I’m a Youth Pastor.
I really love being a Youth Pastor most of the time; almost all of the time, actually.
But there are times, that I really wish I wasn’t a Youth Pastor.
And in those rare moments, I don’t dream of being a famous musician, or a wealthy business owner, or a venture capitalist.
Sometimes I just wish I were a High School Coach.
If I were a High School Coach, I could rule a teenager’s world…
I could demand students’ presence, night after night after night, for months on-end.
I could monopolize their weeknights, and their Saturdays, and yes, even their Sundays if I wanted.
I could threaten them with not participating if they missed even a single day.
I could insist on one hundred percent attendance at everything, all the time… and get it.
And I could do all of this with the complete support of their parents.
If I were a High School Coach, Moms and Dads would tell their kids to keep their commitment to my team, even if it meant missing the big retreat that some Youth Pastor down the street has been planning for months—and that I signed-up for.
I wouldn’t have to worry that my kids skipped-out on a service project in the inner city just so they could run more drills in the gym.
I could be OK with Sunday morning games and practices, even if it meant my students opting-out of the only times of prayer, and worship, and deep community they might engage in during a given week.
I wouldn’t have to concern myself with nurturing compassion, or mercy, or forgiveness in teenagers… Even if I tried, I could fail and still be golden, as winning would be the only value I was ultimately responsible for upholding.
People would look at the scoreboard, and my “success” would be apparent. I wouldn’t have to guess. I wouldn’t have to wonder.
If I was a High School Coach, I could judge kids solely on their abilities; whether they could jump high, or run fast, or lift a ton.
I could elevate students, only when they excelled, and achieved, and “won”, and not have to look deeper than those things I could measure on a stat sheet or box score.
I would be valued as someone who could help kids get scholarships, and give them something that stood-out on their transcripts.
It all starts to feel really good.
But, then I remember, if I were a High School Coach, I would never know those moments of pure joy, when a young man or woman, driven by a passion for God, a selfless spirit, and a desire to store-up more than accolades and trophies, says “no” to the machine, and “yes”, to that still, small voice, that is hidden beneath the roar and crackling seduction of the crowd.
I remember, that precisely because I am not a High School Coach, I get to be on the sidelines when real miracles take place, and when great, invisible victories are won.
And the feeling passes, for a while.
And then… Sunday comes.
(Note: There are a many truly wonderful school coaches out there; hardworking people of faith, integrity, and character who I love dearly. Honestly, I am simply envious of the power they are given, and wonder what the church could do with the same support of parents, communities, and school boards, that Organized Sports receives… Envy is a sin, though, and I am currently repenting).
