The cost of having a parent-less ministry to kids on a Sunday morning

I wrote here that parents should be one of - if not THE - primary providers of spiritual input on a Sunday morning in regards to ministry to children.

The reason is simple, and I believe, biblical.  

I firmly believe that parents should be the ones who are responsible for the spiritual upbringing of the their kids.

But alas, this usually doesn’t happen on a Sunday morning.

Usually, the spiritual instruction for kids is provided by a primary leader - paid or unpaid - and some volunteers who are usually unrelated to any of the kids attending.

The reasons are numerous.

First of all, many parents are themselves being spiritually fed during the Sunday service.

Second, some parents feel unprepared or unable to be productively involved.

Finally, there is the desire to “give their kids space” and “not embarrass them” by having their parents be around.

Nonetheless, I think this exclusion comes at a cost.

For, the following things are lost when parents are not included in the ministry to youngsters (including their own) on a Sunday morning:

They neglect being an example of faith to their kids.

They miss sharing their faith with their kids and, hopefully, seeing their kids develop in their faith.

They are robbed of personally witnessing/experiencing the ministry to their children.

Now, I’m not advocating that a parent is helping every Sunday morning.

Obviously, the parents are themselves entitled to spiritual input on a Sunday, but having parents be totally excluded from the kid’s ministry is a cost which most parents shouldn’t be willing to pay.

No one has any idea of our internal wounds

Currently, I have a small scab on the inside of my nose.

I also bit the inside of my cheek while having lunch with someone earlier in the week.

Finally, I can still feel the remnants of an ulcer I had in my mouth from last week.

No one has any idea.

No one knows about my nose.

I’m hoping that my cover for my chewing ineptitude was effective.

I’m sure that no one noticed my ulcer.

Why would anyone?

There’s no external signs.

There’s no observable evidence.

I never told anyone.

But, I know.

I’m aware.

I know the way it effects me.

At times, the internal wounds have changed what I did.

But, by and large, they are just a problems I’ve minimised and done nothing about.

But, I’m not the only one.

My wife has also bumped/bit her lip over the last few days.

I only know because she mentioned it in passing.

Otherwise, I may not have immediately noticed.

In all this, I was reminded of the secrets we keep.

For, we all have hidden wounds.

We are all bothered by things unseen by others.

Unless these issues under the surface directly affect our actions, then we can effectively keep them covered over.

This is how a lot of our lives work.

Unseen to others, we all have our struggles.

We all carry our wounds.

And we all try to manage them as best as we can.

What direction are you circling the wagons?

At times, you’ll need to circle the wagons.

You’ll need to protect what’s important to you.

You’ll need to engage in active self-protection.

But, circling the wagons is only half the action you take.

The second half of the action is the direct which you then face.

Are you facing out or in?

Are your thoughts and focus directed inward or outward?

For, this dramatically changes the intention behind the circle.

Is it to defend from an outside threat?

Or is it to surround something within the circle?

The direction you face within the circle determines your purpose.

The direction you face within the circle determines your attitude.

Teaching isn’t meant to be a secret

I sometimes wonder if people (especially students and parents) think that teachers receive a sly sense of accomplishment when we grade an assessment which fails.

Do some people think that we are trying to deceive students?

Is our aim meant to be to prove that we can trick our students effectively?

If this was the case, then we should get a strange sense of warmth when we dish out a grade of a 9/20.

Except I can’t think of a single teacher who thinks like this.

I certainly don’t.

If anything, I’m the exact opposite.

My aim will be to NOT deceive my students.

I will explicitly tell them everything they need to know.

I will show them.

I will tell them.

I will tell them again.

I will tell… them… slowly… and… loudly.

I will remind them.

Why?

Because I don’t need everyone to know that I’m the smartest one in the room, hoarding a secret knowledge all to myself.

In essence, my job is to arm my students with the knowledge and tools to perform well.

My job is to prepare them to be able to express what they know in the most effective manner possible.

Hiding the tricks-of-the-trade serves me, and my students, no favours.

If anything, I should be peeling back the curtain as far as possible.

I should be taking my class through the precise way I will mark.

I should be taking my class through the exact way I determine a grade.

I should be showing my class what annoys a teacher in a written response (like rhetorical questions!).

I should be telling my class to treat me (and anyone else marking their essay) like an idiot (thus they should be clear in explaining what they are writing about).

I should be explaining to my class the methodology behind their lesson structures.

I should be telling my class how I will prepare them for their assessment tasks.

I should explain to them how to dissect an essay question.

I should pick apart marking criterias in front of my class.

Why the hell wouldn’t I?

Teaching isn’t meant to be a secret.

Would putting the point first make a difference?

Last Sunday I was building towards a point with the youngsters at church.

It wasn’t - I grant you - a life-changing point, but hopefully a somewhat coherent point nonetheless.

Then, as I was about to transition from my linking activity to the meat of my lesson a sky writer was spotted in the sky.

Understandably, this threw a significant spanner in the works.

That the sky writer loosely tied into my original game didn’t help.

Frankly, it hasn’t been the first time that a lesson of mine has been derailed.

Unexpected things happen.

Focus wains.

The best of plans unravel.

Everyone who has taught for a significant time has experienced this.

So, should lessons be flipped if you can’t ensure a set time of productivity?

Instead of ending with the main point, should you start with it?

Instead of unveiling your point it slowly, should you just reveal it up front?

While it may be harder to potentially plan the lesson, I think a subtle change of language would help bridge the main point with the lesson content.

Instead of saying/thinking “let me show/tell you how what we’ve done fits together”, now the lesson should be structured around the concept “now I’ve told you the main point, let me show/tell you why it makes sense.”

