On a dangerous sea coast where shipwrecks often occur, there was once a crude little life-saving station. The building was just a hut, and there was only one boat, but the few devoted members kept a constant watch over the sea and with no thought for themselves went out day and night tirelessly searching for the lost. Some of those who were saved, and various others in the surrounding area, wanted to become associated with the station and give of their time and money and effort for the support of its work. New boats were bought and new crews trained. The little lifesaving station grew.
Some members of the lifesaving station were unhappy that the building was so crude and poorly equipped. They felt that a more comfortable place should be provided as the first refuge of those saved from the sea. They replaced the emergency cots with beds and put better furniture in the enlarged building. Now the lifesaving station became a popular gathering place for its members, and they decorated it beautifully and furnished it exquisitely, because they used it as sort of a club.
Fewer members were now interested in going to sea on lifesaving missions, so they hired lifeboat crews to do this work. The lifesaving motif still prevailed in this club’s decorations, and there was a miniature lifeboat in the room where the club initiations were held.
About this time a large ship was wrecked off the coast, and the hired crews brought in boatloads of cold, wet, and half-drowned people. They were dirty and sick, and some of them had black skin and some had yellow skin. The beautiful new club was in chaos. So the property committee immediately had a shower house built outside the club where victims of shipwreck could be cleaned up before coming inside.
At the next meeting, there was a split in the club membership. Most of the members wanted to stop the club’s lifesaving activities, since they were unpleasant and a hindrance to the normal social life of the club. Some members insisted upon lifesaving as their primary purpose and pointed out that they were still called a lifesaving station. But they were finally voted down and told that if they wanted to save the lives of all the various kinds of people who were shipwrecked in those waters, they could begin their own lifesaving station down the coast. They did.
As the years went by, the new station experienced the same changes that had occurred in the old. It evolved into a club, and yet another lifesaving station was founded. History continued to repeat itself, and if you visit that sea coast today you will find a number of exclusive clubs along the shore. Shipwrecks are frequent in those waters, but most of the people drown.
How does this happen in youth/student ministry? I'm not sure what it's like to be a lead pastor, but I know as a youth pastor that it's easy to get caught up in the things that don't matter. Flashy youth rooms, technology, cool programs and events, just to name a few. Sure, we justify these things as tools, and they can be. But too many times they become instruments of our own comfort. This weekend I taught our students on one of our core values as a church and a youth ministry--Relational Outreach. I shared with the students something that our lead pastor has mentioned at least a few times in staff meetings during the past month--that we put the needs of the lost over our own comfort. Like the disgruntled folks in the parable, we sometimes become convicted and feel the need to start over, wipe the slate clean, and "do it right." But it doesn't take long for us to desire a little more comfort than searching for the lost provides.
One youth ministry blogger, Tim Schmoyer, has noted why his church does not have a youth room. But the issue goes deeper than buildings and youth ministry resources. It goes to our heart, and the hearts of our congregation, especially the students, parents, and leaders. Do we desire our own comfort more than we desire that many lives would be saved? If we look close enough, it will show through in how we lead our youth ministries.
