In what ways are reading Scripture and letting Scripture read us different?

Sarah Arthur


Picture the lone scholar in his study, poring over a biblical text. On the one hand, he is embracing the kind of single-minded passion that the psalmist celebrates in Psalm 119:97: “Oh, how I love your law! It is my meditation all day long.” On the other hand, he is engaged in an activity that is foreign to text’s intent and function.

The Scriptures were not intended primarily for individuals to read in the quietness of their rooms, with private meditation or personal enlightenment the only goal. Rather, as Stephen Fowl and Greg Jones put it in Reading in Communion: Scripture and Ethics in Christian Life, “Scripture is primarily addressed not to individuals but to specific communities called into being by God.” When we read Scripture, we read Scripture. The community of faith reads it together, beginning with the mere act of biblical translation (the work of dozens of scholars in conversation) and then in group Bible studies, but most importantly in worship. And not only do we read it—as if simply hearing and reflecting on the words were enough—but we read it like an orchestra reads a musical score. The goal is faithful performance.

It’s like picking up the text of a Shakespeare play. I can read it on my own, but the whole time, I’m aware that the letters on the page are simply the prompts and cues for a much larger communal production. Writes Nicholas Lash, “The performance of scripture is the life of the church. It is no more possible for an isolated individual to perform these texts than it is for him to perform a Beethoven quartet or a Shakespeare tragedy” (Theology on the Way to Emmaus). This performance takes place in worship, Lash says, but more specifically in the sacrament of communion. Through communion we enact the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus as expressed in the gospels. We hear the Word, speak the Word, sing the Word, ingest the Word, and then leave with the task to share the Word with the world.

In that sense, we are always reading Scripture toward group performance. The scholar in his study, if he is honest with himself, is merely practicing his lines. His dissertation may be an important safeguard for making sure the whole group gets the lines right or puts the proper emphasis on certain phrases or doesn’t overlook the less popular passages, but the dissertation is not the ultimate goal. The goal is his cupped hands at the communion rail—the same hands that will grasp his son in a hug or pick up a mop at the soup kitchen.

But it doesn’t end there. While we may read Scripture toward performance of the text, the performance of the text is also reading us. Take the sacrament of communion again. During the Chilean dictatorship of Pinochet, for instance, the Roman Catholic Church at first was cozy with the regime that silently tortured and eliminated thousands. As William Cavanaugh describes in his powerful book, Torture and Eucharist, the perpetrators of violence were right there on Sunday morning, taking the body and blood of the tortured Christ along with everyone else—even with their victims. And eventually the church began to realize this was deeply, fundamentally wrong. The reading and performance of the Passion each week had begun to read them. So the church began to create a counterculture, a community that offered its own outreach and care to the victims. It no longer endorsed what the government was doing, no longer participated in government programs, even took steps of excommunicating perpetrators of violence.

“The play’s the thing,” said Hamlet, “wherein I’ll catch the conscience of the king.” The faithful performance of the text, which is the goal of reading the lines in the first place, has the curious effect of reading us: of taking our spiritual vitals, gauging our spiritual temperature, pointing out anomalies, holding up mirrors. The two readings cannot be separated. Which should give us pause the next time we advise youth in our ministries to spend time reading their Bibles every day. If we don’t add the important caveat, “There will be a performance on Sunday”—or even, “There will be a performance the minute you leave your room and talk to your mother”—then we’re not being honest about the nature of this text we claim to live by.



 





Chris Folmsbee


Before I even answer this question, let me say this. If you have not read Eat This Book, by Eugene Peterson, go to Amazon and get it now. You will be blessed by its contribution to your spiritual formation.

Now, to the question at hand… Four thoughts come to my mind when asked the difference between reading Scripture and letting Scripture read us. The best way I know to answer this question is through my own life experience. These thoughts may not be true for you, but then again, they might be very true.

1. Accessibility or Authority. When I read the Scriptures, I go looking for something as if I am the authority on the text/subject. When I let the Scripture read me, I go into it with a soul that is open and accessible, able to be reached (for example, during the practice of lectio divina).

2. Practice or Principle. When I let Scripture read me, I am in search of a forming practice or a faith-shaping discipline that transforms me from the inside out. When I go to Scripture, I am often in search of a particular premise or principle. The former is much more difficult and requires more of my conscious effort.

3. Soak or Surface. When I let Scripture read me, it means that I am permeable, and I absorb the truth into my very being. Letting the truth soak into my soul opens up new dimensions of truth. Sometimes, when I read the Scriptures, I am simply searching for truth on the surface.

