Should I help? Would my helping actually be enabling bad behavior? How should I relate to this person?
     It's a tension we feel every time we see someone panhandling for money, every time a dear friend wants us to rescue them from a situation they got themselves into, or every time we think to pray for someone suffering from disease. It is a constant question when interacting with individuals struggling in residential treatment. What should we do in these situations? What are they responsible to do? And of course, what part of this is God doing? It has become a common occurrence for kids on campus to complain to me about consequences they are facing due to a particular staff's proclivity for giving them a hard time. I don't have to dig very deep into the situation to uncover that the child was told the expectation and given multiple warnings before the dreaded consequence was administered. But often, both of these things are true - the staff are especially hard on this kid and the kid has been given adequate warning. The challenge then becomes empathizing and continuing to build trust with the young person while refusing to excuse their behavior or agree with the victim narrative they are playing out. Navigating a scenario where someone is suffering real pain and yet is partially responsible for their pain is not easy.
     Whether we are parents, pastors, teachers, or business owners, we've experienced this interpersonal tension of responsibilities. Often, in the anxiety of these moments we think back to Bible verses we know. Perhaps we help the hurting person because we recall the parable of the Good Samaritan. Perhaps we try to hold them responsible for their actions because we recall the parable of the Talents. No matter how carefully one searches the Scriptures there is no easy answer to these questions. Rather than point to a scripture reference that clears up the matter, I think that the entirety of the Biblical narrative reveals the depth of this mystery and invites us deeper into it.
     Early in Scripture, we see God interact with the people of Israel in an ongoing relationship of love and discipline. Yahweh lays out the path for them continually and they are able to choose for themselves which one they will take. Yet, at the same time there is ongoing act of mercy and redemption when the children of Israel rebel and choose the path of destruction. 
     They are instructed to remember through feast days and weekly Sabbath that it is God who created them, delivered them out of Egypt, and provides for them as foreigners in strange lands. But the tension only rises as we see that Israel does not take hold of God's promises due to their "unfaithfulness." The interplay between what God is doing for Israel and was they must do within the covenant is ongoing and never seems to resolve.
     The life of Christ Himself reveals this tension between His acting on the behalf of others and allowing them to encounter the consequences of their own decisions. His intentional actions of traveling throughout Galilee, choosing twelve disciples, healing the sick, and proclaiming the Kingdom to outcasts are evident. Simultaneously, he seems altogether detached from outcomes and the response of those to whom he ministers. Without hesitation, Jesus allows whole crowds to walk away when they don't like or understand his teachings. He refuses to do many miracles in his hometown because of the people's unbelief. Unlike earthly kings, Jesus does not force his hearers into submission but leaves room for their own free choice, even if that choice is ultimately destructive to the chooser.  Jesus demonstrates a paradoxical wisdom that makes room for both His intervention and His detachment.
     The Apostle Paul muddies the waters for us even more when he urges us to live holy lives that are worthy of the    Gospel but then reminds us that our salvation is in no way connected to our good works but is the work of God. Paul writes to the Galatians that each that they should "carry each other's burdens" but also that, "each one should carry their own load." For Paul, there is an unexplained paradox between what God does for us and what we do in relationship with God, as well as between what we do for others and what they must do themselves.
     At the height of this tension, we are given no clear answers. There is only a pattern that can be realized throughout the Scriptural narrative. The pattern is that God consistently pursues an intimate union with us. He is interested in a dynamic fellowship with us in which we are not given black and white answers, but wisdom for the difficult situations that life brings us. The Bible does not provide a set of different lists, explaining what is in our control and what is not, when to help and when to encourage responsibility, when to rest in God's grace and when to grow in virtue. Perhaps this is because the satisfaction that such questions demand can only be met with Divine wisdom. Such wisdom is only found by engaging with the Father in conversation and trust.
