What to Do When You Feel Like the Worst Youth Minister Ever.

These middle schoolers are going to be the death of me. But, that's actually a really good thing. 

Without fail, the kids at middle school youth group are almost always bad difficult. Some are patient and prayerful, while a select handful who can't keep their mouths shut seem hell-bent on ruining the night for everyone. Normally, I can deal with it. They're young. They have too much energy to contain. I'd rather they be too loud than too quiet. I have a bottle of wine waiting at home.

Today, however, was a different story. Today, I was already stressed out well before they arrived, which meant there was even less patience for them to test. The whole hour-and-a-half-long meeting felt more like six, and was loud, frustrating, and miserable for pretty much the whole time. At least for me. 

The night was themed on the qualities that make a person inspirational, and began with the kids dividing into small groups and drawing their own heroes on posters. One group drew Spanish Jesus (complete with a lawnmower. Yep. Wasn't too pleased with that one). Another drew the Pope (but decided he should have green teeth). Another group drew Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Slayer. And the fourth group drew me. When I saw this, I'd imagined that this would be the turning point of the night. My heart would melt, I'd suddenly remember how sweet and innocent the kids were, and the rest of the youth group meeting would be filled with the peace and joy of the Holy Spirit. 

Nope. Not at all. That gratitude lasted for a minute before it was back to kids talking out of turn, throwing food, and leaving trash everywhere. Actually, that would have been manageable. Instead, they also compared the Pope's vestments to a KKK robe and whispered mischievous jokes when they thought I wasn't looking. By the end of the night, there'd been far too many "I'll wait until everyone's quiets," staring kids down (who am I kidding? They aren't the least bit scared of me), and sending the least-behaved one out into the hall.

The worst part, though, wasn't how the kids acted. They're middle schoolers. They're supposed to be hyper and immature. That's practically a sign of healthy, normal development. The worst part was how bad I was at hiding my impatience. The "nicer" kids actually started to feel sorry for me as they begged their peers to be quiet, and our closing prayer was rushed and dry. I left feeling like the worst youth minister ever. 

Thankfully, there's grace.

While the kids were working on their "Heroes Posters" earlier in the night, I opened my Bible in the hope of finding some source of ministerial inspiration. I actually didn't believe I'd find anything helpful. It just seemed like… I don't know… Whatever... Something to do. Without paying much attention, I "accidentally" flipped right to 2 Corinthians 4: "Integrity in Ministry." Huh. What was it that St. John Paul II said? "There are no coincidences"? Without much thought, I began to read:

"Therefore since we have this ministry through the mercy shown us, we are not discouraged. Rather, we have renounced shameful, hidden things; not acting deceitfully or falsifying the word of God, but by the open declaration of the truth we commend ourselves to everyone's conscience in the sight of God….For we do not preach ourselves but Jesus Christ as Lord, and ourselves as your slaves for the sake of Jesus. For God who said, 'Let light shine out of darkness,' has shone in our hearts to bring to light the knowledge of the glory of God on the face of [Jesus] Christ. But we hold this treasure in earthen vessels, that the surpassing power may be of God and not from us. We are afflicted in every way, but not constrained; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed; always carrying about in the body of the dying Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be manifested in our body. For we who live are being constantly given up to death for the sake of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may be manifested in our mortal flesh… Therefore, we are not discouraged; rather, although our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day. For this momentary light affliction is producing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, as we look not to what is seen but to what is unseen; for what is seen is transitory, but what is unseen is eternal"

 (2 Corinthians 4:1-18). 

Oh. So, ministry is supposed to feel like this. We're supposed to be "in the body of the dying Jesus," not the resurrected one. I'm supposed to want to pull my hair out on a pretty much daily basis. Christians are supposed to feel "constantly given up to death." After all, didn't Jesus tell us to take up our daily cross (Luke 9:23) for the sake of eternal life, and didn't He also promise to give us daily bread to sustain us on the way (Matthew 6:11)?