4. Mission or Myself. Usually when I read Scripture, I am tempted to read into the passage(s) what I need God to do for me or what God has done for me. A particular blessing, perhaps? On the other hand, when I let Scripture read me, I usually end up finding ways that God can use me for the sake of the world, as opposed to me using God.




Andy Root


I really don’t know about this question. It has always bugged me, or at least confused me. Or maybe it has bugged me because it has confused me. I like the idea that Scripture does something—that it reads us as much as we read it. I potentially like that we give Scripture some form of agency. I think this escapes some of the propositional truth exegesis that dominated evangelicalism decades ago and is still holding on in places today. But what I don’t like is that it too easily (and confusingly) assumes that we don’t read Scripture (it just reads us) and then blurs the importance of hermeneutics when reading the text. In other words, it can distract us from realizing how deeply we bring prejudices and perspectives into our reading. I wouldn’t want to undercut the importance of what we’ve learned from philosophical hermeneutics. But that’s for a whole other post.

Okay, here is what I really think is at stake in this question and how I would like to nuance the conversation. Either way you frame the question, Scripture is an agent. But Scripture is a collection of written texts, pieces of paper (or papyri or whatever) collected into a book that can sit on your desk or keep a door open. Of course, it is possible that words that make up ideas can be transformative, but it is you—the human agent, the subject—who reads them and brings them to life. In themselves these pages don’t live.

A kind of postmodern interpretation would be that only the community of faith lives, so Scripture only reads us as we read it together, drawing it into our subjective experiences. Part of me really likes that argument, but I think it makes the human agent too central. I’m worried that some have tried harder to make the Bible, the inanimate object, live, as though the Bible is one of Andy’s toys in Toy Story. I actually don’t think this is very helpful—therefore I do not think Scripture reads us.

Rather, I think the Word of God reads us. I hold that it is Jesus Christ who is living and moving in the world; it is Jesus who is encountering us, “reading” us, if you will. Jesus is a subject, an agent; Jesus is the living Word—living as the fullness of life, as the one who has passed through death. As the Johannine literature asserts and as most theological traditions affirm, Jesus Christ is the Word of God, and this Word is moving and active because this word is a living person.

So this means that our goal in youth ministry (and brace yourself, I’m about to say something to get you thinking) is not primarily to have kids read and know the Bible. We don’t care if they know about the inanimate object. Rather, what we want—and want deeply—is for kids to use the Bible to interpret the activity of the Word of God. What’s important is not that kids can memorize verses but rather that they embody the Bible enough to use it as a lens to seek God in the world.

The Bible is not the fourth person of the Trinity; the Bible is not divine. It doesn’t need to be error free to be true. The Bible is the authoritative lens (tool) to discern where and what the living God is doing. So the whole whining-about-kids-being-biblically-illiterate shtick is a red herring. Who cares if kids can pass some stupid Bible test? Who cares about biblical knowledge? What we want is for them to become interpreters (and of course, now, from this perspective, biblical knowledge is very important!) who devour the Bible—not to pass a test but to have the eyes to see the beauty and suffering of God’s action in the world.

The Bible is the authoritative gift God has given us to see the normative shape of God’s continued action in the world through Jesus by the Spirit. Chew on that for a while—and if you have more questions, wait for the third book in my theology and youth ministry series, which will be out first thing 2013. And for now, send all your angry emails to Mike King.


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How do we become more aware of the injustices around us and the world?

Sarah Arthur


Short answer: change your zip code.

Yep. Move into the neighbor-’hood (to loosely quote Eugene Peterson’s paraphrase of John 1:14). Radical? Yes. Feasible in this moment for everyone reading this post? No. But imagine what kind of incarnational transformation might take place if every American Christian—including the youth we work with—had the goal of downward mobility.

Change your zip code, and suddenly injustice is the pothole you hit on the way to work each morning. Would such a pothole have lasted very long in the typical middle-class suburb? Not likely. Will the city respond if you call about this particular pot hole? Don’t count on it—at least not the first time. But keep calling.

Change your zip code, and you now have a personal interest in news about the grease recycling plant possibly moving into the empty lot across the street. If you don’t show up at the city council meeting to object—(you have learned that your neighborhood will smell like dead chickens for the next century)—no one will. Not because your neighbors don’t care but because they gave up trying to claim some dignity a long time ago. But you try anyway.

Change your zip code, and the 911 dispatchers will get to know you personally. Gunshots around the corner? On Christmas Eve? While there are small children in the house? You will pick up the phone. And you will pick it up again tomorrow and again in the oppressive heat of summer (when gang violence increases) and again when the air conditioning unit at a nearby church is destroyed by someone seeking the valuable copper inside. You will become a pro at telling the dispatchers up front exactly what they need to know. Because someone has to remind the city that this neighborhood is not off the grid. People live here. Children live here.

