Sunday evening, high school youth group, breakouts:
"Which is easier for you," we read through the question for the third time, a sophomore's phone flying across the circle to be caught and squinted at by a second pair of eyes, "the Church gathered or the Church scattered?"
"Which is easier for you," we read through the question for the third time, a sophomore's phone flying across the circle to be caught and squinted at by a second pair of eyes, "the Church gathered or the Church scattered?"
"The Church gathered."
They are certain about their answer to this one, a silent exclamation point behind the words, fourteen voices answering in unpracticed unison. We're sitting out on a rarely used balcony off of the main building, circled in tight and not quite hot on one of the coolest days of the summer; a dead bird just there, behind some of the kids, busy fingers lifting and dropping the playground rubber tiles that make up the floor, sending up tiny clouds of gritty desert dust. And, it's a gathering sort of a Sunday.
Gathered in hallways before church ever starts, for quick hugs and simple conversation as we go on our way. New 6th graders, still tiny enough to fit head and shoulders beneath my arm pit, slip off to work in the nursery and early childhood rooms, their shirts emblazoned with the logo from the middle school ministry trip, "Siente el Fuego."
They've spent the latter part of this week just a few minutes from here, serving at the mission and the crisis nursery, working hard, being goofy, and building up the stories that they're holding behind their eyes, saving for youth group.
7th graders pop in and out for the same quick greetings, one of them stepping away from her work station in the children's hallway, "I just needed a hug." She doesn't do the chaos of middle school ministry, Ravenclaw to the core of her long and lanky self, but shruggingly tells me that she might come back in high school, when things are a little calmer.
"Guess where I was this week that you were not."
It's part accusation and part question from a pair of 8th grade girls, who, like many of the kids, keep a very short list of acceptable reasons for Jessica not to be at a church event. As far as I can tell, it reads:
1) Actively being with another group of older or younger kids
2) There are no other options
Some sort of serious illness might also get me a pass, but house sitting and childcare are met with raised eyebrows that are quickly smoothed away by the dozens of stories dancing across their faces. They haven't been back long enough to piece it altogether yet, but I can tell that they are working on it, caught up in the familiar ebb and flow of processing, grateful for a morning spent here, where there are once again teammates waiting at their elbow every time that they turn around.
Together.
It's a gathering sort of day. Where the most important question is, "Are you going to be at Ignite/Intersect/why-do-all-of-our-youth-group-names-still-sound-like-the-2000's?" as if we're stretching out the moments and curling in tighter to this space just by thinking about it, planning for it. As if we need each other. Because, duh, of course we do.
Need to sit on steps after church to talk about steel drum trips and birthdays, walking sticks and hermit crabs. Need to call by last names just to prove that we know them. Need to not be in a hurry as we spend this precious time.
Nasty tasting lollipops with freshmen who are still young enough to admit to being entertained by things that are bacon or pizza or popcorn flavored when they really, most definitely should not be. One of the boys glancing at me for confirmation before he tries it, as if my mere presence is promise that we are closer to the "slightly nasty" side of the scale than to "run and spit this out the second it hits your tongue."
Sophomore and junior boys with pockets full of T**tsie Rolls tossing snack sized bags of chips at each other and grinning ear to ear like oversized five-year-olds when one of the junior girls scolds them into picking up their mess - smiling while she does it. Because, this is just where we are tonight. Antics driven. Filled with pent up energy. Needing to be seen.
It's one of those evenings where we might be able to short cut everything by simply piling them into a group hug and keeping them there for a few moments. But, group hugs are right up there with pedicures on Jessica's list of unconformable things that ought to be avoided, so it's probably for the best that we stick to doing things the normal way around.
Music. Lesson. Breakout groups.
And, we've ended up here, on the balcony, led by a sweet goofball of a blond, who, over the last several weeks, has proudly declared to us that his favorite Disney character is Elsa, and if he could only eat one desert for the rest of his life, it would be jello. But, he would also prefer to sit outside on the floor than inside on chairs, so, I'm down.
Aladdin is fan favorite amongst the rest of thecrew squad (oh my goodness, they love this word), and we take a moment to establish that Eeyore is, in fact, a donkey and not a hippopotamus, for the same kid who once learned how to spell "whore" in elementary Sunday school.
And, that's a little bit how our time goes. A moment of focus for each question, then random side conversations with fourteen and fifteen-year-olds who are graciously willing to be reigned back in.
Grace.
Grace for the mixed up, muddled up, crazies of this Gathering time.
For little ones who compact further and further into their own skin as we move through the night in this unfamiliar room, not cowering, not hunching, but somehow becoming smaller, edging towards invisible.
Grace that is a circle on the balcony. As if we've marked out a space. Here, it's okay. Here, no one will blink an eye when you settle in as close to Jessica, to each other, as it takes to feel anchored in this sea of newness. When you discover that you can breathe again, unfurl to fill up the whole space that your body was meant to occupy. No one will care when you discover that the floor tiles can be lifted and dropped, lifted and dropped, lifted and dropped again. And, when you toss a friend's shoe right off the balcony, two of the sophomore girls will volunteer to get it for you, even before one of the boys jumps easily onto the roof and brings it back like it is the most natural thing in the world.