     This is frustrating for us, because we could lead our lives successfully on our own if God just gave us the map and sent us on our way. But instead, He becomes our trail guide, leading us through the unknown. We only need to walk beside Him to go where He leads and do as He would have us. When faced with a situation in which He calls us to help another, we help. When faced with a situation that He calls us to lovingly detach, we do so. The ambiguity of Scripture on the whens and hows of such situations leads us back to fellowship with and surrender to the Spirit who knows all people perfectly. The original Serenity prayer written by Reinhold Niebuhr that is used widely by 12 Step recovery groups captures this idea well:
         "God, give me grace to accept with serenity
          the things that cannot be changed,
          Courage to change the things
          which should be changed,
          and the Wisdom to distinguish
          the one from the other..."
     This is not the same as knowing theological principals or extrapolating answers through Bible study. Scripture itself attests that "in Christ... are hidden all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge" (Colossians 2:3). It is by our continual relating and conversing with Him that we see what He would have us do as well as what he would have us abstain from doing.
     And so, as I engage with kids in residential each week, I sometimes need to respond with ‘tough love.’ Other times I need to demonstrate empathy and support. Often the best response is a mixture of both. Our resolution of these tensions does not lie in well-thought out methods for ever situation, but by the wisdom that might come from living in conversation with God from moment to moment. 
     Though we attempt to live by lists and laws, God seeks to give us the fruit of communion with Himself; wisdom.

     It was not my plan to serve in youth ministry. Straight out of college I jumped into part-time youth ministry at a local church, as well as full-time ministry in a teen recovery program. A few years later I began working with Days of Hope, ministering to youth in residential programs. Again, this was not my plan.
      My plan was to go to graduate school and pursue a career in academia. I wanted to continue studying theology, philosophy, and history (all of which I still do, just not within an academic program) and pursue work within a university. I was (and still tend to be) a ‘serious’ guy, interested in things that are theological and ‘spiritual.’
     I may return to school in the future; I’m not sure. But I’m convinced that it was God’s intention to place me among youth and children. As serious as I was, I was unprepared for the undignified, beautiful gift they presented me; learning how to play again. Somewhere along the line in my studies and circumstances as a student, I’d forgotten how to have fun. I had almost completely forsaken play. Whether in the form of sports, games, jokes, or general silliness, I had somehow convinced myself that I just wasn’t the kind of person who needed those things.
     But you don’t last long in youth ministry of any kind if you don’t learn how to play.   So as uncomfortable as it was, I started playing basketball, tag, Frisbee, and whatever other spontaneous activity occurred. I began allowing myself to enjoy a good joke and appreciate a good hard laugh. I started realizing how hilarious kids actually are, not because they are the objects of laughter but because they are actually funny! Many young people have become for me living sermons of God's joyful and playful nature!
     I remember giving my most heartfelt and serious explanation of the parable of the prodigal son to a young man in a residential facility during my first months with Days of Hope. When I had finished sharing, he looked at me somberly. His eyes were huge.
      “That’s dope!” he exclaimed. It was quiet for a few moments. Then he concluded, “But if my old man ever welcomes me back, he better have some cash to throw my way because I’m BROKE!”
      I sat there totally confused while the young man laughed hysterically. In all my  seriousness, I was totally caught off guard. What the heck is this kid thinking? Didn’t he hear this profound story?! What kind of response is that?
      After a minute of his ecstatic laughter, it became impossible to continue taking  myself so seriously. I started laughing too. I couldn’t stop. What was going on?! After thinking further on it, I believe this kid took the parable quite seriously but when he   related it to the brokenness of his own family, he could only express his experience through humor!
      This is just one of the many peculiar moments that have formed within me a deep value for playfulness. I’ve started to see it as essential to my spiritual life. I’ve begun to notice that things that I have deemed ‘unspiritual’ or ‘immature’ in the past were often just ideas that challenged my view of God and myself. Somehow, I’ve picked up this image of God as someone who never smiles, laughs, plays, or does anything funny. It is this rigid, unbiblical vision of God that kids have challenged in me and I am still learning to let it go.
     In contrast to such a rigid vision, I love the way that Meister Eckhart describes the playfulness of God:
     “Do you want to know what goes on in the heart of the Trinity? I will tell you. In the heart of the Trinity, the Father laughs and gives birth to the Son. The Son laughs back at the Father and gives birth to the Spirit. The whole Trinity laughs and gives birth to us.”
      If Eckhart is right, then to be created in God’s image means that we were not only created for serious work, but also for play and laughter! In the Gospels, we see Jesus welcoming children, even as the disciples seek to remove them to get back to the “serious” work of ministry. We see Jesus make strange statements that we miss the humor of because we’ve been so conditioned to sit up straight and keep our grins at bay. If you don’t think so, read Jesus teachings to a five-year-old. A kid can’t help but catch the playful humor of casting pearls before pigs, straining out a gnat to swallow a camel, having a log in your eye while trying to get a speck out of your brother’s!
      If such playfulness is necessary to be whole as human beings, we deny our innate playfulness and hold back our laughter to our own detriment. When we refuse healthy play and recreation as nonspiritual or immature, we only reject a God-created piece of ourselves. Refusing to enjoy something as simple as a game of tag with one’s kids only dams up the need for play that the human soul knows as an eternal quality. Rejecting silliness and good hard laughter doesn’t dull our innate need for it at all. It only distorts it and pushes it into the darkness.
      If we insist on being incessantly serious people, we will seek to fill the need for play in some hidden, controlled, and ‘mature’ way, such as having a few too many drinks, surfing the internet for pornography, binge-watching a favorite Netflix series, or finding some other release valve for all the seriousness of life. The presence of these hidden habits are signs that we are so ashamed of having fun that we can only do it in the darkness when we are isolated and away from the community that God’s placed us in.
     Increasingly, I’m coming to see myself as God’s kid on God’s playground. This newfound awareness of the playful nature of God does not negate the profound and serious reality of his call to discipleship. Certainly, the infinite God cannot be reduced to being some kind of cosmic comedian. I must continue in my responsibilities and take seriously the things that God has called me to do, while encouraging others to do the same. But I am free to minister joyfully, not in a way that treats the beauty of laughter or the relief of a pick-up game of basketball as immaturity. To be whole, one must play!
     I’m still learning to stop being so serious and enjoy the playfulness of the Gospel. I’m extremely thankful for the ministry of children and youth who never cease ministering this hilarious, good news to me. 

​     "What will they think? What if this doesn’t work? What if no one responds?”

     These thoughts plague ministers today. As a chaplain, I am no exception.  I find myself lodged between a church culture that is enamored with public perception and a community of displaced youth who are intensely wounded. With an increasing number of books on church growth, public relations, and evangelism, it seems that the local church is leveraging the same techniques as the surrounding capitalist culture; grow your platform, publish your accomplishments, leverage social media, and win converts! Many times, I am   tempted to jump on board with such strategies. 
     But the pressure to accomplish and convince pushes us to treat others as a means to reach a productive and impressive end. Such considerations are also foreign to the ministry of our Lord. Christ, by all modern measures, had a relatively unimpressive and unsuccessful ministry. Imagine the “unsuccess” of Jesus’ ministry under examination of the result-driven voices of our day:
   

• His ministry only lasted about 3 years. “Wow. He must not have planned for sustainability.”    
• He only had twelve disciples, one of which betrayed him, one of which denied him, and others who left when things got hard. “How sad. Sounds like he could have used some leadership training.”
• At a point when many people were following him, Jesus gave an unpopular teaching and almost all of them left [John 6:60-70]. “This could have easily been avoided if he had learned how to connect with his audience.” 
• After being totally impressed with His teachings, the same crowds who welcome his triumphal entry with “Hosanna” turned around to shout “Crucify him!” “He must have failed to be relevant to the concerns of his niche.”
