The window has now closed for another two years

I’ve just concluded a fortnight of school holidays.

My wife is currently in Europe on her annual trip to visit her family.

As of Sunday, this unique window closed.

I returned to school today.

My wife returns on Friday.

This means that my biennial experiment is over.

What experiment?

Growing facial hair.

Last Sunday I had the delight to return to my well-groomed norm.

No scraggly beard.

No dirty moustache.

No more odd empty patches upon my chin.

The reason I get to unleash my facial fuzz every second year is simple…

I’m curious.

Can I grow it?

Can I grow it better now than a few years ago?

How much of the fuzz will still be rusty?

Will any be grey now?

Over the last two-and-a-half-weeks I grew the longest facial I’ve ever had.

And I then got the pleasure to reap the rewards.

Over a series of eight steps, I got to deconstruct my facial hair and send the seedy photographic evidence to my beloved a world away.

The overwhelming lessons of this experiment?

My “beard” now does contain flecks of grey.

I look especially dodgy with a handlebar moustache.

It’s probably inappropriate to send a photo of yourself with an Adolf Charlie Chaplin moustache to your spouse of German descent…

Should we want to double-speed our faith?

Last Sunday I heard a sermon delivered via voiceover since the minister was ill.

Hearing a sermon isn’t unusual in the modern age.

We can hear sermons via podcasts while on commutes from anywhere across the globe.

But, almost without fail, whenever I hear a sermon online it will be sped up. Usually 1.5 speed.

It was unusual not being able to do that on Sunday.

Of course, I was in person so it was impossible, but the desire nonetheless remained.

In many ways, this is how a lot of modern spirituality is digested: sped up.

Sermons.

Prayers.

Readings.

Worship.

We tend to skim.

Or skip.

Or scan.

Or speed up.

Because now there is so much to consume.

Or it is a sign of familiarity.

Or, worse of all, laziness.

Perhaps, we need to make the difficult, counter-cultural, decision to slow down.

To not increase the speed.

To not increase the consumption.

In order to grow our faith in a healthy manner, we need to slow down, not speed up.

What kind of fish are you looking to be?

I am attached to two churches.

One is much larger than the others.

Even though I’m only at each on alternative fortnights, I’m significantly involved more in the smaller congregation.

The simple reason is that there’s more opportunity within the smaller church.

I wonder how many people consider this fact when they’re moving churches.

How involved are they willing to be?

What opportunities to serve may exist within a potential congregation?

What gifts and talents can they bring to a perspective church?

Of course, the larger the church, the larger the human capital they possess.

Equally, the larger the church, the larger the impact and ministries they may employ.

So, the question facing the perspective church hopper can be: Would you rather be a big fish in a small ecclesiastical pond or a smaller fish in a larger pond?

Are you obligated to share your pain to your minister?

Everybody gets a season.

Life happens.

And when life hurts you need support.

For some, they wouldn’t think twice about sharing their burdens with the minister at their church.

For others, the minister at their church would barely know their name.

For, the size of your church depends heavily on the relationship you have with the ministry staff at your church.

Realistically, any minister can effectively pastorally care for only around 50 people.

They can be functionally pastorally aware of around twice than number.

So, when a personal disaster strikes, who do you turn to?

Do you have a threshold of hurt before you’ll feel that it reaches the depth of senior minister-notification?

When a life crisis hits, does a ministry organiser really only need to know once it primarily affects any duties which you are rostered for?

Of course, every member of a church should be connected with multiple pastoral supports, so withholding a pastoral emergency from the sermon-deliverer may not be a sign of pastoral dissatisfaction. 

But, there may be a pressure for someone to at least update the ministry staff after the initial emergency has subsided.

After all, a senior minister may be annoyed if they find out that six members of their church have had miscarriages, three have separated and two have been diagnosed with cancer and they were left in the dark.

Honouring the intentions behind the word-salad

I like the… um… things… which you do with the kids each week.

I appreciate that you… care… for the teens.

Thanks for all the… stuff… you do with the young people.

I’ve heard all of the above.

And, undeniably, they are well intended.

Usually, they are uttered by a kindly congregant. Possibility of retirement age.

Nonetheless, there’s only one way to respond to an appreciative word-salad.

Honour the intention.

Honour the intention behind the fumbling sentence.

Honour the intention behind the awkwardness.

Honour the intention because the gratitude vastly exceeds the execution.

Your loneliness is shaped by your expectation

What did you expect?

For a lot of our emotions, their root cause can be traced back to our expectations.

We are angry… because of our expectations.

Or disappointed… because of our expectations.

Or elated… because of our expectations.