Change your zip code, and you are now more aware of the injustices in the world. Because they mess up your day.

It’s sad but true. When these issues are out of sight, they are out of mind, no matter how passionately we might claim to want to serve “the least of these.” But put them front and center—make them the first things you see when you step out of your front door every day—and they aren’t so easily forgotten.

Or at least, that’s what happened to me.

Several years ago, my husband and I moved into an intentional Christian community. It was a household created in the spirit of the Catholic Worker and New Monastic movements—and thus intentionally situated in what is often considered the ghetto of northeast-central Durham, North Carolina. It is a community of poverty and crime, gangs and violence. It is also a community of corner churches and little grandmas who have been praying longer than most of us have been alive.

My husband and I had been living elsewhere but attending a church in that neighborhood when we met our future housemates one Sunday morning. One thing led to another, and soon we found ourselves backing a moving truck up the driveway. We moved into the neighborhood.

And they were some of the most transformative three years of my life.

We slowly got to know our neighbors, most of whom experience more injustice in one week than many of us do in a lifetime. We made those calls about the potholes and the disintegrating railroad tracks. My housemates and neighbors went to the city council meeting about the grease recycling plant. I called 911 on Christmas Eve and said that gunshots were unacceptable, there were small children in the house, and could a patrol car at least come by and give the impression that the city cared.

Injustice was in my face, and I couldn’t ignore it. Changing my zip code, an act of incarnation, meant that the suffering of the world became my suffering.

My husband and I now live in a parsonage in the suburbs—not by choice but in submission to the pastoral appointment system of the United Methodist Church. We have made a different kind of incarnational move. And trust me, there is plenty of brokenness behind the perfectly painted doors on my street. But now, every time I see a pothole (look fast: they don’t last long around here), I am very, very aware that not all communities are created equal.

“The Word became flesh and blood, and moved into the neighborhood” (John 1:14, The Message). Where will the moving truck take you next? Where will it take your youth?

Jim Hampton


I have to admit that when I saw this topic, I immediately thought, What do I have to say to this? This isn’t really my area of expertise.

But after I got over the initial shock and actually gave some thoughtful reflection to the question, I realized that I just might have a few things to offer based on my own experiences and what I’ve read in Scripture.

Perhaps the most important thing we can do is first to recognize our own self-centeredness. I find it fascinating that almost all of the world’s major religions emphasize the need to look beyond ourselves in order to help others. Christianity makes it clear that the only way this happens is through a complete reorientation of our heart and mind as we allow God to radically transform us.

Christians are called to “be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgave you” (Ephesians 4:32). We’re also called to “look not only to our own interests, but to the interests of others” (Philippians 2:4). We do this because Jesus himself first loved us (John 13:34-35). And if becoming like Jesus is not enough of a goal, Jesus reminds us that “not everyone who says to me, 'Lord, Lord,' will enter the kingdom of heaven, but only he who does the will of my Father who is in heaven” (Matthew 7:21). Scripture is clear that “the Lord loves righteousness and justice” (Psalm 33:5), and therefore Christians are called to be engage in activities that promote justice: “Hate evil, love good; maintain justice” (Amos 5:15). When we do this, we are blessed (Psalm 106:3). Given our sinful nature, this will never happen in our own strength but only as God begins to change our hearts and minds.

I’ve come to realize that one of the primary ways we become more aware is simply by asking God to give us his heart for the other. As this happens over time, our eyes and ears slowly become attuned to the needs of those around us. I remember watching the evening news once when the focus was on a country that had been been ravaged by a tsunami. As I watched the images, my heart literally broke for those affected by this disaster. I had never been to that country. I didn’t personally know a single person who lived there. Yet I found myself openly crying as I watched this tragedy unfold.

As I reflected on why I was crying, God gently reminded me that my prayer in recent days had been that I develop his heart for others, that I begin to see people the way he did. “You see,” he seemed to say, “how painful it is?”

Another way I’ve become more aware is by listening to those around me. That sounds simple, but in reality, really listening is difficult. Most of us listen just long enough to figure out the thrust of what the conversation is about then immediately begin to formulate our responses. True listening involves listening with our heads and our hearts, taking time to consider what the person is sharing and why. When we begin to listen like this, we become safe places where people can share things they might not share otherwise.

