments, but relates to the very human self. It is about becoming more fully who we were created to be in God’s image. 

While proponents of Fowler might argue that we are more fully able to love God and others through cognitive processes and choices, there are studies which link moral development more to processes of social interaction than to cognition. They show the necessity of memory storage in the formation of moral identity, despite the presence of cognitive ability.

They propose that spirituality does not unfold in a linear cognitive process, but it is developed in the interaction of biological, social, cultural and spiritual factors. Faith does not occur in stages, but rather in interactions of a person and context over time. Crucially, they conclude that there is not one path to spiritual maturation.

So how does this help me measure success in my ministry? It liberates me from thinking that there is a key or formula to follow which results in spiritual growth. Instead, it draws me to understanding that the goal of faith is not just a choice, decision or commitment, but rather it is to become fully human, loving God and loving others in reciprocity, in the image of the God who created us. My ministry then is not to call young people down a simple path, but it is to help guide them down the many paths along which they will travel, helping them to become fully human.

I fear not my brokenness

Something in me comes alive when I write. It's like I'm more fully able to explore and express my soul. Lately I've been making use of lots of silence and meditation, allowing my soul to be still and rest. However journalling allows me to connect with Christ in a very unique way. This is my first journal entry in at least 6 months. It's about one of my favourite topics: brokenness.

Life is beautiful, so full of joy, and yet so full of darkness. 

In humanity I see laughter, goodness and love, yet in those very same people I see selfishness, greed, hate and the capability to destroy. I know that I am good, that I am capable of love, building-up others, bestowing hope and joy, but I also know that I am all too capable of manipulating, hurting, ignoring and oppressing. In one instance I bring life, yet in another I bring death. I love purely, but also lust and thirst for self-gratification. I love freely, then place conditions. 

I am good, yet I am also wretched. 

Yet I fear not the darkness. Curse and resent it, yes. Mourn and long for freedom from it, of course. But fear it I don't when I stand in Christ. I fear not that it devalues me, for in Christ I am a son being transformed and changed. I know that my hope is not I, but Christ. I know that as Christ lives in me, I am being renewed. I know that though we often find ourselves in the darkness and hurt of the cross, that there is victory, life and resurrection. I feel it now, I experience it daily, yet at the same time it still seems so far off. There are days when I feel like a resurrected liberated man, and days when I feel like I am under the weight of all my sin, living in darkness.

But whether at the cross or at the empty tomb, it is not I, but Christ that is my hope. 

I long for the day when I, and all of creation experience fully the resurrection life. Until then, I confess daily my sinfulness. I face my brokenness, not dismissing it, but bringing it before Christ, knowing that we are beloved children who have all of His love, struggling each day to give ourselves fully in return.

I am a broken, sinful man. Far from being a judgement of condemnation, it helps me more fully understand who I am and why. 

Tonight I fell on my ass

I decided I needed to take a walk. So I walked around the church grounds where I live, and sat on the bleachers at the sports field. With Bon Iver's beautiful music in my ears, I sat and watched the sky. 

I saw one of the longest shooting stars I've ever seen. It struck me that I hadn't taken the time to look at the sky in a long time. I've never sat still enough, to just gaze at the beauty of the night sky. I had the urge to lie down on the grass and just watch, but I was wearing a white shirt and didn't want to get it dirty. 

I found a football in the middle of the field, and I began shooting at the goals. After a couple of sublime finishes, I lined myself up for a shot, and as I connected with the ball, my feet gave way beneath me in the soft ground, and I landed on my ass. 

It was 10:30pm, it was dark, and there was no-one else around, though I still had a quick look to make sure. Feeling a little embarrassed for myself, I quickly began to get up when I realised that since I was on the ground already, I should just lie there. And so I did. 

I lay and gazed at the night sky for 15 minutes. 

How seldom we allow ourselves the freedom to be still, and rest. We feel the constant need to be busy, to entertain ourselves, to be productive. We find tasks to keep ourselves from having nothing to do. We aimless wonder on Facebook looking for something to provide interest. 

Anything to avoid being alone.

I'm 23 and single, and honestly, despite many great friends, at times I feel immensely lonely. Sometimes I'll do anything to avoid facing that loneliness.

Tonight, as I lay in the middle of the field, I experienced a deep peace. A place to rest, and be alone, loneliness and brokenness embraced, rather than hidden or avoided. 

Sometimes it takes me to fall on my ass to take the space and silence, to just be at peace, to rest, and to be present, taking in the goodness of life, good music, the stars, the gentle breeze. And perhaps in the stillness, hear the whispers of my own heart, and the voice of another. 

"I want to leave a memory"

It was our Wednesday night Bible Study with a small group our Middleschool students, and we were looking at Jesus' final prayer before his crucifixion in John 17. We were sharing what our final pray would be like. Among some fairly standard answers, one of our girls said something so profound. "I want to have had an impact on people".

This 13 year old girl recognises something that many adults still don't get. Most adults "just want their kids to be happy". Now of course it's not wrong to want your kids to be happy, but it portrays the mindset of our world: the goal is happiness. 

I want to be happy. I want to have joy, to laugh, to experience life in all its fullness. But life in all its fullness also recognises the darkness that exists. It recognises that we can't and won't always be happy. It recognises that while we may be experiencing joy, others experience hurt, sometimes even as a result of our joy.

I'm not ok with living a life centred on myself, and my own happiness. And nor is this Middleschooler. We want to leave an impact on our world, that others will have been blessed because of us. Living that kind of life requires us to scrap that fluffy, self-centred mindset of personal mindset, to see our life as having more meaning than satisfying our own happiness. 