I always knew youth ministry wouldn't be easy. Well, I thought I knew that. As I was walking out to my car (okay, huffing), I realized that what I really thought was that the job would be hard… for a little while. I'd imagined that while the first year would be one up-hill road, the whole rest of the journey would be an easy ride off into the sunset. Because, I mean, that's how ministry worked out for Jesus, right?

I'd also always nodded along when people said that ministerial work was just planting seeds even without witnessing the bloom. Sure, that might be true… for some people. Of course, I'll get to see the blooms because I'm just that special, right? Who the heck doesn't want  to see their hard work pay off? Oh, wait… you mean these kids aren't here to satisfy my ego? Oops. 

The full realization of my complete denial and arrogance was all up in my face like a hyperactive twelve year-old, and I couldn't ignore it. 

So, it turns out I'm impatient and tend to think the normal ministry rules don't apply to me. Oops. This lesson learned could just be a major bummer: your dream job is going to be miserable and that's that. But as St. Paul says, "Although our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day." This job is not easy, nor is it always fun (then again, whose is?). For every kid who talks about how much they love Mary (music to my ears), another one complains about bad snacks. But, it's absolutely worth it. Without a doubt, I'd sign up for it all over again. The outer self might be wasting away under stress and difficult kids (hey, I'm no picnic for God, either!), but the inner self is being renewed daily through the silent, steady, forward-moving flow of the Holy Spirit. Somehow or other, the job gets (mostly) done while the ego is slowly purified and emotional highs are replaced with real joy.

So, what does it mean when you feel like your ministry is a completely and utterly shambled mess? 

It means keep going.

One, Holy, Smelly, and Apostolic Church

From April 24 – May 4, I joined a group of twelve young adults from the Archdiocese of Chicago on a pilgrimage to Rome for the canonizations of John Paul II and John XXIII. The experience was incredible and gave each of us memories that we will always cherish. Having personally seen Pope John Paul II in the Vatican Square back in the spring of 2004, the canonization was especially meaningful.

For over a year, I had been eagerly anticipating this trip. I couldn't wait to celebrate the life of one of my favorite saints (not to slight John XXIII!), and apparently, I wasn't the only one who felt this way. Over eight hundred thousand people gathered in St. Peter’s Square to witness this monumental event in Church history.

Eight hundred thousand.

That’s a lot of people… People who knock you over with their over-sized backpacks. People who tragically forget to put on deodorant. People who talk just a little (read: way) too loudly on their cellphones during the Mass. People who get so pushy that you think they're trying to cop a feel. This historical, holy, and sacramental moment would have been just perfect... if only it weren't for all the people. 

While standing among these crowds during the canonization Mass, it was a constant temptation to forget Jesus’ call to love one another (because of course, it's not like I was annoying anyone else, right?). But as frustrating as the person next to me might have been, one thought kept crossing my mind: all of these hundreds of thousands of people belong to the same Catholic Church. We might have been speaking different languages, but we all knew exactly when to join hands and pray the Lord’s Prayer. We all shook hands and exchanged the Sign of Peace with different words, but the same message. We all bowed in prayer during the Consecration. Every single person in that massive crowd was completely unique and entirely unrepeatable, but we all worshipped our one Lord in the same way.

Looking throughout the crowds, we saw people of every age and country. One banner displayed the Japanese flag with the words, “You are our Pope.” A little boy sat on his father’s shoulders and waved the Polish flag (by the way, don’t mess with little, old, Polish ladies. They mean business). Whole families gathered from every continent to celebrate the lives of two men who lived and died years ago. What other celebrity could draw crowds stretching for over half a mile? Who else could gather people from every corner of the globe?

Jesus told His disciples to “Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything that I have commanded you. And remember, I am with you always, until the end of time” (Matthew 28:19-20). Despite all odds and persecutions, these twelve poor and uneducated men did it. Somehow, they got the message out so loudly and clearly that 2,000 years later, eight hundred thousand of the faithful would voluntarily stand in a miserable crowd to celebrate two of our eternally-living brothers. What other worldly empire has achieved such a feat?