Or surprised… because of our expectations.

Or lonely.

Are you expecting to be a part of a crowd?

Are you expecting to be in the majority?

Alternatively, are you expecting to be on your lonesome?

Are you expecting to be isolated?

Your expectations will shape your perspective of loneliness.

Why?

Because if your in a groups of 6, then your expectation will shape your response.

Were you expecting 50? 12? 2?

Your expectation will mould your view of that half-dozen.

You will feel alone if you’re expected 50.

But, you won’t feel isolated if your thought you were only involved in a lonely pair.

We see this play our with the prophet Elijah in 1 Kings 19. 

Elijah thinks, erroneously, that he is alone. This drives Elijah to the point of despair.

If Elijah knew of the 7000 who remained faithful, then his outlook would have looked dramatically different.

Maintaining some of the links

In a lot of professions, change is a given.

People move.

People graduate.

People get promoted.

Life circumstances change.

But, continuity makes a massive difference.

While many things within a job can be learnt, be it prior to the vocation or through experience, it’s repeated experience which cultivates expertise.

Continuity is one of the secret sauces of building expertise.

If you repeat an action, refining your practice as you go, then you get closer to expertise.

But, within schools and churches, continuity is a rare commodity.

My years in ministry is testimony of this - four churches over 13 years.

With a transient workforce, be it paid or voluntary, some consistent links within the chain are invaluable.

Someone who has run the activity multiple times before.

Someone who has the contacts.

Someone who has made the mistakes.

Someone who can advise.

Someone who can remember.

Inevitably, chance will happen, but maintaining some links in the chain ensures that your tent-pole activities run effectively.

Being thankful that you could appear like a big fish

As far as youth ministries are concerned, I was a part of multiple large ministries.

At least comparatively.

My numbers were larger.

My systems were more intricate.

My leadership team was more established.

But, I was by no means the largest ministry in my denomination.

Or local region.

And I certainly wasn’t the most effective.

But, when held against many other congregational ministries, I appeared to be a part of something fairly large.

A similar thing could be said of my current school.

Today, in a training event, I was - by far - the representative of the largest school.

In sheer numbers, I was a big fish.

Again, I’m not working at one of the largest schools in Sydney. Not even close. 

I’m not even working at the largest school in my region.

But, the scale of my setting set me apart.

Some things wouldn’t work in my context. 

Sheer size makes some things unmanageable.

With size, complexity increases.

With size comes more moving parts.

With size, mistakes are magnified.

With size, physical demands are compounded.

Just as the opposite - a lack of size - is true.

As I sat in my training, I was reminded to be thankful for - what appears to be - a large setting.

Just as I would have been when I was one of the few full-time youth ministers in my denomination.

The growth progression

The following is true across a lot of areas in life, particularly vocationally.

I’ve found the following to be particularly apt for both ministry and teaching…

Year 1: Survive and Learn.

At the start of anything, you are like a duck on a pond. Lots of action, most of which is unseen.

Initially, you don’t know what you don’t know.

You’re in survival mode, living day-by-day.

Year 2: Grow and Experiment.

By the time you’re in your second year, you’re comfortable with your surroundings and have now negotiated many of the annual checkpoints for the first time.

Now, you can begin to implement the lessons from the first year.

Now, you can look for ways to begin to implement new methods to produce the results you needed last year.

Year 3: Refine and Specialise.

In your third year, you now feel like you truely belong. 

Now, you can add polish to the things which you’ve previously put in place.

Now, you can look for places to expand your responsibilities and exercise your giftedness in new ways.

Year 4: Go Deep.

By your fourth year, it’s time to go deep. 

Think deeply.

Act intentionally.

Guide others.

When reading the Bible is a drag

Right now I’m halfway through my five-year mega bible reading plan.

By the end of 2026 I will have read through and studied, usually by reading at least one commentary or book, the entire bible once and the first five books of the New Testament twice.

Inevitably, I’d hit parts of the bible which I’ve not wadded into deeply before.

Unexpectedly, I really enjoyed Ezekiel this time last year.

Right now, Isaiah is a slog.

I’ve penciled in 12 weeks to delve into Isaiah and, quite frankly, it’s a bit of a drag.

But, worthwhile things aren’t always the most stimulating.

Giant tasks will usually involve some level of grunt work.

For the first time in a few years, with my bible reading being the healthiest it’s been in for at least a decade, I’m surprised it took so long for a burdensome book to come along.

Now, if you’re enamoured with Isaiah, more power to you.

Maybe, by the time I’ve plowed through the book and got swept away in an insightful, well-written, commentary I will also love the longest major prophet.