One such conversation with the Hispanic pastor at our church really helped me come to better understand the real needs of and the injustices often perpetrated on migrant workers. Whatever your take on the illegal immigrant issue (which itself is a major theological issue the church needs to respond to), the reality is that there are tens of thousands of migrant workers, both legal and illegal, who are regularly taken advantage of, often working horrendous hours for incredibly little pay. And there is often no recourse they have for fear of being deported (for the illegals) or fear of being blacklisted by the farms for causing trouble (for the legals). This conversation helped me understand the incredibly wide systemic nature that contributes to and perpetuates the injustices imposed on this group of people.

The third way I’ve become aware is by simply exposing myself to issues I generally ignored previously. For instance, I had always considered slavery to be an issue “over there.” It didn’t really impact me, so I didn’t really think too much about it. I recognize now that I was intellectually aware of the injustice of slavery. But that was the extent of it.

Then I read a story about a young girl from Cameroon who was brought to the U.S. with the promise of living with a couple from Cameroon who would send her to school. This would be a major life improvement, so her parents readily agreed. However, once the girl arrived, she was turned into a slave, working 18 hours a day and unable to have any contact with others outside the household. Slavery isn’t an “over there” issue, for the place where this story happened was just 60 miles from where I used to live! This moved me from intellectual awareness to emotional awareness.

But the reality is that the awareness wasn’t enough. Don’t get me wrong. Being aware is important. It’s the first step. But my great concern is that far too many of us simply stop there and don’t do anything more than just be aware.

This bothered me considerably, so I started reading other articles and books on this topic, having conversations with those in the know, and generally trying to educate myself about the extent of the problem. And the more I learned, the more I felt the need to act. I think this is the biggest issue we have to address here: being intellectually or emotionally aware of injustice and fighting injustice are two very different things. Unless we then choose to be engaged in finding ways to fight the injustices and help people find justice, we are withholding justice, and the Bible makes it clear that when we do this, we are cursed (Deuteronomy 27:19).

So in the end, I want to rephrase the question to ask, “How do we become more aware of the injustices around us and the world and then act on them?” For it is only when we act, Jesus seems to say in Matthew 25, that we actually are doing the work of the kingdom.

Claire Smith


When I see a question like this, I’m tempted to say: “Open your eyes. Injustice is all around.” But it is never that simple, is it? Yes, injustice is all around us, but unless we have the right filters, it goes clean over our heads. This is especially true of systemic injustice.

The texts we read are important in recognizing injustice. There is the Text. The Bible talks a lot about justice and injustice—a lot. Deuteronomy 16:19-20, as well as other passages, is clearly against bribes: “You must not distort justice; you must not show partiality; and you must not accept bribes, for a bribe blinds the eyes of the wise and subverts the cause of those who are in the right. Justice, and only justice, you shall pursue, so that you may live and occupy the land that the Lord your God is giving you.”

Questions to consider with our youth around this text could be: What is a bribe? How do people give and receive bribes in our society today? How are those who cannot afford to give bribes affected as well as those who receive bribes? What makes the practice unjust? How do we see institutional bribery in our time?

Jeremiah 22:13-14 addresses the issues of just and unjust wages and living well at the expense of others. What is a just wage? What should a just wage be able to do for a person, a family? How does that compare to what many people receive in our society? How are people who receive unjust wages viewed when they seek better conditions? Who is living well at the expense of others?

I’ll take a final sample from Isaiah 58, a passage we often turn to when we think about and discuss fasting. The chapter addresses unjust wages and feeding the hungry, providing shelter for the homeless, and clothing those in need of clothes—not just in a distant, sanitary way but in a fashion that impacts our space.

So how do we become more aware of the injustices around us in the world? We can start by taking the Bible seriously and checking our lives and what happens around us in its light.

There is also the text of society. We are inundated with lots of news. Unfortunately, many of us only seek one source for our news. We need to seek several sources so we can get a more well-rounded picture of what is going on. Seek views that do not coincide with ours and that are not comfortable for us. Always ask why. Why have they said this? Why did they give the story that particular slant? Ask who as well. Who benefits? Who loses? Who is not even mentioned, and why are they left out?

Finally, we can check out texts that help us gain a better understanding of the ways in which privilege and power create injustice and systematically exclude significant numbers both in the United States and in the world at large from ever participating equally in society.

Justice is about everyone having fair access and therefore a share in society. It is about equality and value of those God has created. It is something God demands. Let’s open our eyes, read the texts, ask the questions, and—as we become more aware—make the change.


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Theology.God Environments

What are the necessary aspects of creating environments where God can be experienced?

Sarah Arthur


I find this to be an intriguing question. It’s rather like asking, “What are the necessary aspects of creating environments where wind can be experienced?”