So, why make such a big deal about our universal Church? Is this just a bragging right, or something more? Being part of a universal Church means many things. It reminds us that every human being on this earth (Catholic or non-) is a child of God, and therefore deserving of love, respect, and dignity. It reminds us that despite our many differences, we are all redeemed by the one cross of Christ, and nourished by His one Eucharistic body. It reminds us that we ourselves make up that one Body.

Until this pilgrimage, I had never really appreciated St. Paul’s words, “Come to him, a living stone, though rejected by mortals yet chosen and precious in God’s sight, and  like living stones, let yourselves be built into a spiritual house, to be a holy priesthood, to offer spiritual sacrifices acceptable to God through Jesus Christ” (1 Peter 2:4-5). We are all called to be living stones just like Jesus. You and I are the Church. What we say, do, give, and pray builds her up as a mighty fortress. Every single person in St. Peter’s Square on that day is a living stone building up Christ’s Church.

Are you being a “living stone”? Is your faith moving you to take action, to care for the poor and forgotten, to forgive the unforgiveable, and to choose Jesus instead of money and fame? Is Jesus’ light shining a little brighter because of you? Truly, each and every one of these stones is “precious in God’s sight." St. John Paul the Great once said that he didn't like the word 'crowd' because it was too anonymous. Instead, he preferred 'multitude.' Well, if you gather enough of these living stones, no matter how small, you'll get a multitude that is literally bursting through the Vatican Walls and making the whole world take notice.

Just 800,000 of our closest friends at St. Peter's Square for the Canonization Mass.

Going for a Home Visit

I spent last Friday morning at Misericordia, a Catholic residential community for adults with developmental disabilities. As anyone who's ever set foot on that campus can tell you, its spirit is awesome. Truly, awe-some. The residents, whose disabilities range from mild to profound, are given the resources and freedom to flourish in a way that our oftentimes utilitarian society might never have allowed otherwise, and they are treated with Christ-like dignity, compassion, and love. 

Upon walking into my usual classroom, I immediately recognized my friend, Brice. He was dressed in his usual khaki pants, collared shirt, and suspenders, and seemed to be his typically warm and cheery self. Except today, rather than pouring through an array of architecture magazines, he sat at his desk with a suitcase in his hand. When I greeted him, he bounced up in his seat and beamed, 

"I'm going for a home-visit this weekend!"

Every time someone he knew walked through the classroom door, Brice was bursting with excitement and couldn't help sharing the happy news of his weekend trip back home. A short while later, when his mother walked through the door with a smile and outstretched arms, he hopped out of his seat (the suitcase was already in his hand) and flung himself into her arms. His love and joy for seeing her was palpable to everyone in the room. As much as Brice may have loved his friends and life at Misericordia, he  was infinitely happy to be going home. 

While watching Brice's thrill at the prospect of going home, I caught a glimpse of what it might be like for a soul going to our real Home: Heaven. A few years ago, a parishioner in the Church parking lot was walking into Mass with a big smile on his face, and he explained that he "had his ticket punched." When I asked what he meant, he beamed and said, "I've got my ticket punched; I'm ready to go Home whenever God calls me!" 

That's a far cry from the attitude most of us seem to take toward Heaven. As Kenny Chesney sings, "Everybody wants to go to Heaven, but nobody wants to go now." And unfortunately, he's right; it's all too easy to put eternity on the back burner when there's plenty to concern us here and now. As a Theology student, the thought of Heaven actually started to scare me. I'd heard many descriptions of what this eternal paradise might resemble, and none of them sounded much like "paradise" to me. Professors described the joy of the Beatific Vision (CCC 1028) as if it were an unending Mass, which sounded, um, boring. Eternity itself sounded monotonous and tiring. Needless to say, unlike Brice, I had a few questions that needed answering before I could ever fling myself into Heaven's embrace. 

But as a dear friend shared of her conversation with then-college-professor Fr. Barron, "You are unnerved because what you are thinking about is actually unending time, which is hell. Heaven is the absence of time. We cannot comprehend it here because we are temporal beings, but we can experience what it is like. The moments in your life when you are least aware of time passing, when you are wrapped in a rousing conversation, when you witness something truly beautiful, when you completely forget yourself? Those are the nearest you can get to heaven here on earth."