For occasions where your timeframe or focus may not be assured, putting your main point up front may provide you with a way to avoid leaving the lesson without feeling like you inadequately expressed your point.

Do I miss youth ministry?

I really, really, like my job.

But, I must admit that I miss my old gig.

Often.

I missed it as I delivered my suffering spiel to my Studies of Religion class last week.

I already know that I’m going to miss it as I conduct the training for the incoming Peer Support leaders for 2025.

Increasingly, as my current job intersects with the tasks and talents of youth ministry, it reminds of of what I left behind.

The privilege of speaking in public.

Intentionally pastorally caring for a group of people.

Sharing stories from my life.

Helping others to recognise how their past can be used productively in the present.h

Teaching others how to invest in and lead a small group.

Honestly, I do miss youth ministry.

Of course, it wasn’t all wonderful.

The grind of ministry was worse than teaching… there’s always another Sunday seven short days away.

Dealing closely with other people - imperfect people - could be a challenge.

But, being a part of a community which you help shape and guide is a blessing. 

A blessing which anyone in ministry should be prepared to admit that they miss.

For, no matter how God may be using someone now or how their ministry years may have shaped them for their current life-stage, looking back fondly upon your time in ministry is nothing to be ashamed of.

When you steer into the controversial issues because they are right in front of you

Sexuality.

Marriage.

Divorce.

Suffering.

Judgement.

Creation.

Women in leadership.

The existence of God.

I am very lucky that I get to talk about all of the above topics within my Studies of Religion subject.

In fact, a part of my advertising for the subject is that it will be one of the few places which will deliberately provide a place for some of the big topics to be threshed out.

Usually, the topics come up sporadically and organically across the course content (for example, when the Buddha is challenged about opening up the newly formed community of faith to women) and this reminds me of a somewhat controversial way to teach scripture in school (a way I was never bold enough to do!).

Read the Bible.

Just read the Bible.

Instead of coming in with a packaged program, you just started reading an epistle.

Within this, you would provide all the relevant historical and social details for the book to make sense, but ultimately it would be the scriptures which guided your lesson.

For, inevitably, you’ll preach both the gospel and life.

The gospel will be proclaimed because the message of Jesus will be clearly articulated.

And life because you’ll stumble across genuine issues within the letters.

You may even drift into places which you’d otherwise avoid - like homosexuality or gender roles.

Of course, there is a danger in this free-range methodology.

You’ll need to be very prepared for what may emerge and be prepared to have robust discussions, but this way of exposing young people to the bible (and letting them dictate where the lesson proceeds) may just let them see that the bible is still capable of intersecting with modern day life.

Who are the secret heroes of your profession?

Not all heroes wear capes.

But every profession has hidden heroes.

Every job has people who keep the wheels turning when things go awry.

Every vocation has people who, while totally unsung, volunteer to step into the gap.

Every occupation has people who will place themselves into the awkward positions left vacant.

In the two professions I’ve spent the most time in, two distinct heroes spring to mind - a locum and a casual.

In a ministry context, a locum is the minister who fills in while a congregation is in the process of finding a new permanent minister.

This person is a hero.

They step into a situation which can be very difficult.

Potentially, you’re stepping into the place of a beloved minister. In this case, the hero faces the burden of comparison or a deep sense of loss.

At worst, you’re stepping into the place of a displaced minister who has left in ignominy. In this case, the hero bears the weight of a congregation who has been hurt or disappointed.

Within the school context the unsung heroes are definitely casual teachers.

They step into an almost no-win situation.

Do you recall what you thought of casual teachers when you were a student?

I sure do, and trust me, they weren’t viewed positively.

They were a chance to goof off.

They weren’t really seen a “real teachers.”

But, these heroes fill a vital role within the education system, even if they can be judged differently by those they are trying to teach.

The reason they should be highly esteemed is that they allow the education machine to keep running.

Without them, the teacher guilt of taking a sick day would be increased astronomically. Who would want to leave their students, especially as they progress through the time-crunch of the senior years, without a teacher?

Of course, if a teacher keeps pressing on when they are sick or depleted, this will ultimately result in even more time required away from the classroom.

Casual teachers are the heroes in this situation.

They step in, usually unaware of what will face them within the classroom.

They will offer to get hammered by students who are more willing to test the boundaries, if not determined to be disobedient.

No doubt, every job will have heroes who are prepared to stick their head into the professional noose.

Unfortunately, because they aren’t usually seen for weeks or years on end, their value can be undersold by those who don’t recognise the vital gaps that they fill.

What you measure is revealing

It’s happened again.

America is using its unique measurements. Again.

No, I’m not talking to the metric system.

I’m referring to the Olympic Games medal table.

For, right now, across most of the globe, America is running fifth with six gold medals - one behind Australia - five in arrears of the leader China who has 11 golds.

But, in the Land of the Free and the Brave, The USA is on top.

Why?

Because, they count every medal awarded in their tally.

In this case, the Yanks are top of the table, five ahead of the hosts.

And they want to be seen as the top of the medal count.

While, inevitably, the US will come out on top by either measurement, I think it’s telling that they use a scale early in the Games to inflate their initial standing.

For, what you measure and the way you measure are very telling.

It reveals what you value.

It reveals how you want to be viewed.

And the same temptation exists within churches and schools.

You can use measurements to appear better than reality.

You can restrict what you measure to obscure what’s actually going on.

You can emphasise only the data you want.

Of course, we want to appear at our best and, if we find a metric to reinforce this than we will ensure that this measurement is publicised widely.

So, no matter if it’s a church, school, athletic body or political party, what you measure and the manner you measure it, can reveal a great deal about the ones doing the measuring.

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.