On the one hand, we can’t force the wind to show up. Growing up sailing on the Great Lakes, I learned the truth of Jesus’ statement, “The wind blows wherever it pleases” (John 3:8). Our boat could be cruising along for hours at six knots in a steady breeze, and then suddenly the wind would die—bam. And we’d be stuck out there, bobbing around, trying to start the motor.

On the other hand, there are certain places and times when the wind has been known to show up. On the Little Traverse Bay in Lake Michigan, for instance, sailors on a sunny summer day usually can count on a phenomenon known as the afternoon thermal. As the sun climbs higher in the sky, it warms up the air over the coastland. But the air over Lake Michigan stays cool because of the chilly waters. So as the warm overland air begins to expand and rise, it creates a draft that pulls the cooler air inland, generating a steady breeze all afternoon. Then as the sun begins to set, the overland air cools off again and stops rising, which no longer creates a draft—and experienced sailors know to make their way home because the wind will die [1].

Now, obviously, this isn’t always the case. Some afternoons all you get is a flat calm. A sailor could stand on the dock for hours hollering, “Blow, wind! Blow!” and nothing would happen. Or he could hook up an industrial fan, point it at the mainsail, and still not get very far. Other days he might watch the barometer fall and know that a dangerous storm is on its way. Too much wind from the east, and he could end up in Wisconsin. But while he can’t manufacture or create the right environment for the right amount of wind coming from the right direction at the right time, he himself can be present and ready to sail at the times and places such a wind has been known to show up.

Which brings me back to the original question: What are the necessary aspects of creating environments where God can be experienced? Well, like the wind, the Holy Spirit is going to do whatever the Holy Spirit pleases. I can create the most amazing mission trip, complete with powerful devotions, mind-blowing intercultural encounters, and profound group bonding, but unless the Holy Spirit is moving in our midst, not much lasting formation will happen. Or I could fail to plan adequately for the youth retreat at my house next weekend, and the Holy Spirit might move in mighty ways in spite of me.

Even so, over the centuries Christians have identified certain circumstances, events, and experiences in which God has been known to show up. Worship, for instance. The sacraments, in particular. Prayer, serving the poor, Bible study. And many other spiritual practices, such as confession, simplicity, tithing, Sabbath-keeping, and fasting. (Notice how sub-woofers are not on the list.) Does God show up every time? Perhaps not in ways we can grasp. Perhaps we feel like we’re left standing on the dock, staring at calm waters, wondering if we somehow misunderstood the forecast.

Or maybe, like Elijah on the mountaintop, we find the flat calm to be just where God meets us.


[1] For visual learners: http://www.prh.noaa.gov/hnl/kids/seabreeze.gif

Chris Folmsbee


The environment is where students engage the narrative and mission of God at deeper levels. Healthy and effective environments that develop story-formed students are keenly aware of three transformative elements: time, space, and matter.

When I talk about time, I’m not referring to the starting and ending times of your program. It isn’t just about minutes and hours but a pacing that cultivates a peace-filled, calm, and reflective atmosphere. What I mean is that whatever your program (environment) is, it should have a tempo that doesn’t work to impose learning but instead invites learning.

An environment that’s aware of time composes a sense of calm, stillness, and harmony that infuses all that it does. The environment isn’t in a hurry to make story-formed students. Rather, it remembers that transformational youth ministry is about a process, not a product. An environment that is aware of time also leaves room for students to observe and reflect on what’s happening, what they’re learning, and how they may practice it.

Space isn’t a buffer zone but a sacred, aesthetically intriguing, and astonishing physical or mental “room” in which to contemplate and consider the wonder, beauty, and creativity of God’s narrative and mission. Environments of space cultivate the opportunity for students to encounter God in meaningful ways. These spaces are sacred.

The space you cultivate doesn’t have to be about method as much as it is about mission. Maybe this involves a dimly lit room with a wonderful ambiance, lighted candles, and beautiful art and icons. Or maybe space involves freedom from those things that distract our minds and hold us captive. At times I’ve felt free in the strangest places: my car, my office, my living room, a movie theater, a coffee house, etc.

Matter isn’t the theme but the cooperating substance of an environment. Matter is the content that evokes the imagination, imparts for a recreated life, and inspires toward transformation. Matter is critical. There must be some material that transforms the lives of our students. There must be a basis for the program. It might be purely relational; it might be about leadership development; it might be about formation or any combination of the many issues we deal with in youth ministry. Whatever the reason for gathering, there must be content that helps our students imagine what a life with God could look like.

The matter involved in our environments must be matter that motivates and stirs within our students a passion for the narrative and mission of God. Typically, matter that accomplishes these purposes is experiential in nature and seeks to help students learn, not help teachers look or feel good. It is comprised of times of reflection, permission to ask questions, continuous dialogue, and situations in which to attempt to practice what’s being learned.