Something so beautiful, a moment that wraps you so tightly in love, that you forget who you are and how criminally elusive time can be. That's Heaven. When I stop and try to recall heavenly moments in my own life, I see that it's cherishing a bond with a non-verbal Misericordia resident. It's sharing an ordinary dinner with my boyfriend and wishing we wouldn't have to say "good-bye" in a few, quick hours. It's every visit I spent with my Grandma during her terminal battle with cancer. Heaven is found in those little moments where the overflow of love is so powerful that it seems to encapsulate time and replace the typical stresses of daily life with the deepest sense of peace and joy. 

When thinking of Heaven as a deeper extension of those precious moments, who wouldn't want to go now? In It Is Well, Chris Faddis describes the paradox of surrendering a short life on earth to the hope of one not yet seen (Romans 8:24). As he recounts the heartbreaking journey of his thirty-two-year-old wife's passing from colon cancer, he shares a letter that he read to her shortly before her death: "Oh, that this [wedding] ring could keep you here longer. It is a mark of our commitment; it is my promise to love you with my whole heart, and yet there is a greater love than mine that will take you soon. How could this mere piece of gold compare to the love of God, which loves you completely, wholly, and perfectly?"

If our bags aren't packed and our tickets aren't punched, it isn't entirely because we simply aren't ready (cue Brad Paisley's "Waiting on a Woman"), but rather because we don't trust that the life to come is infinitely more beautiful and fulfilling than even the most cherished and awesome moments here on earth. It's because we don't trust that the complete, whole, and perfect love of God will truly live up to its promises. We forget that, as Faddis writes, we were created for a "fountain of love so great and so vast that the [earthly] love… will barely seem like a drop of water on the tongue in comparison." If the most precious moments here on earth are just a drop of what awaits us in eternity, then Brice has unknowingly said it perfectly; we should all be beaming with a hope that rings not just, "I'm going for a home visit," but rather, "I'm going Home!"

Carter, Rozann. "Marriage and the 'Fear of Forever.'" Word on Fire. Viewed 20 March 2014. <http://wordonfire.org/WoF-Blog/WoF-Blog/March-2014/Marriage-and-the-Fear-of-Forever.aspx>.

Faddis, Chris. It Is Well. Higley: Solace Books, LLC, 2013.

Cars and Confessionals

After months of snow and sleet, two rounds of a polar vortex, and street parking in mounds of slush, salt, and dirt, my car was looking pretty darn nasty. Her (yes, my car is a "she") pretty sage color was now a dull and splotchy shade of grey and her windows were so streaky that they looked like someone had been finger painting on them. Actually, she didn't just look nasty; she freaking was nasty. Anyone who lightly brushed up against her was left with white dirt streaks on their clothes, and the insides were worse: dirt, salt, spilled coffee, and much more made riding in her feel like sitting in a garbage can. Seriously, she needed a major makeover. 


When I first bought my car four years ago, I was annoyingly paranoid about keeping her in perfect shape. I parked in the way back of parking lots to prevent scratching, and suspiciously eyed anyone who dared eat or drink in her. She was my "baby," and I was going to keep her in near perfect shape for as long as I could. Seeing the sorry sight she was now would have made me hurl. Actually, I probably would have scrubbed, vacuumed, and wiped down every nook and cranny in a semi-OCD trance. I should probably mention that I have never been a "car person." If it weren't for my dad's advice, I'd have just picked out whatever was prettiest and not given a moment's thought to however many cylinder engines it was… whatever that means.


I've heard that the winter time is the most important time to get your car washed for good long-term maintenance, but I kept putting it off. If I wasn't short on cash, I was just too lazy. Or, I'd settle for the excuse that it was just going to snow again anyway, so why bother? Might as well wait until the springtime, right? Even then, April showers would have provided at least another month's worth of further excuses. 


