It’s 8:30 on a Saturday morning in October. We’ve eaten our doughnuts in the church kitchen and are already on the road. Two vans with chaperones and teenagers are on their way to the Abbey of Gethsemani, where Thomas Merton lived his life as a Cistercian monk. We’re going to spend time in silence and prayer in the same church where he prayed seven times a day and walk the woods where he walked. More importantly, we’ll be spending time among monks who pray and walk and live there now.
I don’t lead a particularly holy youth group. They aren’t necessarily above average or more exceptional than any other kids. They’re regular teenagers. In fact, by 8:40 a.m., everyone in my van is fast asleep. I smile with joy at their slumber. Today is a kind of Sabbath, after all.
From the outside, maybe it seems weird that this is our fall outing. It just makes sense to us, though. We pray the Vesper service from the Book of Common Prayer together every week, and we cut Sunday School short so we can make it back to the sanctuary in time to receive Communion with the rest of the church. We talk a lot about grace and spend time actively trying to receive God in the midst of the everyday and the ordinary. We’re a contemplative youth group. This didn’t happen overnight, and we haven’t arrived. We aren’t more Christian than any other group, and we’re certainly not perfect. Yet we’ve found ourselves at home floating happily along an ancient stream of the faith.
How did we get here?
Practically speaking, it’s required a pretty significant shift in the way I do my job. Most of us know the impact the one-on-one relational paradigm of youth ministry has had, and I love lunches, coffees, plays and getting to know individual kids on their own terms. It’s a vital part of youth ministry. However, it’s not all of youth ministry, and I’ve made a conscious effort to prioritize communal formation in the life of this little group. In fact, there are multiple school plays I had to miss to make this trip happen. That doesn’t mean I’m failing as a youth pastor; it just means I’m reiterating the culture of our whole church within the microcosm of our youth ministry. The children’s pastor and I are very keen for our respective ministries to be reflective of the whole parish so that, for instance, worship in the sanctuary isn’t some foreign thing for adults, but simply worship.
Of course, we minister in ways that are age appropriate, but never in ways that alienate kids from the tradition of the church. How that looks on the ground is generally something like an interactive craft and the Nicene Creed (little kids), or the Book of Common Prayer followed up by a ridiculous party game (teenagers). Which brings me to what may be the crux of contemplative youth ministry: First, it’s not just that teenagers can handle ancient spiritual disciplines—they’re hungry for them. Second, contemplative isn’t a code word for boring. Eating and playing together are no less contemplative than praying together and serving the poor, and we do all of them with regularity. If anything, the contemplative life is more full, more active and more exciting because rather than alienating ourselves as a community to seek the Unknowable in quiet seclusion, it calls us to taste and see the grace of God all around us in each and every moment.
Contemplative Youth Group Praxis
We stop at the last gas station before the monastery to go to the bathroom and pick up the drinks I forgot to bring. Before they pile back into the vans, I gather them in a circle to give them a few last-minute pointers: “Turn your phones off. It’s gonna be really quiet.” They listen quietly, some nodding, some rolling eyes, and we’re off.
I was incredibly lucky to inherit this group the way I did. Their former youth pastor did an incredible job of teaching them how to listen to one another and engage in fruitful dialogue. They know how to think things through for themselves and that youth group is a safe place for exploring and questioning. This seems rudimentary—and it is—but it doesn’t make it any less valuable to the contemplative life whether you’re 14 or 80. When you’re safe in a community, you’re freer to trust the work of the Spirit in practices that may seem new or weird.
As we round the bend and catch our first glimpse of the Abbey, I’m absolutely taken by the beauty. It’s the last weekend of October and the hills are shouting hues of orange, red and yellow.