Creating healthy and imaginative environments of time, space, and matter is vital to your youth ministry. Without these, programming will be insufficient and will quickly become obsolete.

This idea of creating environments where God can be experienced and these elements of time, space, and matter are fleshed out in more detail in my book Story, Signs, and Sacred Rhythms (Zondervan, 2010).

Andy Root


This is a really interesting question. I want to start by answering in a controversial way. So here we go. Ready? We can’t. We can’t create such environments. God can’t be found by the effort of human beings; God can only be experienced through God’s own action, through God’s own choice to make Godself known.

To think that we can create or build some landing pads that will guarantee God’s arrival is idolatry; it’s to cage the freedom and otherness of God. To say it crassly, too often it feels like we use our programs as treats to lead God (and young people) to the ministries we’ve built, like I lead my dogs to the basement.

God moves where and when God chooses to move. There is nothing we can do about this. God shows up when God shows up. And sometimes, maybe often, God shows up in places we wouldn’t have expected (“The Lord is in this place, and I did not know it”). How often in our ministries has God arrived in times and places that you never could have planned? God is not dependent on us to act—sure, we’re invited into God’s action, asked to be faithful to God’s people as we yearn for God to move, but no silver bullet in ministry can guarantee it. There is no money-back guarantee that any environment we construct will bring the presence of God.

When we ignore this reality, we can easily fall into assuming that it’s our efforts or talents that bring God’s presence. Then we assume that we can concoct a youth group recipe that will promise the arrival of God. But so often this makes God not an agent who acts and moves in and through our ministries but an object we can’t quite control but can—with the right actions on our part—predict like the weather.

This position, that somehow we can create such environments, makes us quick-fix, new, catchy-idea addicts. We can be fooled into thinking it’s our job to bring God’s presence, and therefore, we have the great burden of always looking for the next big thing, next catchy idea that can do this for us. We want a kit that comes with directions for creating environments where God is experienced. This shifts all the focus onto our actions instead of God’s. But the God of Israel is a God who moves, who chooses to act in a personal way, to be called Father, to address and be addressed by God’s people. We can trust that God will act with and for us, but we can’t force this encounter; we can’t create artificial environments where this can happen.

And I think that’s much of our problem in youth ministry. When we get so caught up in creating this environment, when we work so hard at it through our own effort, it becomes clear to young people that it is artificial. So they either come to youth group and experience an artificial God in our artificial environment and then leave it behind to reenter their lives; or they simply avoid us, aware that our youth group environment is a fake soundstage pretending to be a place to experience God.

And so we fall into the trap of giving our attention (and money) over to those who think they have some secret recipe, instead of seeking dialogue partners and ideas that will help us not bring God’s action but have the eyes to see it.

To me, this is why being able to think theologically in youth ministry is more important than being able to think programmatically. The programmatic element is important, don’t get me wrong, but just because you have great programs that create great environments doesn’t mean that God will “show up.”

A theologically minded youth worker seeks the activity of God, seeking to create programs where God is moving, not the other way around. The first step is not to create something but to see something, to see God moving and seek to participate. It is then that we build our environment or our programs. When we see that the Lord is in this place and we did not know it, we build our memorial, we build a structure, a program that witnesses to the action of God. So to create an environment of experiencing God is to continue to invite young people to look, to strain their eyes to see where and how God is moving not in youth group environment but in the world, in their world.

In the Old Testament, in places like Bethel, when God appears, it is a shock. Environments are created not to bring God but after God has shown up. After experiencing God, then we build our memorials.

So maybe the point isn’t to create such environments to experience God but to invite young people to be interpreters, making the youth group the place of shared interpretation, the place where we articulate where and how we have experienced the action of God in our lives. When we create the environment, we ask young people to be passive consumers of what we’ve created. But when we invite them to be interpreters, to go into the world and seek God, then both God and young people are the active agents.

So to answer the question directly: How do we create environment where God can be experienced? By inviting young people to interpret where God is moving in the world, in the church, and in their lives, we experience God by together seeking for God. We the youth workers create this environment by not making the environment our sole concern but by making God’s action our focus.


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Formation.Theology of Play

Why is the theology of play an important piece in our spiritual puzzle?

Sarah Arthur


“Theology of play” was the buzz in the early ’70s—an attempt, I’m guessing, to incorporate the more positive aspects of the ’60s into the American church’s self-understanding. After centuries of straight-laced decorum, in which the goal of the mainline church was to produce good citizens of democratic capitalism, the cultural revolution of the ’60s posed a serious threat to all things, well, serious. While churches had various knee-jerk reactions against such a threat, minor voices began wondering whether this was just what the church needed—less decorum, less seriousness, less didactic, word-based teaching, and more play, more movement, more art, more joy in the Lord.