Aren't these the same excuses we use to put off receiving the Sacrament of Reconciliation? I'm too busy. The Church's schedule doesn't work with mine. I don't like that priest. Why bother if I'm going to just repeat the same sins again? Then, there are the deeper reasons that hold us hostage from the sacrament: being too ashamed of the gravity of sin, fearing judgment and condemnation, or feeling so spiritually "numb" that we don't even realize how desperately we need God's love and mercy. 


On February 19th, Pope Francis called all the faithful to "be courageous and go to Confession" (http://www.ncregister.com/daily-news/pope-francis-be-courageous-and-go-to-confession/#ixzz2u6CkhXx8). The idea of sitting down before a priest and pouring out all of the sins we don't want to admit even unto ourselves is intimidating, but only because we are so ransomed by shame that we ignore the merciful love that God is just waiting to flood into our souls. If we truly realized how much God loves us and wants to heal us, confession wouldn't require that much courage. Indeed, 

"For as you return to the Lord, your kindred and your children will find compassion with their captors, and return to this land. For the Lord your God is gracious and merciful, and will not turn away his face from you, if you return to him." (2 Chronicles 30:9). 

The Lord is gracious and merciful, not hot-tempered and begrudging, so why do we turn away from Him? Naturally, no one wants to acknowledge their sins and shortcomings. However, Pope Francis again reminds us that this is not only normal, but even healthy. “Even embarrassment is good. It’s healthy to have a bit of shame. ... It does us good, because it makes us more humble.” There'd be something wrong if we weren't ashamed of our sins; that embarrassment is the sign of a healthy conscience. The only problem is forgetting that God's merciful, all-embracing arms are will wrap themselves around us no matter how dirty we are.


On our Confirmation retreat, we welcomed our freshmen to receive the Sacrament of Reconciliation, and almost all of our 57 teens accepted the invitation. For some of them, this was their second reconciliation ever. At first, no one wanted to go. Our four priests waited alone in their confessionals, while the teens sat hunched over in their pews and waited for someone else to go first. After two or three teens mustered up the courage, the rest followed shortly and formed lines stretching all the way down the pews. Once receiving the gift of God's grace, they exhibited all of the signs Pope Francis noted of the freshly-forgiven: "free, great, beautiful, forgiven, clean, [and] happy."


Yes, we are going to commit the same sins again, just like my car will inevitably get dirtied up again. But, it's precisely then that we most need to go to Reconciliation to receive the sanctifying grace that will strengthen us to resist those recurring temptations and sins… those recurring "thorns in our flesh" (2 Corinthians 12:7). Indeed, "the regular confession of our venial sins helps us form our conscience, fight against evil tendencies, let ourselves be healed by Christ and progress in the life of the Spirit. By receiving more frequently through this sacrament the gift of the Father's mercy, we are spurred to be merciful as he is merciful" (CCC 1458). Plain and simple, the more mercy you receive, the more mercy you can give (Matthew 6:14).


So, I finally got my car washed, and she looks awesome. Like, brand new, let's-take-a-roadtrip awesome. Even still, the way the sun glimmers on her is nothing compared to the divine love glimmering in our souls, the divine love and peace that is waiting there for each and every one of us. After all, soap suds only clean the surface; grace fills the soul.

 

May today there be peace within. 

May you trust God that you are exactly where you are meant to be. 

May you not forget the infinite possibilities that are born of faith. 

May you use those gifts that you have received, and pass on the love that has been given to you. 

May you be content knowing you are a child of God. 

Let this presence settle into your bones, and allow your soul the freedom to sing, dance, praise and love. 

It is there for each and every one of us.

-St. Therese of Lisieux

God is Not a Grinch

In my first post, I wrote about how the teens in my youth groups might have just as much (if not more) to teach me than I have for them. Sure, I wrote about it…. and then totally forgot about it. Oops. Whether I was ready for it or not, the kids gave me a pretty clear reminder of just how much I have to learn during our last middle school youth group meeting.

