I’d grown and matured in fairly significant ways over those 20 years, which told me that either: my interior self wasn’t as different as I would have hoped, or my experience, while deeply personal, is not uncommon. