I asked my fourteen-year-old why he never wants to hang around church anymore. He answered thoughtfully, “Nobody really talks to me. You know, Mom? People don’t introduce themselves to new people or people they don’t know.”
Hoping for a chance to hear more, I responded, “I can see how it feels that way. But remember, you’re a teenager now and we have our own corner of the church, so we don’t always see other people. We’re newish and they don’t all know you yet– plus you don’t go to everything, either. Do you think that messes things up?”
As a teen, his Sunday-morning-persona ranges from somnambulist to tortured p.o.w. and his responses to adult attempts at chatting resemble gorilla’s grunts.
“So there are what, three events a year, and I missed one? And let’s see, 40 people have dinner together on Wednesdays–but only five students come. This church really doesn’t do “everybody-get-together” stuff. Don’t you remember the chili cook-off and international dinner at our last church? At our old church all the families did stuff together all the time. Caroling and BBQs, remember? I guess the Chois and the Wengers here are good at inviting people over. So that’s two pluses.”
Fascinating. In two years since we moved, he has rarely mentioned a friend his age whom he misses or talked about anyone in particular from Chicago other than cousins. Yet he misses the feeling of belonging .and being known at church, being cheered for, and being loved by whole families, by all ages, parents included. I was listening. I didn’t try to argue why Church is good for him or why he should go. His feelings matter as much as those Truths (and they can wait. They will still be true later.)
Granted this is from the kid who used to be the self-appointed mayor of our last church. Now he’s no longer the kid of the senior pastor, no longer the darling of the little old ladies. And I must add, no longer very talkative, either. As a teen, his Sunday-morning-persona ranges from somnambulist to tortured p.o.w. and his responses to adult attempts at chatting resemble gorilla’s grunts.
In other words, my son told me he longs to belong and to be known. I am so glad my son is connected with a mentor this year as he goes through Confirmation. A kind, displaced-midwesterner with a friendly smile and ready laugh, whom our daughter named “the most joy-filled person in the church.” His healthy interest in our son makes a difference.
As adults, our efforts matter to learn students’ names, to keep track of their activities, to ask how “the big game went” or “what are the dance plans?” Please move past their “I-don’t-care” mask to reach for the heart. One person a week, reaching out in one pew, can make or break a kid’s church experience. It’s not complicated. Open our eyes, open our hearts, open our mouths to welcome, saying without words, “You belong.”