Not yet.

Nonetheless, I’ve at least got my fill of regular Tiny Bible Bit passages which somewhat goes to show that I’m at least getting something out of the book and… by mid-August, I’ll get to move onto the book of Micah.  

The advantage of not remembering the better times

I’ve now been teaching for a few years, I still consider myself a newbie in many ways. One reminder is the fact that I’m surrounded by a lot of colleagues with a lot more experience.

And they are incredible.

They are supportive.

They love their jobs.

Some have been teaching for decades, across a number of schools and settings.

Many can recall “better times.”

Many can recall a superior workload.

Many can recall a healthier work/life balance.

Many can recall when the behaviour in the classroom was better.

Many can recall when the teaching profession was held in higher esteem.

I can’t.

For me, there has been no “greener pasture” in the past.

There is no “knowing better.”

And, in some ways, this is an advantage.

For me, the workload has always been consistent.

The expected amount of admin is the same.

The levels of mandatory training are unchanged.

The degrees of bureaucracy is what I originally signed up for.

The behaviour hasn’t deteriorated.

There is no baggage from a favoured the past.

There is no pinning for better days.

Maybe it is naivety.

But, it can also be an advantage.

Would models in the pulpit and classroom help or hurt?

I’m not hot.

In fact, I just asked my wife and she said that I’m a “six or seven” out of ten. A five or six, apparently, when wearing my glasses.

So, I’m not a hot teacher.

I wasn’t a hot youth minister.

In short, this post most definitely doesn’t apply to myself.

But, I’ve known plenty of pretty and handsome colleagues both within the church and classroom.

If this a positive or a negative?

Does being attractive help in the classroom or pulpit?

Does the ability to draw they eye help focus or distract others?

Does the dreamy teacher distract from the lesson intentions?

Does the pretty minister detract from the gospel?

Overall, I assume that there is a threshold that gets crossed into the scope of distraction.

Perhaps this is why Jesus isn’t described as a dreamboat in Isaiah 53:2 - “He had no beauty or majesty to attract us to him, nothing in his appearance that we should desire him” - and the Apostle Paul is described in the non-canonical Acts of Paul (which should be taken with a mountain of salt) as “A man small in size, bald-headed, bandy-legged, well-built, with eyebrows meeting, rather long-nosed, full of grace.”

How my past shaped the flaws of my ministry

I wrote earlier this week that every prospective minister must be queried about the flaws of the most influential minister from their past.

The reason I feel that this question is so pertinent is the effect that this had on me.

Over my decade-plus in youth ministry I seriously weighed up getting ordained.

In fact, I took the first steps towards ordination.

Ultimately, I decided against continuing down the road of ordination, but I did spend 13 years in vocational youth ministry.

And I was far from perfect.

Some of my flaws were public.

Some failings remained behind closed doors.

Some problems deeply affected those around me.

Some shortcomings directly attributed to me no longer working for the church.

Some weaknesses, ironically, contributed to me gaining the positions I did within the church.

And this final point is the reason why perspective ministers need to be asked about the problems of their spiritual predecessors.

For, some of my faults can be traced back to my youth minister.

While as a minister and a man there were many things to like and admire about him, he was also personally and professionally flawed.

And, we share some of those flaws.

In fact, I learned some of those flaws from him.

Why?

Because I benefited from some of those flaws.

I gained by being a beneficiary from these blind spots.

For example, his perceived favouritism worked in my favour. I was a part of the inner circle.

Thus, I mirrored some of his shortcomings.

I saw him expect a lot of his leaders; so did I.

He intentionally set a high relation temperature within his leadership team; I tried to do the same.

He wasn’t afraid of posing probing questions; nor do I.

But, when executed in an unhealthy manner, they can be damaging.

People feel neglected.

People feel intimidated.

You can project arrogance.

I did all of the above.

I neglected.

I could intimidate.

I could be arrogant.

And, while I need to completely own that, a root can be traced back to my spirituality formative years.

Thus the importance of my initial question.

Are those embarking upon ministry aware of the ministry baggage which they bring with them?

Even if the personally benefited from these leadership flaws, can they identify how these traits can be a negative for wider vocational ministry?

The questions every beginning minister must face

“What has been the worst trait of the most influential minister in your life?”

This is the essential question (aside from the one about a genuine sense of calling by God) which every perspective minister must wrestle with.

The reason is simple.

The answer will shape their ministry.

The answer will colour, for good or bad, their time in ministry.

The answer will affect those around them.

The answer will affect the way those they minister to see God.

“Where do you see this negative trait within yourself?”

