thoughts on high schoolers and jesus.

An update:

This post was a hard one to write. It's hard to admit that your church has a high number of divorced families, and that the youth group you grew up in was less than perfect.


But it's the truth.

That's the beauty of the church, isn't it? That we're all so very imperfect, but that we have grace to cover us?

I stepped on some toes with this particular post, and I'm sorry for that. What I write on this blog is my own personal opinion, and when it comes to matters that are spiritual in nature, I think our first impulse is to get defensive. I'm guilty too.

I stand by this post, but with one caveat: I don't know the state of the heart. These kids could be growing by leaps and bounds. Each class may be dragging them deeper and deeper in love with the Savior. We don't know, and we may never know.

The same is true of their parents.

And the same is true of the people I grew up with.

I honestly don't know who still goes to church, who reads their Bible every day, who prays every day, who is in love with Jesus. The "statistic" I gave in this post is true: To my knowledge, only four or five people of the 11 or 12 I graduated with still attend church. But I don't know what they do on their own time. I don't know the state of their spiritual walk, just like they probably don't know the state of mine.

The point of that blog post was to show that going to church isn't where your spiritual walk ends; it's where it begins.

I want these kids to go deeper, just like I want to always be going deeper.
I hope that explains things a little.

My intention is never to hurt people with the words I place here. I hope that much is evident.

I post here what is on my heart, and what has been on my heart lately has been those kids.

Those 15 faces we see each Wednesday, the faces we're trying to point to the Savior.

That's the point of this post. To ask for help in how to reach these kids, to get feedback on whether or not I'm the only one who feels this way.

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Original post:

For a while there, pre-marriage, Jordan and I were teaching the “little ones” (K-5th graders) at our church. After a few months, we tackled the middle schoolers. It was a daunting task, but you know what? Those kids love us now, and we love them.

So, naturally, it was time to move on.

Now, every Wednesday night, we teach the high schoolers, and I’ve got to tell you: It is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.

Keep in mind, I’m a Sunday-school-teaching pro. When I was a high school student myself (not so many moons ago), I often co-taught Bible classes with another woman at my church. I’ve been helping my mom since I don’t know when. I taught the middle school girls for two years. At Faulkner, I took a “Teaching the Bible to Children” class (yes, really). I am completely qualified.

But these high schoolers are a whole different ball game.

Out of the 15 teenagers we have in class on a regular basis, eight come from broken homes.

Of the seven whose parents are together, one has a father who doesn’t come to church.

One has a father with cancer.

And those are just the problems we know about.

There are other things that have slowly come out into the open.

Add these deep-seeded issues to a teen’s typical hang-ups (peer pressure, attitude problems, dating drama), and you have our Wednesday night class in a nutshell.

“Teaching the Bible to Children” didn’t prepare me for this.

The other thing it didn’t prepare me for was the hardened hearts.

In our middle school class, the statistics were not much different. Of the regulars, nine had “together” parents; four had parents who were divorced and remarried. Of the “together” parents, three children had fathers who don’t attend church and who travel extensively outside the home.

But their hearts were different. Malleable, eager to learn.

Maybe it’s the age difference.

The middle schoolers had their issues. But after one “come to Jesus” meeting, their behavior improved. They respected us. They cared about what we were saying. They valued the lessons we were teaching.

With these high schoolers, we often get blank stares (even after a couple of “come to Jesus” moments).

They don’t want to sing. Don’t want to discuss. Don’t want to write. Don’t want to use their Bibles (most of them don’t bring one). Don’t want to pray.

Keep in mind that despite their broken homes, most of these kids come from upper-middle class backgrounds, and the ones from families who are together sadly aren’t much better off than the ones from single-parent homes.

Please don’t misunderstand: Jordan and I knew that this class would be a challenge.

Middle schoolers and high schoolers are, by their very nature, a different breed. Middle schoolers are willing to be a little more goofy, a little more themselves.

High schoolers, not so much.

The girls look to each other for acceptance and permission.

The guys look to the “cool kid” and base their own answers and behavior on him.

They all look to their parents, despite their imperfections. (I don’t even think some parents know the massive influence they have on their own children.)

I think what’s saddest of all, though, is that for so long, these kids have happily accepted mediocre.

Mediocre Bible class teachers, mediocre parents, mediocre lifestyles.

They don’t know what excellent looks like.

They don’t know what a good Bible class is.

They don’t know what a good home is.

They don’t know what a good marriage is.

They don’t know what a good dating relationship is.

Most of all, they don’t know what a good relationship with Jesus is.

And we’re struggling to make them want it.

After all, how do you convince someone to want something they’ve never seen?

To want something they’ve never experienced?

To want something they’ve never been offered?

Of those 15 teens, I’d guess about 14 are baptized. The majority have been going to church their entire lives.

I could count on one hand the number of them who have fallen in love with Jesus.

Sometimes I wonder if I’m being too hard on them. After all, they're teenagers, and the teens in my own youth group weren’t much better. In fact, in some ways, the kids I grew up with were worse.

But that’s the problem.

That’s why I want better.

Because I look at the kids I graduated from youth group with, and you know what I see?

Maybe four who still go to church. Of those four, I don’t even know who’s actually living for Christ, who loves the Father with all their heart, soul, and mind. Because I’m convinced that being a Christ-follower means more than a Sunday morning service.

I want better for this group.

I want excellent.

I want more than filling in pews, two-second prayers before meals, and mouthing the words to songs they don’t understand.

I want relationship.

Is that too much? Am I asking too much, expecting too much?

Because, I admit. I’m no youth minister.

Maybe silly games and fun retreats are what will make these kids fall in love with their Savior.

But what if they don’t?

What if instead, they grow up and become alcoholics? What if they go to prison or struggle with depression or find solace in sexual relationships instead of in God’s grace?

Or, perhaps even worse, what if they grow up and become like their parents?

Broken on the inside, painted smiles on the outside.

Sitting in the same pew.

Singing the same songs.

Quoting the same Scripture.

Going through the same motions.

All without ever once encountering the life-changing love of Christ.

I just can’t let that happen.

So even though Wednesday nights are harder than we thought, Jordan and I are determined.

We want to give them excellent.

To show them what they could be, what we all can be.

We want to challenge them to do more, to be more, to love more, to expect more out of Christianity than what they’ve been taught.

We want them to become believers who ask questions, who search Scriptures, who seek God’s face.

We want more.

So we’re going to keep trusting and keep teaching.

Because you just never know what God might do.