Our lesson for the night was "Full, Active, Conscious," and focused on how well we do (or don't) participate in the Mass. I had planned the games, lessons, videos, discussion questions, and prayer. Everything was ready to go, and there was no reason not to expect an "easy" youth group meeting. The subject wasn't too juicy so as to stir up incessantly tangential questions, but the materials made it engaging enough to keep interest. This one was in the bag… or so I thought.

Too bad the kids weren't having any of it. Middle schoolers often have more energy than their awkward little bodies can contain, and they've been a little off-the-walls more than once before. But tonight's group was a brand new breed of caffeinated hamsters.

At first, the chaos was containable. Just a few side conversations and flinging popcorn. NBD. But, like the singing Whos down in Whoville, the noise grew. And grew. Every kid was speaking out of turn. I took away the snacks, I threatened to call parents, I made them wait in awkward silence until everyone had stopped speaking. Nope. Nada. Even the videos, which normally captivated their attention without fail, well, they failed. Whenever the internet connection broke and the screen froze, the kids would channel LMFAO and sing, "Every day I'm buffering!" and insanity would ensue (even during our closing prayer). Even moments where I thought I had their attention were broken by some kid calling out, "Oh, man! Who let it rip?!?"

Yep. That was my failed attempt to teach kids about participating in the Mass. Whether they intended to or not, however, these lovable but hyperactive kids taught me much more than I could have taught them. As I stood before the group feeling confused and frustrated, I couldn't help wondering if perhaps this is how God feels when we fail to pay attention to Him.

How many times have I gotten completely and utterly distracted during the Mass? Um, more than I'd ever want anyone to count. Instead of listening to the Word of God, I think about lunch. Or that cute pair of shoes across the aisle. Instead of "being still" (Psalm 46:10) during the Liturgy of the Eucharist, I dwell on my own fears and anxieties, ignoring the outpouring of divine love right before my eyes. I'm that middle schooler who absolutely cannot (or will not) sit still and listen with a silent heart. Thankfully, God is infinitely more patient than I am.

I highly doubt these kids intended to teach me about God's love through their face-palmingly bad behavior. They're smart, but I seriously hope they aren't that clever. More importantly, it isn't just in their human failings that they've led me to Christ, but also through their sincerity of heart.

Completely spent of all sanity and patience, I made the three worst-behaved boys stay late so I could reprimand their behavior. Gently but firmly, I made it clear that their distractions weren't fair to the group. One kid refused to look in my eyes and kept his hands buried in his pockets with a defiant stance. Another kept his eyes locked in mine, clearly trying to show responsibility for his actions. The third looked like he could have cried (Oops… didn't realize I could be that scary!). With that, my heart melted. Seriously, I felt like the old cartoon Grinch, whose heart is stretched to break the scale.

No matter how frustrated I'd been, I just couldn't stay mad at this freckle-faced 7th grade boy, or the other two. He offered no more than a simple and quiet, but sincere apology… and all was completely forgiven and forgotten.

"Draw near to God and He will draw near to you… 

Humble yourselves in the sight of the Lord, and He will lift you up" 
(James 4:8, 10).

In that one moment, this young man taught me the beauty of God's love. We can't earn His forgiveness; all God wants of us is to simply and sincerely ask for it, just as this mature, young man had ("Rend your hearts and not your garments" Joel 2:13), and He will lift us up.

No matter our sins or distractions, whether they're stinking up the youth room or worse, God stands ready and willing to forgive us completely. Except, unlike me, He doesn't get all angry and Grinch-like in the meantime :-)

The Last-Minute God

They say that the last minute is the most efficient minute. In college, I'd often realized just how true this statement was at about 3:45 am while writing the concluding paragraph for my Theology papers. Somehow, my reflections on St. Augustine's sermons just got more to the point when I was short on time and high on coffee.

Thankfully, I've since learned the value of a full night's sleep and those all-nighters are long gone. But that doesn't mean that I don't stretch that "last minute" down to the very nano second. Even when I've planned and prepared for youth ministry events to the best of my ability, something almost always goes wrong.

That was today.