Because, this is what it means to gather.
To come into a space where we can learn and grow, where we can bring our fears and trust that others will be gentler with them than we would be ourselves. Where our actions are heard just as loudly as our words, and, we don't have to have our stuff together, so long as we show up.
It's not perfect. Honest things never are.
They'll scatter for the rest of the week. Show back up again on Sunday for baptisms. Do a thousand other things in between. But, today was a day for gathering.
They've spent the latter part of this week just a few minutes from here, serving at the mission and the crisis nursery, working hard, being goofy, and building up the stories that they're holding behind their eyes, saving for youth group.
7th graders pop in and out for the same quick greetings, one of them stepping away from her work station in the children's hallway, "I just needed a hug." She doesn't do the chaos of middle school ministry, Ravenclaw to the core of her long and lanky self, but shruggingly tells me that she might come back in high school, when things are a little calmer.
"Guess where I was this week that you were not."
It's part accusation and part question from a pair of 8th grade girls, who, like many of the kids, keep a very short list of acceptable reasons for Jessica not to be at a church event. As far as I can tell, it reads:
1) Actively being with another group of older or younger kids
2) There are no other options
Some sort of serious illness might also get me a pass, but house sitting and childcare are met with raised eyebrows that are quickly smoothed away by the dozens of stories dancing across their faces. They haven't been back long enough to piece it altogether yet, but I can tell that they are working on it, caught up in the familiar ebb and flow of processing, grateful for a morning spent here, where there are once again teammates waiting at their elbow every time that they turn around.
Together.
It's a gathering sort of day. Where the most important question is, "Are you going to be at Ignite/Intersect/why-do-all-of-our-youth-group-names-still-sound-like-the-2000's?" as if we're stretching out the moments and curling in tighter to this space just by thinking about it, planning for it. As if we need each other. Because, duh, of course we do.
Need to sit on steps after church to talk about steel drum trips and birthdays, walking sticks and hermit crabs. Need to call by last names just to prove that we know them. Need to not be in a hurry as we spend this precious time.
Nasty tasting lollipops with freshmen who are still young enough to admit to being entertained by things that are bacon or pizza or popcorn flavored when they really, most definitely should not be. One of the boys glancing at me for confirmation before he tries it, as if my mere presence is promise that we are closer to the "slightly nasty" side of the scale than to "run and spit this out the second it hits your tongue."
Sophomore and junior boys with pockets full of T**tsie Rolls tossing snack sized bags of chips at each other and grinning ear to ear like oversized five-year-olds when one of the junior girls scolds them into picking up their mess - smiling while she does it. Because, this is just where we are tonight. Antics driven. Filled with pent up energy. Needing to be seen.
It's one of those evenings where we might be able to short cut everything by simply piling them into a group hug and keeping them there for a few moments. But, group hugs are right up there with pedicures on Jessica's list of unconformable things that ought to be avoided, so it's probably for the best that we stick to doing things the normal way around.
Music. Lesson. Breakout groups.
And, we've ended up here, on the balcony, led by a sweet goofball of a blond, who, over the last several weeks, has proudly declared to us that his favorite Disney character is Elsa, and if he could only eat one desert for the rest of his life, it would be jello. But, he would also prefer to sit outside on the floor than inside on chairs, so, I'm down.
Aladdin is fan favorite amongst the rest of the
And, that's a little bit how our time goes. A moment of focus for each question, then random side conversations with fourteen and fifteen-year-olds who are graciously willing to be reigned back in.
Grace.
Grace for the mixed up, muddled up, crazies of this Gathering time.
For little ones who compact further and further into their own skin as we move through the night in this unfamiliar room, not cowering, not hunching, but somehow becoming smaller, edging towards invisible.
Grace that is a circle on the balcony. As if we've marked out a space. Here, it's okay. Here, no one will blink an eye when you settle in as close to Jessica, to each other, as it takes to feel anchored in this sea of newness. When you discover that you can breathe again, unfurl to fill up the whole space that your body was meant to occupy. No one will care when you discover that the floor tiles can be lifted and dropped, lifted and dropped, lifted and dropped again. And, when you toss a friend's shoe right off the balcony, two of the sophomore girls will volunteer to get it for you, even before one of the boys jumps easily onto the roof and brings it back like it is the most natural thing in the world.
Because, this is what it means to gather.
To come into a space where we can learn and grow, where we can bring our fears and trust that others will be gentler with them than we would be ourselves. Where our actions are heard just as loudly as our words, and, we don't have to have our stuff together, so long as we show up.
It's not perfect. Honest things never are.
They'll scatter for the rest of the week. Show back up again on Sunday for baptisms. Do a thousand other things in between. But, today was a day for gathering.