• He suffered an ugly and horrible death on a cross. “He must have failed to win friends and influence people…” 

     Of course, none of us actually approach Jesus’ ministry with such presumptions. But we certainly expect such productivity and success in our very own ministries. Out of our desire to be influential and successful, we might assume that we can find an example of accomplishment and growth by examining the grandeur of Jesus’ resurrection.
     But it’s not the case. Even Christ’s powerful resurrection happened in  obscurity. There was no crowd to see it. A few women (who in ancient Roman culture were not valued as intelligent or credible figures) found an empty tomb with the stone rolled away; an angel told them what had happened. They didn’t see the event themselves. The resurrection happened in such obscurity that even some of Jesus’ disciples found it hard to believe.
     It is as if it was not enough for Jesus to be born in a manger, live a normal life, engage in a short-lived ministry, only have eleven disciples at the end of his earthly work, and die a horrific and disgusting death . . . even His resurrection happens behind the scenes, with no cameras and no PR campaigns. “Ah, Jesus must have failed to capture the event via Facebook Live and stream straight to his ministry page.”
     The humility of God is further demonstrated in the way that the Gospel spreads shortly after Christ’s ascension to the Father. The message of the cross spreads across the Roman empire (and the rest of the world for that matter) through the simple love of small communities of Christians who came together to pray, observe Jesus’ teachings, and gather around base elements (bread and wine) to celebrate His victory over death. These people were often treated like Christ himself by being persecuted, mocked, misunderstood, and killed. They were not professionals or managers of public perception. Their   witness to the risen Christ was one of weakness, finding God’s strength to be sufficient in their suffering.
     In spite of all of this, the temptation to manage public perception and force growth remains with us. Whether we’re parents or pastors, we feel the pressure to make something big happen! When the simple retelling of Christ’s death and resurrection doesn’t produce the result we are looking for, we are tempted to entertain people into the faith. We begin to ask questions of how we can better match youth culture and utilize media platforms to reach them. Based on audience responses, we change our tactics, as though we are as eager to get their business as Microsoft or Apple. 
     Please don’t misunderstand me, I totally believe that Christ meets people right where they are… but He doesn’t always give them what they want. He heals those who are suffering, but he refuses to answer the Pharisee’s questions. He identifies with the broken but frustrates those who try to test him. For all the ways that Christ meets people right in the midst of their suffering, he also refuses to be their entertainer and he is perfectly fine to continue on without their approval. Henri Nouwen writes that in the desert, Jesus “was tempted with three compulsions of the world: to be relevant (‘turn stones into loaves’), to be spectacular (‘throw yourself down’), and to be powerful (‘I will give you all these kingdoms’). “There,” Nouwen writes, “he affirmed God as the only source of His identity (‘You must worship the Lord your God and serve Him alone’). 
     By tying these temptations to our identities, Nouwen gets to the heart of the issue. We are surrounded by the idea that you have to make something of yourself and that your worth is determined by your level of accomplishment or popularity. In ministry, this can, of course, take the form of proving one’s worth by the number of salvations, baptisms, commitments, responses, programs, events and the like. 
     But as God leads me out of the need for external validation and into His validation of me as a son and minister, I am free to give the Gospel freely and leave the results up to Him. I no longer have to push for outcomes or control public perception. I can rest in the peace of the God who is working for the good of every person, knowing that His way of drawing people does not take the form of modern marketing tactics but is something more like the work of a patient gardener (planting, watering, weeding, and waiting) as is demonstrated in the parable of the sower (Matthew 13). 
     So whatever change we hope to see in a person or group, it must come by the awakening of God’s Spirit rather than by the implementation of our anxiously devised methods. God can carry out His will in the most awkward and lowly  places by the most unaccomplished, unpopular people. As E.M. Bounds classically wrote, “The Holy Ghost does not flow through methods, but through men. He does not come on machinery, but on men. He does not anoint plans, but men - men of prayer.”  We, as pastors, parents, and leaders must turn from the temptation to manipulate the experience of those we shepherd and surrender our ministries to God. He has redeemed the world by His cross and leads them into resurrection, not from the spotlight of center stage, but behind the scenes.