Enter such things as Christian clowning, the famous painting of Jesus laughing, and Godspell. Youth for Christ and Asbury Theological Seminary gave us the Christian music festival in 1970. The creative worship movement gave us puppets and liturgical dance. One could even trace the beginnings of Youth Specialties in the late ’60s to the call for more play. Indeed, one could trace the beginnings of youth ministry as we know it to that movement.

Sometimes these approaches failed to rise above the painfully pointless (e.g., endless rounds of Chubby Bunny) or the painfully hilarious (e.g., giant puppets entering the sanctuary during the processional). Indeed, the church began to realize that play for play’s sake was not the thing. But there were occasional glimpses of real, deep, and abiding joy. I remember, for instance, watching a performance of Godspell as a teenager. Sorrow gripped me as the character of Jesus was carried offstage by his grieving friends—and profound joy flooded in when he ran smiling back down the center aisle to join in the closing number. Who knew that dancing clowns would help me experience the power of the resurrection?

Fast forward to 2010, and the theology of play, loosely understood, is taken for granted—especially in youth ministry. Many youth workers still, despite numerous trips to the ER, secretly believe that Capture the Flag has inherent formational value. If we can turn the Parable of the Sower into a skit, the assumption is that more teens might be saved. While clowns and puppets are so last century, we are not above incorporating the Old Spice guy into our announcements (“Look at your youth pastor—now look at me—now back to your pastor—now back to me”). The roles have reversed, and it’s the minor voices that are calling for more seriousness, more contemplation, more actual learning.

And here we confront the dilemma that continues to plague youth ministry: play or learning? Champions of play argue that teens need to move, have fun, build community through games, escape from the pressures of everyday life for a while. Champions of learning argue that our task as youth workers is to preach the gospel and make disciples, not to make more experts at Guitar Hero. But I suspect this is a false dichotomy, born from a thin understanding of the true nature of both play and learning.

There is not space enough to tackle both play and learning as thoroughly as they deserve, but suffice it to say we must find a kind of balance. Physical movement and imaginative engagement, which are at the heart of play, have the potential to embed knowledge in our muscles and hearts in ways that didactic teaching cannot. But this is not to say that anything goes: not every kind of play embeds knowledge or even the right kinds of knowledge. And meanwhile, the goal of the Christian life is not to become walking encyclopedias of information about God, Jesus, and the Bible. The goal isn’t knowledge for knowledge’s sake but knowledge for the sake of acting as God’s reconciling agents in the world.

Perhaps this tension is best summed up in the words of British author G. K. Chesterton: “The more I considered Christianity, the more I found that while it had established a rule and order, the chief aim of that order was to give room for good things to run wild” (Orthodoxy, 1908).

In your youth ministry, what is that rule and order? What are the good things that you want to run wild?


[1] http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Christian_music_festival

Mike King


Play is important because play is something human beings were created to do. The Bible is mostly silent concerning an explicit position on the issue of play. However, the Scriptures mention play, dance, creativity, and celebration often.

Play is something children naturally engage in. In Mark 10:14–16, Jesus says, “‘Let the little children come to me; do not stop them; for it is to such as these that the kingdom of God belongs. Truly I tell you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God as a little child will never enter it.’ And he took them up in his arms, laid his hands on them, and blessed them.”

Children, driven by wild curiosity and endless amounts of energy, naturally play, pursue fun, entertain themselves, and enjoy even the simplest discoveries. It seems a stretch for me not to believe that Jesus had the joy, frivolity, and wonder of a child in mind when he declared that they had discovered a posture toward life that “kingdom of God” people must embrace. Also, the prophet Zechariah lays out an eschatological vision that describes boys and girls playing (Zechariah 8:5). There are many childish things we must put aside when we grow up, but playing should not be one of them.

I think this kind of question is good because it makes us think and deal with one of many issues that have been ignored by a dualistic view of life. This kind of mindset prioritizes spiritual things (a very short list) as the serious things that should get all of our attention, and everything else is, at best, necessary but tolerated nonspiritual things (like eating and sleeping), to those really really nonspiritual activities that are frivolous, maybe even sinful (like exercising, playing, recreation, and having fun).

Robert Johnston, who wrote The Christian at Play, quotes Augustine to make the case that the issue of play has been a controversy for a long time. “From the time of Augustine down to the present era, Christians have often been suspicious of play. For Augustine, conversion to Christianity meant a conversion from a life of play. To him, even eating was sinful if done in a spirit of pleasure.”1 This way of thinking was fueled further in the modern period by the Protestant work ethic. An all work and no play lifestyle was one of the evidences that God had truly redeemed a person.