The answer to this will reveal their self awareness.

The answer will expose their ability to spot their own weaknesses.

The answer will show their alertness that this trait is, indeed, a negative not a positive.

“How are you not going to make the same mistakes?”

This answer will uncover the likelihood that generational damage will not be inflicted.

From what I recall, no one sat me down and asked me these questions when I was considering ordination nor while I was in vocational ministry.

In my next post I’ll share why I should have…

Do you consider the testimony you leave for the cleaners?

Every church needs to be cleaned.

Every church doesn’t have a professional cleaner.

The former is a necessity.

The later can happen through many avenues. Paid cleaners are only one option.

Nonetheless, when I stay behind at my school I regularly witness those who clean the campus.

I wonder what they think about our students based upon the trash which is left behind.

What judgements do they make based upon the way the school is left at the end of every day?

Whenever it occurs, what testimony is left behind for the cleaners of our churches?

What do the way we treat our facilities say about us?

This is a complex web once you take into account that ministries draw in non-believers, the vulnerable and the unstable.

In short, ministry can be messy - both relationally and physically.

But, the remanence of our ministry surely send a message.

And, if those who deal with the mess are not believers, then the leftovers from our activities speak to them.

But, do they leave a positive message?

Do they testify of our care for creation?

Do they speak of our care for each other?

Do we even stop, at the conclusion of our activities, at assess the testimony which we are leaving behind?

Do I look like a flat-earther to my workmates?

If I were a flat-earthier than I would expect a few weird looks at school.

The same thing would be true if I were a young-earthier.

Or a Scientologist.

All of these are alternative viewpoints to the mainstream within the public education system.

But, then again, compared with the majority of people in my school, so is Christianity.

Most people at my school - I’d estimate 70% - would be of no discernible faith.

That would certainly be true within my staff room.

So, should I be viewed as odd by the majority?

And, if so, where should the line get drawn before my employment is under question?

Pentecostalism?

Hardcore millennialist?

Christian Scientist?

Fundamentalist Evangelical?

Legally, the can be no line.

I can believe what I want so long as it doesn’t adversely affect my teaching.

Now that I teach the Studies of Religion subject at school I’m very aware of my personal beliefs colouring the way I teach, especially in regards to the theological elements of Christianity which aren’t universally agreed upon.

Because of this, I teach an intentionally vanilla version of faiths.

Vanilla Christianity.

Vanilla Islam.

Vanilla Buddhism.

Vanilla indigenous spirituality.

Vanilla ancient spirituality.

But, no matter how vanilla the content, does my subject (and beliefs attached to it) appear to an atheist like I was teaching flat-earth?

Of course, it can be argued that it’s an advantage having a person of faith teaching a Studies of Religion subject, but I wonder how non-mainline I’d have to be before I’d drift into questionably-weird.

Do we wait better or worse than a generation ago?

At the end of any given teaching term there will inevitably be a time when you witness excruciating boredom upon the face of a student. Maybe even a dozen or more students simultaneously.

Why?

Because of timed exams.

If a class is told that they will have 50 minutes to complete a written in-class essay, then that is what they will get.

50 minutes.

3000 seconds.

But, of course, not every student will need the entire time allocation.

In fact, you’d hope that most students don’t require every last moment, but instead use their time wisely and productively to produce a good reflection of what you have taught them.

Alas, some will also finish early because they know very little. 

Maybe they aren’t (yet!?!?) capable of producing a quality, structured, written response.

Nonetheless, as the time ticks down and you observe your assignment-taking class, you get to watch as the boredom unfolds.

First for one student.

Than a handful.

Than the majority of the class.

In short, until the end of the allotted time, if they’ve completed the exam then they need to sit and do… nothing.

At all.

And, this is hard.

Especially, if you’re not used to waiting.

Compounded, if you’re not used to being technology free.

But, as I sit there for 50 minutes… doing little more than observing… I wonder, has our waiting got better or worse in the last few decades?

Is a young person’s seeming inability to just…. Wait… point towards their need to always preoccupy themselves?

Have our young people lost the ability to just… sit?

To do… nothing?

Or does it show that, now, we need to be doing… something?

And, is that a good thing?

Of course, there is a balance which needs to be found.

Just because your have a device in your hand doesn’t mean that you’re being productive with it. Playing a mind game or reading the news is far better than doom-scrolling or mindlessly swiping for the next dopamine hit.

But, when I think of all the time as a technology-free-youngster which I had just waiting for a bus - shuffling my feet or staring into the distance aimlessly - maybe my time wasn’t better spent than youngsters today.

At least they have the option to be somewhat productive.