I had everything completely organized and taken care of for our Confirmation class session. The catechists' guides, candidate's handouts, and closing prayer preparations were triple-checked, in their places, and ready to go. We even had a talented guest speaker coming in, so I didn't have to worry about teaching. This should have been one of the easiest sessions of the entire year. 
"Should have been" are the key words here.

Our parish hosted a women's group event on the previous Friday night, which meant I had to go in a little earlier than usual to be sure that the room was presentable. How bad could it be? Just a couple tables and chairs scattered here and there, right? As soon as that was taken care of, I'd swing by one of our parishioners' homes to pick up a foosball table that she was donating, and everything would be done.com

Um, yeah. That didn't happen.

I arrived later than I'd planned, partly because of being stuck behind a freight train. When I finally got there, the room was a mess. Half of the chairs we needed were gone, tables were scattered everywhere, and our audio/visual equipment was completely unplugged (there are about 20 wires and 433 buttons on that stupid thing). When I went toward the back hallway to turn the lights on, I found it locked. As it would figure, that's just about the one door my key does not open.

That's okay... we can just have class in the dark, right?

Sure. Too bad this hallway not only housed all of the light switches for the entire parish center, but also all of our prayer materials, Bibles, catechist's books, and candidates' journals. Basically, everything we needed for class. That's when 3:45 a.m. Lindsay-in-a-panic took over. Funny how one, stupid little key had the potential to ruin our entire class session (except it really wasn't funny).

I ran to the office and called every staff member who might know where a key to this hallway was. I finally got a hold of one of our maintenance engineers. After I explained the situation, he paused for a moment before finally letting out a slow and drawn out, "Oooooooh...... sh-t." 

Yep. My thoughts, too. His first suggestion didn't work, and time was slipping. "Well, you can try sneaking behind the projector and sliding over the old altar and through the curtains to get into the hallway..." Bingo.

Not gonna lie, I felt a little like a secret agent barreling through hidden doors and sneaking around in the dark... and a little sacrilegious sliding across an old altar in jeans and sneakers, but I made it. Hah! Take THAT, Women's Group (as if they locked the doors on purpose)!

I hauled tables and moved chairs across the room in a near sprint while the minutes drained. With the room still only half ready, I hopped in the car and sped out of the parking lot to go pick up the foosball table. While dashing out the door, I remember thinking, "Okay, breathe. Things aren't that bad; it's not like I'll get stuck behind another freight train." But a few minutes later, that's exactly where I was: stuck yet again behind another stupid freight train (except 'stupid' wasn't the word I used).

It was in this stressed-out, cursing, sweating, miserable moment that I finally remembered I had to trust God. It was as if everything was going frustratingly and coincidentally wrong just to remind me that God can fix anything, and cares even about our most mundane and un-heroic crosses. Even more importantly, God is with us even when we are the verge of going full-on basket case and prayer is the furthest thing from our minds. 

We read in 2 Corinthians 12:9, "He said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for power is made perfect in weakness.' So I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may dwell in me." More often than not, the "last minute" before any youth ministry project is always filled with some sort of crisis, whether it's not having enough luggage space for our summer mission trip, not having enough drivers for a service event, or misplacing notes for a presentation. Nothing ever goes as smoothly as planned.

I probably made this face for 75%
of our summer work trip.

But, as St. Therese reminds us, "Everything is a grace." The chaotic, face-palming, why-did-I-take-this-job moments remind me that I am not in control of my job; God is. And that's exactly how it must be. As soon as I think I have everything down to a science and can run youth ministry with my eyes closed (not that I've ever felt that way), that's just what happens: my eyes become closed to recognizing my own, constant need for His love and grace. I think I can handle it all on my own, and then one lost, little key threatens to undo everything. 

More importantly, youth ministry is not supposed to be neat and tidy. It's supposed to be messy because, well, people are messy. One parent is angry because our Confirmation program conflicts with her son's basketball schedule. Some middle schooler distracts the entire youth group discussion on the Blessed Mother when he asks, "What's a womb?" A teen comes forward to attend the mission trip after all plans are finalized. It is these last-minute, are-you-kidding-me moments that teach me to not get so wrapped up in my own plans that I forget to love the Jesus who is hiding in the very person before me. It is in these moments that I remember to trust Him, to accept my many shortcomings, and allow Him to be strong where I am weak. After all, despite all of my spazzing, everything has always worked out for the good (Romans 8:28).

