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.