We're going through transition with the high schoolers. Dead center of that space between when the youth pastor announced that he was leaving for a different job at a different campus of the church and when he actually leaves.
Muddling our way through this place. Looking forward. Planning for the future. But, not too far forward. Because no one knows what, who, comes next.
The leaders have done this before, walked through these transitions, these fuzzy gray areas between one youth pastor and the next. Five during my student years. Two more not long after. And, then this long space.
By some miracle, these kids have never faced a transition that wasn't precipitated by a change in grade. Since sixth grade, they have known the same middle school pastor, the same high school pastor.
A sameness that has shaped their view of church, themselves, of God.
And, I'm not certain how to write about it, because every week, every day, is a little bit different. Rife with the uncertain endings that make me so hesitant to put things down in black and white. Moments that come like the uneven rise of the tide. Pulled and buffeted by forces that we cannot see.
Nature's reminder that our small bay is a part of a bigger ocean.
That knowing the details is an attribute of the past, not the future. That it would be just as foolish to attribute everything that these kids are walking through to this transition as it would be to give it no credit for what is going on in their lives. That this is little more than a heartbeat in the scope of eternity.
So, I'll lay out the moments as they pass, memorial stones on the beach to mark where we've been, where we're going.
The first few awkward days where some people knew, but not everyone, not yet. And, we spent cluster fumbling through half conversations and knowing looks with student leadership girls who had had their rug yanked out from under them. While the rest of the group continued on as normal.
Holding those ones back at the end, and having a quiet, shell shocked conversation.
Excited for the youth pastor who is moving on to something that he loves. Sorting through what will change (as little as possible for now) and what will stay the same. Visibly relaxing at the news that a woman who they love and trust will be at the head of the transition.
Waiting. Sitting on this silent knowing.
The Sunday where he tells the rest of the kids. The student leaders tense all evening, waiting for this blank space in the schedule, carved out but unnamed.
A Haiti kid settling next to me on the floor. Another conversation that is half formed words and loaded glances. That checking in that makes things better, easier to face when you are not alone. Nerves that are 30% the youth pastor and 70% the rest of us. The moment where it ceases to be a secret.
A clump of kids in the front of the room. A clump of leaders talking it through in the back. Always coming around to that all important question, "How are the kids doing with it?"
The kids are fine. The kids are a mess. Every kid is different in every moment. Heedless of the change at one breath. Flipping out at the next. Grieving long before they have figured out what it is that they are grieving. Long before they have begun to put words or thoughts to these feelings roiling up inside them.
Determined to stick it out. Wanting to run from all of it. Hurting. Uncertain. Moving on with the resilience that is humanity.
Normality for a week or two. Unnamed undercurrents as processing continues.
Leaders' meeting. Strategy. Questions.
By some miracle, these kids have never faced a transition that wasn't precipitated by a change in grade. Since sixth grade, they have known the same middle school pastor, the same high school pastor.
A sameness that has shaped their view of church, themselves, of God.
And, I'm not certain how to write about it, because every week, every day, is a little bit different. Rife with the uncertain endings that make me so hesitant to put things down in black and white. Moments that come like the uneven rise of the tide. Pulled and buffeted by forces that we cannot see.
Nature's reminder that our small bay is a part of a bigger ocean.
That knowing the details is an attribute of the past, not the future. That it would be just as foolish to attribute everything that these kids are walking through to this transition as it would be to give it no credit for what is going on in their lives. That this is little more than a heartbeat in the scope of eternity.
So, I'll lay out the moments as they pass, memorial stones on the beach to mark where we've been, where we're going.
The first few awkward days where some people knew, but not everyone, not yet. And, we spent cluster fumbling through half conversations and knowing looks with student leadership girls who had had their rug yanked out from under them. While the rest of the group continued on as normal.
Holding those ones back at the end, and having a quiet, shell shocked conversation.
Excited for the youth pastor who is moving on to something that he loves. Sorting through what will change (as little as possible for now) and what will stay the same. Visibly relaxing at the news that a woman who they love and trust will be at the head of the transition.
Waiting. Sitting on this silent knowing.
The Sunday where he tells the rest of the kids. The student leaders tense all evening, waiting for this blank space in the schedule, carved out but unnamed.
A Haiti kid settling next to me on the floor. Another conversation that is half formed words and loaded glances. That checking in that makes things better, easier to face when you are not alone. Nerves that are 30% the youth pastor and 70% the rest of us. The moment where it ceases to be a secret.
A clump of kids in the front of the room. A clump of leaders talking it through in the back. Always coming around to that all important question, "How are the kids doing with it?"
The kids are fine. The kids are a mess. Every kid is different in every moment. Heedless of the change at one breath. Flipping out at the next. Grieving long before they have figured out what it is that they are grieving. Long before they have begun to put words or thoughts to these feelings roiling up inside them.
Determined to stick it out. Wanting to run from all of it. Hurting. Uncertain. Moving on with the resilience that is humanity.
Normality for a week or two. Unnamed undercurrents as processing continues.
Leaders' meeting. Strategy. Questions.
Cluster with beautiful girls who watched this video a few weeks ago and now arm themselves with paper and markers to dissect a verse. Delve into the tenses and the translations of Greek words. Cross references. Personal application. The agency of Divine sacrifice.
We're going through a "Fearless" series as a church. Exploring the concept of peace as a cluster. A God who will be glorified in all things.
Trust. Community. Honesty. Peace.
Memorial stones on the shore, even when the unknown comes in like the tide.
We're going through a "Fearless" series as a church. Exploring the concept of peace as a cluster. A God who will be glorified in all things.
Trust. Community. Honesty. Peace.
Memorial stones on the shore, even when the unknown comes in like the tide.
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