Their waiting time can have some form of purpose.

I had nothing.

Just time…

Just waiting…

No matter, with the seconds ticking down on exams, it’s clear that the ability to do nothing has almost disappeared.

Maybe, we should get rid of public transport timetables and reinstall the fine art of… having to wait and do nothing.

Am I a bigger failure as a teacher or a youth minister?

My last post asked if I was a greater success as a teacher or as a youth minister.

I ended that post by concluding that I’ve had more hits in the classroom than the pulpit.

But, a question which troubles me far more is the title of this post: What am I a bigger failure in, teaching on youth ministry?

Without doubt, at various times, both have left me feeling defeated.

I’ve had, even after only a few years (maybe even because of my inexperience), numerous lessons which have been train wrecks.

I’ve never left the classroom with the place on fire, students writhing in pain or an evacuation drill needing to be declared, but lessons have certainly not been executed as well as I’d hoped.

It’s understandable, in your first time teaching a topic or entire subject, that everything that you try won’t alway be a winner.

The same is true with youth ministry.

I had plenty of days when I’ve been driving home after a Friday or Sunday with a sense of defeat.

In both jobs I’ve felt like an imposter.

In both jobs I’ve felt unorganised.

In both jobs I’ve made administrative mistakes.

In both jobs I’ve clashed with colleagues.

In both jobs I’ve been underprepared.

In both jobs I’ve felt ineffective.

But I’ve got a nagging certainty, when it comes to this question - again - the church is on the losing side.

I failed far more in youth ministry than I, so far, have as a teacher.

Why?

Because I failed my own standards.

As I posted way back in 2008, one of the most important elements in effective ministry is longevity.

And I never stayed at a church longer than 4 years as the youth minister.

I didn’t, for a variety of reasons, stick around long enough to have generational impact.

I didn’t see one generation of kids grow into young adults.

Sure, I did see young people mature, but not truely transition beyond a single life stage.

And, in this, I failed.

As a teacher, it’s expected that you’ll cycle through a number of teachers during high school.

In some regards, it can be a positive.

You get different voices.

You get different classroom management techniques.

You get different teaching styles.

You get different personalities.

You get exposed to different passions.

But in ministry, consistency trumps novelty.

Relationships trumps knowledge.

Trust trumps technique.

In this, I failed spectacularly.

Am I a more successful teacher or youth minister?

Teaching and youth ministry have a lot of similarities.

Both involve teenagers.

Both involve explaining things in a way which are, hopefully, both relevant and understandable.

Both have similar cycles throughout the year.

But, there is one major difference.

The education system involves testing.

In the classroom I have a clear avenue to tell if I’m a success.

In short, I can see if the student has passed a test.

Or improved in a skill.

Or has gained in confidence in answering questions.

But, ministry is more mysterious.

Growth can be far more internalised.

A student can be diligently completing spiritual disciplines at home and I may have little idea.

A student can be wrestling with a habitual sin, or a troublesome relationship, and I may not find out.

As a result, when I align myself as a third-year teacher compared to a third-year youth minister, the former feels more successful that the later.

Because I’ve got concrete data to support me.

Because I’m a decade-and-a-half more mature.

Ultimately, I have no real idea what my success rate was with my years of ministry.

But, I suspect that I have more hits in the classroom than the pulpit.

The importance of finding your patch in a church

Approximately two years ago my wife and I transitioned from the evening service to the morning service at our church.

As a consequence, we ended up finding new seats to sit in.

I know, it’s not the biggest problem in the world, but it is a fresh conundrum nonetheless.

Now, we’ve settled on a patch that we claim as our own. We sit with the rest of the younger-married-maybe-with-a-toddler-in-tow couples.

They are our people.

They are the ones we catch up with midweek.

They are the ones we meet with for lunch after the service.

They are the ones who are our church community.

But, this wouldn’t be the case if we sat in our old position when we worshipped in the evening.

Then we were on the opposite side of the sanctuary.

Now, our church isn’t so gargantuan that the opposite side of the church is an insurmountable obstacle, but if we were new to the church then out geographic location within the church could deeply effect our immediate sense of belonging.

For, if you sit amongst those in your relative life stage, then you’re more likely to feel included and will, obviously, meet more people like yourself.

To an extent, on your first week, it’s potentially nothing dumb luck we’re you sit. Maybe, if you’ve got an alert usher, then a newcomer may be funnelled towards a similar demographic.

But, by your second week - should they darken the church doors again - an intentional effort should be made to connect the newbies both relationally and positionally.

When people find their right patch within a church then a sense of belonging can be turbocharged.