One of my favorite passages in the Bible is this strange and wonderful word picture found in
It’s a stunning image of a loving God, pictured here as a mother eagle teaching her eaglets to fly.
I was thinking of this passage the other day, during my eighth grade guys small group. I had an inside-the-nest viewpoint, and the sight is both beautiful and terrifying.
When it’s time for her babies to learn to fly, the mother eagle does this unsettling thing: She reaches into the nest with her talons, right through the soft down from her own belly she originally used to line the nest like a comforter, and pulls sticks up. Suddenly, the cozy nest is transformed from feather bed to an eaglet-butt-poking obstacle course. If they’re ever going to learn to fly, they have to tire of the nest.
I see the startled eyes of those eaglets in the eyes of my eighth grade guys right now. It’s spring, the end of their time in middle school. Three of the five of them are now taller than I am. Really, they’re young men. Every week they say things such as, “I am so done with middle school,” and, “I can’t wait to get to high school.” When they’re being sensitive (ha!) they might add, “not that I want to leave our group, Marko.”
They really are ready to move on and have their faith challenged in our church’s high school ministry in a way they probably aren’t being challenged in our middle school ministry. They’re ready to think in new ways, to own their faith on a deeper level, to become apprentice adults.
In the midst of verbalizing their readiness and impatience, they have a look in their eyes that can only be described as terror. They want to fly, but the unknown of high school is risky. They want more independence, but the known sure does feel comfortable at times.
I’m not God, and I don’t actually get to grow their faith. I’m not capable of that. However, I do get the honor of being ground crew on the edge of the eagles’ nest, holding this fragile and hopeful space of readiness combined with hesitancy. I get to encourage them that they’re ready, answer their questions about the transition, cheer them on and offer a present reference point should they choose to look back.
In a couple months, Andrew, T.J., Bryson, Mark and Zach will be gone; and my role in their lives will change dramatically. Also true: A new group of sixth grade munchkins will present another amazing cycle of this critical and life-giving ministry.
Fly, dudes! (Now where are those imcoming sixth grade rugrats?)
