What if we refused this paradigm?
I’ve been choosing and then practicing the rejection of this paradigm. I’m not often at a loss for words, but I can think of a few moments through the years when I was. The first week of a summer-long camp job was one of those times. In the Bible study I led, I was asked if drinking was a sin. In that same week, I was asked about interracial dating, masturbation and incest. The questions came hard and fast, and I didn’t have the words. I sought out the answers, but that week I frequently had to respond, “I don’t know.” I was fortunate enough to have a camp director, staff and coordinator to ask for guidance. I was smart enough to know I needed their help. It was providential that I was forced by circumstance to do good ministry. I sat with teens, listened, prayed and sought wisdom from the Holy Spirit and community about how to proceed. Indeed, I was lucky. Today, I meet many young leaders who are so focused on being certain others know they know the right things to believe that they miss doing actual ministry.
The following three moments from this past summer help shed light on what I mean by times when it was tempting to keep talking instead of being pastorally present. There was a time when each situation would have left me at a loss for meaningful words, and I would have overcompensated by just saying something (perhaps not the most helpful thing). I would have talked too much out of my own anxiety and need for them to know something. I grew up repeatedly hearing, “You are the only Jesus some people ever meet,” and, “You are the only Bible some people ever read.” This messed me up as I had right motives but bad methodology. I was so anxious for students to know Jesus and (by default) me that I neglected to know them. I now talk a lot less, choosing instead to listen.
Listening for Shame
In the final moments of the final day of camp where I was the camp pastor, a 15-year-old female pulled me aside to talk. With tears flowing, she told me the story of her spring. She had sex for the first time and became pregnant. Embarrassed, scared and wanting to do what was right, she confessed to her mother all that had happened. She said her mother was angry, threatened to disown her, but insisted she would do what was necessary to avoid shame on the family. She also told of the day her mother took her for a check up. She meekly tried to talk to the doctor and he let her know this matter had been decided by her mother, that she was too young to have a say, and everything would be alright. What she thought was to be the first of many visits turned out to be the day she had an abortion. She shared with me the nightmares she now has. She is riddled with guilt at not protecting her unborn child. She worries she never will become a mom in the future. Most of all, she wonders if someone like her could be saved and if her unborn child was saved.
Listening for Fear
I went to lunch one day with a young man I have known for several years. In very hushed tones as he looked all around, he confided that he just found out he was undocumented. His parents came to the United States before he was born. When his mother became pregnant, they decided to stay. He was born in America, speaks only English, just graduated from high school, and is now 18. He is wondering if he should turn himself in, not knowing whether it would mean deportation for his entire family. He, too, wonders if he can be saved if he is living a lie. He longs for one year ago when he had no idea and was so excited about faith and all he anticipated for his future!
Listening for Guilt
A young woman witnessed the slow death of her mother this past spring due to a degenerative disease. For the past two years, her mother was bedridden in their living room turned in-home hospice. She barely remembers an able-bodied mom and has only vague recollections of the vibrant woman her family describes. She spoke of the trepidation she faced daily, wondering whether her mother still would be alive when she got home from school. With a numbness that can be recognized only in grief, she shared her current fear: that someone, anyone, would discover she is secretly happy her mother died—not happy as in throwing-a-party happy but happy the suffering has ended, that the stench of constant illness no longer permeates the house, that the anxiety has been alleviated. Mostly, though, she wonders what God must think of her being happy at the death of her mother. She spoke of grieving her actual mother years earlier and then living with the shell of her mother for years. I was a visiting camp pastor for this young woman. I most likely will not see her again. This is a natural time for a young person to confess deep and difficult things. It provides a cathartic moment without accountability. She led her conversation with, “I’m happy my mom died. Do you hate me now?” By the end of our conversation it was apparent she was not asking if I hated her; she was asking if God hated her.
Being a Minister, Not a Lecturer
While seemingly unrelated, each of these conversations has huge overlapping elements. These teens are experiencing really difficult situations. Each conversation circled around concepts of the atonement, of reconciliation with God and others. How we understand the atonement determines how we minister. It should and does impact our interactions and teachings.
Better ministry takes place when we are consumed with listening. This leads to a pastoral presence that speaks louder than words. It moves doctrinal convictions into action, demanding we know and believe our theology so much that we don’t have to convince others of it. Rather, we live it, allowing our orthodoxy to shine through our orthopraxy. Take, for example, the young woman whose mother died. She is so conflicted, feeling guilty and shameful. She already assumes that if people knew the truth, they would be disgusted by her and hate her. By not running away, by sitting and holding her hand, giving her a hug, asking questions about her mom, but not chastising or lecturing her, I was present with her, creating space for the Holy Spirit to be at work. I didn’t need to explain the nuances of atonement in that moment. That only would have served to show what I know. What she needed was for someone to stay with her and not run away when she had laid bare all that was in her heart.
Atonement—Removing Anxiety and Shame
Each young person was checking to see how I would respond, not because they ultimately cared if I could love and accept them but because of who and what I as a minister represented. If I could be present with them, not shame them or chastise them, then maybe others could, too. If I could talk of real consequences and continue to sit with them and see them as human, as worthy of time and attention, then maybe they could hold on to the hope that God would, too.
So what if we change the question of atonement? What if we weren’t consumed with the debt we couldn’t pay? Or with the moral example we never can seem to achieve? Or the victory that doesn’t seem to be a victory in the face of horrific life event after life event? Norman Krause turns the question of the atonement on its side. He asks, “Can forgiveness remove the shame of anxiety and bring reconciliation?” That kind of forgiveness is for the person and from the person. It addresses the complexity of sin in our world. So many of the ways we have been taught to consider atonement is a linear, zero-sum equation. One person did wrong; he or she must repent, and then things may be right. This is rarely the case. In each scenario above, the struggle is anything but linear. Is there room for forgiveness when real life complexities keep our teens from believing they can be in relationship with God?
I argue yes, there is room.
Reconciliation is available. Transformation can be a reality. As youth workers, we get to invite teens, their families and other leaders into sacred spaces as we seek to imitate Christ. Many people understand God based on their experience of His people. An understanding of the atonement is possible not because we get it right so often. The atonement is possible because forgiveness has taken place. An understanding of the atonement is possible because the Holy Spirit has been and is active in the lives of all of us. What we believe about the atonement is shown by how we live it—how we live it in the messy, complex moments of ministry is through a pastoral presence that invites others into right relationship with God.
We teach theology through the ways we respond. For each conversation I had, the young person wondered how I would respond. What they really needed to know was how God would respond. This is the same pattern every youth worker experiences again and again. Choose to have your first response be one of pastoral presence. Consider how you might respond to remove shame and anxiety, encouraging others in a relationship of reconciliation. Finally, may your responses communicate the love and acceptance of God before you say the first word.
Amy Jacober serves on the national board for Young Life’s Capernaum ministry and blogs at TheologicalCurves.com. She is part of the Sonoran Theological Group, offering affordable training in ministry. When not doing ministerial things, you can find her with her three children, oversized dog or having a house full of people playing board games.