It reminds me of a beautiful song by JJ Heller, "When I Leave" from her album "Only Love Remains". Click here to listen.

Am I too busy chasing a temporary fortune
That my priorities get lost along the road
The seasons bring their moments
They linger for an instant
They never wait for you to pay the debts you owe

When I leave I want to leave a memory filled with love
The kind you don’t forget
When I go I want to be known
As one who lived with no regrets

If life is like a flower
Am I doing all that’s in my power
To leave a fragrance behind
It’s time to count my blessings
Forget about my savings account for a while

I want them to say
What a glorious day
She had so much to gain
But she gave it away
And I want them to see something different in me
And that I’m going to be free

Some glad morning when this life is over
I’ll fly away
To a home on God’s celestial shore
I’ll fly away
When I leave I want to leave a memory...

Worthy is the Lamb?

Ever had that moment when you really think about the words of the song you are singing?

We were standing in the final night of the camp, in the closing worship after the prayer and response time. The band were playing a song called "All We Have is Christ" (to which the words of the bridge are: "worthy is the Lamb, worthy is the Lamb, worthy is the Lamb who was slain".

Everything within me wants to raise my arms outstretched and belt out the words, because He IS worthy. He is the Saviour who came to save God's people not with the sword but with sacrifice. In humility and love he laid down his life for us, and in power he overcame death that could not hold him. He IS worthy.      

                      

Yet this was one of these moments. It's really easy for me to stand there during worship and cry out praise to Jesus. But what about the day before when I was updating my Twitter and unsure of whether or not I should tweet about what our camp was about. I was embarrassed about how I might be perceived I tweeted honestly. It's a silly, but really example. Is Jesus worthy? Is he worthy of me being unashamed of the life I live?      

                      

Is Jesus worthy of my time and attention daily? Is he worthy of me taking time to read the Bible and pray? Is Jesus worthy of me paying a cost, putting things on the line, to follow him and to hold out the hope of new life to others?     

                      

Jesus IS worthy. Fact. But there is also a decision that I have to make every day. IS he worthy? Worship in a retreat, during a session is safe. Singing those words there and then, is safe. Real worship occurs when I declare those words with my life and choices. 

Luke 9:23

New International Version (NIV)

 ²³ Then he said to them all: “Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross daily and follow me.

The Wolfpack

"Go and sit with them" one of our students dared me. Why on earth would I want to go and sit beside a small group of Middle School girls, in the middle of the school lunch room, at the risk of being arrested by the Sheriff, to sit with "The Wolfpack"?

Lunch rooms in the American schools that I've visited, are not a far cry from what I've seen in the movies. Cliques. And this was one clique that even if there were not teachers and a Sheriff standing by, that I would still be afraid of.      

                      

But he wouldn't leave me alone. He kept pestering me, as did the friends around him. "Go and make them Christian", to which I cringed, and replied "I'm not going to do that". 'Make them Christian' isn't really a desire of mine. In fact, it makes me want to vomit.     

                      

But what was in my heart was the desire to model to this student and his friends, that living out the love of Jesus means crossing boundaries, not to 'make them Christian', but because we are called to love others, as He first loved us.      

                      

So I plucked up the courage and sat with them for final few minutes of lunch. One literally ran to another table. The others were warm and talkative. I asked them about "the wolfpack". Their response? "Others just started calling us that".     

                      

As I drove away I reflected on how this little group of warm (and apparently terrified girls) sat at a table on their own with this label, not because they chose it, but because they were labelled.      

                      

Sometimes people choose labels, but often they are assigned. It breaks my heart when I think of the people who have been labelled, often by people who claim faith in Jesus, and of course, by myself also.     

                      

Goth. Geek. Gay. Freak. Loner. Skank.     

                      

Even within church and youth ministry, we easily box people up.      

                      

Sitting with "wolfpack" reminded me of how my love and friendship, and that of Jesus, is kept from many people because we put them in a box and built up barriers which stopped us from seeing them as they really are.  

Creating Spaces

My time with God this morning was altogether unremarkable. 

I woke up tired, not really all that excited about the day ahead. I ate my breakfast (Lucky Charms of course) on the sofa, and turned round to look at the prayer corner that my housemate had set up in our living room. I had been away for the weekend and had little space to spend in solitude, and in recent weeks my discipline of praying has been pretty irregular. 

So I dropped myself down at the prayer corner, and sat in silence for a while, read the final part of the book I had been reading, 1 Peter. There was no magic spark that suddenly gave me excitement and fuel for the day ahead. I barely managed to string together a thought or sentence to God. Altogether it was 15 or 20 minutes of very little. Seemingly altogether unremarkable.

Or at least that's how prayer can seem sometimes. You ask yourself the question, "what am I even doing here?", you wonder if God is listening or if you're just talking to yourself. Sometimes my prayer times are passionate, and I'm excited or moved deeply. Others like this morning, they are hard, and seem pointless.

I've been learning from a writer called Henri Nouwen. He talks about the discipline of creating space, solitude and silence in your day. This space is not necessarily about talking, or doing anything, but simply creating space to be before God. Whether or not we feel anything is not the point. Prayer is a discipline to create space where we open ourselves to God. We may not feel anything, or feel changed. Sometimes we will.

But God is not a "feel-good" tap to fill us with happiness. Sometimes, it will feel altogether unremarkable. We're creating spaces.