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My Buddy and Me: Senior Pastors and the Youth Pastors who love them.
I think one of the “dirty little secrets” of church world is how often youth pastors find themselves at odds with their senior pastors. The relationship between senior pastor and youth pastor can be a tricky one for a number of reasons. Below is a list of reasons for, and advice in light of, the difficulty of this relationship.[1] (Please remember: this is a blog for youth pastors. If you’re looking for the section of this post where I tell senior pastors how to treat their youth pastors you’re going to be looking for a long time. Let’s just deal with us today…shall we?) Read the rest of this entry
at what cost?
This post…is significantly overdue. Considering every other contributor to the blog has given us at least one if not more insightful diatribes I think it is safe to say that this is an accurate assessment of the situation. Not to mention that as I’m typing this my seven month old is looking at me with what can only be described as judgment with a dash of skepticism. (Then again she may just be making a diaper. Either way it’s unpleasant). As my penance[1] I’m giving you not one but two posts today.[2] How’s that for getting off on the right foot?
I’ve been chewing on an old truth the last two weeks. It’s encouraged me. I thought I’d share it with you. I was preaching in our church’s main services[3] last weekend on Luke 9:51-62. This is a profoundly difficult passage. Not in the sense that it is confusing or difficult to understand. In fact the passage is difficult for precisely the opposite reason. It’s very easy to understand what is meant, and very difficult to accept/live its’ meaning. But before we get further into that, let me tell you about my Sunday morning as I prepared to preach.
On Saturday my wife and I had visited her family in Waco, TX.[4] At some point on Saturday Amanda procured an infection near her eye resulting in a couple hour stint in the ER that stretched from Saturday night into Sunday morning. Later the same morning, with eye swollen shut and stomach doing flips, my wife is out of commission. I am now the soul parenting resource for getting our daughter to the church nursery. A task at which, it should be noted, I am a rookie. Kinley (my daughter) and I successfully navigate the morning routine. My wife, in a herculean effort of which minstrels will sing folk songs, drags herself out of bed to prepare the diaper bag. We make it out the door, stop and pick up breakfast tacos[5] for the young adults class, and arrive at church. Because we arrive before the angelic nursery workers Kinley does the rounds with me. Print sermon. Check. Help team set up high school room. Check. Help set up young adults’ class. Check. Drop the K-monster off at the nursery. Check. Get mic’d. Check. Be sufficiently frazzled so there’s no hope of God’s people being fed from His Word unless His Spirit moves in power. Check. Read the rest of this entry