The seasons themselves testify to the steadfast love of the Creator, and this is as true in the church calendar as it is in nature. Our denomination follows the Lectionary and the liturgical calendar, and their rhythms have an incredibly centering effect. The seasons of the church year are fertile ground for contemplative practice to spring from as they call us again and again to notice the primacy of God’s loving action in time and space. It’s also worth noting this ancient way of living the faith connects us with Christians all around the world and throughout history. It’s a beautiful gesture toward Jesus’ prayer for our unity (
We park with five minutes to spare before Sext, the fourth of the seven hours of monastic prayer. I say the word Sext a couple of times and tell them to get the giggles over with. Then we head over to the Abbey church and climb the stairs to the balcony, where we spend 20 minutes praying with the monks. It feels strangely comfortable, and they don’t look confused or weirded out by what they’re experiencing.
This is probably a good time to give you a sketch of how our Wednesday evenings look. We show up at 6:30 and head straight into our parish chapel. After I unload a full bag of “Shhhh!” on everyone, we chant the Kyrie together and then kneel to begin the Vesper service from the Book of Common Prayer. It takes 15 or 20 minutes to pray through, at which point we sit silently for a few seconds before bookending things with another round of the Kyrie. Then we head to the youth room for goofy games and general mayhem until it’s time to go home. That’s it—our Wednesday night programming in a nutshell. Trust me, I doubt the effectiveness of this approach all the time, but what can I say…it seems to work.
After praying with the monks, we take a hike through what I affectionately call “Merton’s Woods” to see the famous Gethsemani statues. We dodge a skunk on the way, spend time in silence around the statues, and make it back to the Abbey to pray the next service before heading home. Due to a straight-up lie from Google Maps, we have to wing it regarding our dinner spot and end up at a pizza place with a million flat screens. Someone points out the juxtaposition between the monastery and loud televisions, so I laugh and tell them it’s actually a perfect way to end the day, that God is just as present in a loud restaurant as He is in a monastery.
Overall, the day at the monastery was reflective of our identity as a youth group—ancient and orthodox worship coupled with genuine fun. Who knows? Maybe the two overlap once in a while. What’s important to point out, I think, is the balance we try to strike—our next event is a Sherlock-themed dinner mystery party. Sabbath is terribly important to us, and we try to practice it often, from games after Vespers to the premier of Catching Fire. (Oh, yes, we were there) Almost every teenager I know lives under the constant pressure to move and do and achieve, the same as most of the adults I know. So it makes sense that church be a place where, even if only for an hour, you’re reminded that the One who made you delights in you just as you are and that it’s OK to play and delight in one another’s company.
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Maybe this all sounds ridiculous and that’s OK; if not, let me say contemplative youth ministry begins with you. I’m not saying you have to master lectio divina (not the point anyway) or become a seasoned meditator before you start experimenting with the ancient spiritual disciplines of the church. I’m just saying it makes sense for anyone in a pastoral role to practice the sort of openness to God that contemplative ministry entails.
So, start with a prayer rule—the Book of Common Prayer is an excellent resource and there are plenty of apps for it—but if that’s too heavy for now, no worries. Maybe say the Lord’s Prayer every day at the same time for a week and see what happens.
It’s also great to hear from the great contemplatives of the Church. For contemporary voices, I’m partial to Thomas Merton, Rowan Williams and Herbert McCabe. Going back farther, though, the list is nearly endless: St. Augustine, St. Benedict, St. Gregory of Nazianzus, St. Teresa of Avila, St. John of the Cross, St. Seraphim of Sarov or any of the volumes from the Philokalia.
I also recommend you attempt to receive the Eucharist as often as possible. The central act of Christian worship is the most accessible door to contemplative practice, because Jesus of Nazareth is present to us in and through something as ordinary and basic as bread and wine. Regardless of your theological opinions on the subject, just try to trust that Jesus will meet you there, somehow—I promise He will. If your tradition doesn’t celebrate Communion regularly, find a local church that does and join them when you can.
I’m convinced youth have had it with the next big thing, and they’re ready for something deeper and more profound than sanctified glitz. At the end of the day, though, I only can trust that the grace of God is saving us in spite of ourselves and regardless of our how ideal our ministries are.
That’s good news for us all. Amen.