It's also in these moments that I think God enjoys a good chuckle. Seriously, two freight trains? That last one was just for kicks. 

The Other Side of the Counter

A couple times each year, our youth group volunteers at the Holy Family Soup Kitchen. Even though the site is only a quick fifteen-mile-trip up the road, the differences between our picturesque suburban town and poverty-stricken Waukegan would make you think you had crossed a state line. In Lake Forest, you simply don't see homeless people. They just aren't there. Occasionally, a few will come into our parish office seeking charitable donations, but that's it. Homelessness virtually does not exist in our little "bubble."

Our trips to the soup kitchen are usually pretty predictable. A couple kids, often looking very tired from a full school day, pile into my car after meeting outside the parish center. I try to force small talk throughout the twenty-minute drive and rely on K-Love to fill the silent gaps. But, when we finally arrive and begin serving, the Holy Spirit rolls up its sleeves and shakes us all from our "bubble lifestyle." It is very humbling to witness the transformation in these teens, who often arrive looking incredibly nervous, but are soon engaging in kind exchanges and conversations with our guests and gladly accepting tasks that they would never want to do in their own homes. The two hours pass very quickly, and as we drive back to the parish, the teens initiate their own conversations about giving thanks, giving back, and recognizing the "big picture." The change that happens in this brief time span is remarkable, and I'm blessed to be able to witness it.

However, I always take this blessing for granted. When those Thursday evenings roll around and I'm worn out from a busy week, I never want to go to the soup kitchen. Instead, I want to go to my home and curl up on my couch and watch my favorite TV shows in my slippers (do you see a pattern here?). Thank God our teens and guests break my selfish attitude and remind me of the beauty of compassion, generosity, and simplicity of heart. During one of our trips this past May, one such teen took these fruits of the Spirit to a whole new level.

As we were driving back to the parish after another successful trip, I asked the teens what they thought about the experience. Without missing a beat, one of the boys shared how the experience really hit home as he said, "That could have been me on the other side of the counter."

At seventeen, this young man has already been in and out of rehab, and is working very hard to stay sober. As he interacted with the homeless men, women, and children coming through the kitchen doors,  he must have recognized how devastating untreated addictions can become, and he saw where his life might lead. He looked into the eyes of the poor, downtrodden, and forgotten, and saw himself.

We are taught to see Christ in the poor and remember His words, "Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least these who are members of my family, you did it to me" (Matthew 25:40). But, how many of us would want to see ourselves in the poor? Even if I look them in the eyes and speak with words of compassion, I still mentally distance myself from them. I assume that their poverty is caused by their own faulty judgments and life decisions, and that such would never happen to me. However, placing mental blocks between myself and the poor isn't at all what Jesus wants me to do. I can't credit myself for any of the things I have. I was simply lucky to have been born into a family that values faith, good education, good values, and personal health. I did nothing to earn that, and could just have easily been born in a slum. So, why do I carry an attitude of self-righteousness when I encounter the very Creator who has given me these blessings, present in the homeless man across the counter?

For this teen, all ego, pride, and vanity have been stripped away. The only thing between him and the man he is serving is the countertop. No excuses, judgment, or fear. He knows that in serving this man, he may as well have been serving himself, and he isn't afraid to accept that reality. The older man he is serving has economic poverty (and perhaps, many spiritual gifts, too), while he has raw spiritual poverty. These two brothers in Christ, one from an affluent suburb and the other without an address, are sharing their poverty without judgment or reservation. Truly, "Theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven" (Matthew 5:3).

In the end, it won't matter which side of the counter we were on, anyway. The only thing that will really matter is whether we loved the person who stood on the other side, and whether we were humble and gracious enough to see not only Christ in their eyes, but ourselves, too.

Last Supper by Fritz Eichenberg