On the wall of the PYG Pen downstairs, we have
handprints of the numerous youth that have gone through our church’s youth
program. One of my favorite activities with the Open Door students in the
morning, and then lately with our young ones at PYGlet dinners, has been to
challenge them to find my handprint on the wall. It doesn’t take them long, but
sometimes, if I’m feeling mean, I’ll make them figure out how old I am based on
my graduation year. There is something special each time I challenge the youth
with this activity: it is a reflection of my youth in this church, the
fulfillment of baptismal vows this congregation made when my grandfather and
Jack Urey baptized me in this very sanctuary.
The best part of this activity is, and a few of the
youth catch it, is that my handprint is actually on two walls downstairs.
Across the room from the lineup of youth participants in our youth group over
the years is the list of adult leaders of the youth group, and their
handprints. Annalea Kauth’s handprint now is beside mine, and as a fellow child
of this church I think she will join me in saying that having your hand in two
places in that room represents some sort of closure, something coming full
circle.
There are ways in which that second print, as an adult
leader of youth in this church, has been the symbol I’ve attempted to live into
in my time back in Baker. I am not just a child of this church, and I am not
just an employee of this church. I am both. I have witnessed firsthand the way
this congregation lives into its baptismal vows. I can look around and see my
parents, the doctor that delivered me, countless school teachers and Sunday School teachers that educated me, congregants that
adopted me as their own and supported me throughout the years. Coming home,
coming back, this was a way for me to give in the same way that I had been
given, to live into those promises of community and support as an adult.
It is humbling and intimidating to serve in a
congregation where you have been given so much. In the presence of those who
have shaped me, I have often been awed by the wisdom and knowledge. I have
followed in big footsteps: a garden my mom and Sharon Defrees cultivated for
years, what Liz Romtvedt continued to nurture and grow...it can be scary to
enter into that garden. You could overrun what is already growing, or
accidentally kill it off entirely. I know firsthand how much joy and pride this
congregation takes in its youth ministry and its youth. Yet rather than being
possessive or overbearing about what my job looked like, our congregation has
been supportive in allowing me to vision anew, creating new types of youth
gatherings and interactions. From the first day, I have felt encouraged
in my ideas, in my leadership, in my evolving call to ministry.
I knew from the beginning I was not alone in this
work. When I needed support and ideas, my support group of Bill Fessel, Denny
Grosse, Kyra Rohner-Ingram, Tim Smith, and Tracy Lehman was there for me.
Annalea has been omnipresent in our youth events, with Zach Allen joining in a
bit later. Pastor Katy has had my back and my sanity, consistently advocating I
find balance in work and personal. All around me were my congregation, the same
people that had walked beside me early in my faith, now walking with me as an
adult and the leader of the youth program.
When I read today’s scripture, and I hear Jesus saying
“I still have many things to say to you, but you cannot bear them at this
time,” I hear a very human Jesus. I picture Jesus looking into the eyes of
people he loves and cares about, having so much on his heart, but knowing
everything can’t be said at once. I wrote the other day, as I was cleaning out
some drawers in my office: “To be truly, profoundly grateful is to grasp at
words like warm air, desperate to speak but unable to articulate.” That is my
sentiment when I try to say the things when I want to say to this church: I
grasp at words, but they cannot capture a lifetime of shared experience and
gratitude.
I believe this church has taught me patiently and
graciously, but you can’t speak a lifetime of wisdom in just a short amount of
time. In fact, if there’s one thing I’ve learned working with these teenagers
over the last few years: there’s a saturation point where nothing really sinks
in anymore. For two different periods of life, both in childhood and as an
adult, this church has taught me and supported me, but each time has had a
point where we say, “that’s all I can say to you, for now.” Something about
that “for now,” speaks volumes. It speaks to longer timelines and bigger story
arcs than a few simple years, or even just about one person. It recognizes
those that will come after, and the way God will speak through them.
Over the last few months, I’ve had many moments where
I have much to say, but I am unable to speak. I’ll choke up during youth
group on any given Wednesday, or any of the last few
Sundays. Yearly events have yielded many emotions, everything from the 30
Hour Famine to our annual PYG Easter egg hunt the Wednesday night before
Easter. It’s not that these events will stop-- the beauty of this church, and
the youth of our group, is that these events continue—it is not a
Luke-exclusive event. The struggle for me is that I won’t be a part of them.
To say that it is a pleasure to work with these
teenagers is beyond an understatement. The gifts they have given to me over
these last three years are some that I will treasure for the rest of my life. I
have laughed with these youth, I have cried with these youth, I have been downright
frustrated with these youth. Yet, in true fashion, these beloved children of
God have taught me about grace, about forgiveness, about patience. They’ve
taught me how to love generously and with abandon, and to lead wholly and
humbly. To leave this group now feels like a job left undone-yet again our
scripture reading reminds us: not everything can happen at once. The work of
resurrection and redemption, of brokenness and grace--this work takes time.
I have had my moment of peace, though, even in the
midst of this struggle and grief, leaving youth, a congregation, and a
community that I love. Tears filled my eyes on April 10,
Youth Sunday as I watched our youth lift their hands in
benediction. It was another Youth Sunday with the youth
telling a difficult story, a personal story that takes courage and conviction
to share. I couldn’t see it from the congregation: I was instead kneeling
behind the pulpit, but I watched as the youth interacted directly with this
church, their church. It was a special moment to me, having worked to empower
these youth with the courage to speak their story, and then watching the faces
of the congregation from the vantage point of the youth, faces filled with
support and love. It was a moment where you didn’t have to speak, because the
Spirit was so present in this sanctuary there was no doubt that Jesus’ words
were true: “The Spirit will take what is mine and declare it to you.”
We belong to Jesus. I have watched for three years the
ways the Spirit is moving in this church, the ways Jesus is alive in so many
ways in our midst. While I mourn my loss, and the ways in which my
relationships within this church will change, I do not mourn an end, because it
isn’t an end. I came home to give back, to share my gifts with a congregation
that had shared so much with me: I believe that work continues for each and
every one of us. This work, the work of listening to the Spirit, of empowering
our youth in our church and community, of building towards something you may
never see--it continues. Jesus still has much more to say. He spoke to us
long before I was born a child of this church and will continue to speak in our
midst long after I leave you. He is still speaking. Let us listen. Amen.
