Bill was 72 years old, and so quietly and infrequently spoken that you’d have been forgiven for thinking him a voluntary mute. This was the rock on which I was supposed to build my church youth group. An old man with a dodgy hip, whose contribution to most conversations was limited to creative use of his eyebrows. I confess, unimpressively I know, that I wondered if I might just be better off on my own.
Unconvinced, I accepted Bill onto my team. He was the cavalry; no one else was coming. We talked (sort of) about how to constitute the youth group; I realised his knowledge of youth ministry theory and practice was only matched by his understanding of youth culture. One of his ideas was to screen timeless episodes of 1970s sitcom Dad’s Army, which sort of made sense, given that he looked like he belonged in it. I sighed deeply at the end of that meeting; from a safeguarding perspective he was necessary, but seriously – was there anyone on Earth less suited to youth work?
Young people aren’t looking for more people who speak their language – they’re looking for people who really are who they say they are
I am, of course, a complete and utter moron. Because as it turned out, Bill is the best volunteer youth worker I have ever served alongside. Here’s why. When our youth group launched, with six church kids and a couple of their friends, I foolishly tried to impress them by being hip, charismatic and down with their language. Bill, on the other hand, was just himself. I tried to be cool; Bill tried to be a 72 year-old man. I jabbered at them incoherently, misusing words like ‘buff’ and ‘hench’ in the process; Bill said little, and listened to them instead. One month in, they loved Bill like a surrogate granddad. Me, they could have taken or left.
One of the fundamental elements of a great youth worker is the characteristic of authenticity. Bill had that in abundance; he had no interest in being anyone but himself. He offered the young people only himself, and that was exactly why they loved him.
Young people aren’t looking for more people who are trying to speak their language, or tell them about their life. They’re already drowning in a culture full of voices trying to do that (usually also trying to sell them something). What young people really look for in an adult, and in a leader, is authenticity. They respect and listen to people who really are who they say they are.
At 72, Bill had matured past the point of trying to impress people with a false version of himself. He was a quiet old granddad, and that’s exactly what he offered to the young people: a wise, kind elder who genuinely cared for them and genuinely listened to them. When they told him about something important – a looming exam or an argument with a sibling – he’d always remember to ask them about it. When he offered to pray for them in the week ahead, they knew he’d actually do it.
Your youth ministry needs people like Bill. It needs leaders who care more about loving and listening to young people than impressing them. It needs leaders who talk about life and spirituality out of their own attempts to live well and walk with God. It needs people who are committed to showing young people their true selves. Your youth ministry needs that to be true of you too.
Bill taught me so much because he was a lot more like Jesus than I am. The writer of Hebrews describes Jesus as ‘the same, yesterday, today and forever’ (13:8). We can’t hope to achieve that level of authenticity, but could all pray that we might become a little bit more like Bill.