An adult who still finds time to maintain a rhythm of play has discovered an important aspect of living. Our broader culture has many stereotypes (some merited) about Christians. One is that Christians don’t have fun. Friedrich Nietzsche, a 19th-century philosopher, declared, “No one in my parents’ church ever had fun.”

Theologian Robert Hotchkins insists: “Christians ought to be celebrating constantly. We ought to be preoccupied with parties, banquets, feasts, and merriment. We ought to give ourselves over to veritable orgies of joy because of our belief in resurrection. We ought to attract people to our faith quite literally by the fun there is in being a Christian.”

The issue of play in youth ministry has come up a lot in conversations about programs, events, and activities and their roles in youth ministry praxis. It is an important critique to insist that youth ministry should be more than fun, games, and activities in order to engage meaningfully in the Christian formation of our youth. At the same time, though, to hold a position that doesn’t include a theology of play is a big mistake. And by theology of play, I don’t mean making a cheesy spiritual application to a game of Capture the Flag or describing how our life is like a volleyball that sometimes gets hit out of bounds. Please!

The simplicity of playing is enough, and it is spiritual. Playing should be considered an important aspect of what it means to live life to the full, made possible by Jesus Christ.

For more information on this issue consider…

Theology of Play, by Jurgen Moltmann, Harper & Row, 1972

Gods and Games: Toward a Theology of Play, David Miller, Harper & Row, 1974

The Christian at Play, by Robert K. Johnston, Wipf & Stock Publishers, 1997


[1] Augustine, Confessions, trans. F. J. Sheed, New York: Sheed & Ward, 1942, X, 31.

Brooklyn Lindsey


“In Jesus’ name we play and we pray. Amen.”

Our high school pastor , Rick Gebauer, often ends his prayers with that phrase. More than a pithy play on words, it’s a statement of belief that it’s just as important to play in Jesus’ name as it is to pray in it.

But why? Is it because youth leaders love to play? Partly. But there is a bigger reason—whether we recognize it—that we play. Playing makes us free. Play is a hospitality that we provide to each other that says, I’m okay with you—just as you are.

I read a book once titled Reaching Out, by Henri Nouwen, on the three movements of spiritual life. I can’t quote it exactly, but I remember learning this important truth: When we reach out to each other with hospitality and care, we open ourselves up to be vulnerable. We expose our own humanness and give others the opportunity to see us up close, which frees the receivers of our hospitality to be themselves as well. It’s a grace we can give.

I believe play is important for the same reason. I’m imagining the game of Ultimate Banana we played on the mission trip this summer. It’s like Ultimate Frisbee—same rules, except with a banana. Many of us stink at catching flying banana peels. I end up with goo in my face, teeth, and hair. I’m a horrible tosser. There are some who are better than me. But we play on. We laugh. We free each other to be losers, to be winners, to just be part of something we do together.

One of our volunteer youth leaders loves to play. When at camp, on youth trips, or riding in a bus, you’ll always find Garrett at the center of a group with a deck of cards playing Mafia or with some cups around a table, trying to teach 13-year-olds rhythm. A few things are guaranteed when Garrett is involved. There will be laughter. Someone will be embarrassed. Everyone will enjoy the said person’s embarrassment. Then someone else will take a turn. Jokes will be made. Legends will thrive, and new understandings of each other form as competitiveness, shyness, spunk, creativity, imagination, wonder, randomness, and hilarity collide in sheer joy and memory.

Play is a grace we can give and receive. If done in healthy environments with leaders who understand its power and gift, it can free us from a world of stress and deliver us into a body that can open its doors to let us in.

The late Mike Yaconelli always encouraged us to play and play hard. He called us all to live our lives in dangerous wonder and childlike faith. As a member of the affirmation team at the National Youth Worker’s Convention one year, Mike applauded me not for all the notes I had written to youth workers. He applauded my efforts to load a remote-control truck with candy with the intent of crashing it into people as they walked along. He later helped me take down signs of encouragement all over the conference center. We had fun balling the tape up together and throwing it at people. Mike lived in the moment. He played when he could have been calling the shots. And it made a difference to me and so many. I felt at home with Mike.

I would like to play with the same presence and purity of heart that Mike did. I would like to know the power and freedom that comes in playing together. I should remember that God helps us to play when we don’t feel like it. And play may be that one thing that unlocks the tough kid or the shy soul.

Play. It’s important. May we always play (and pray) in Jesus’ name.


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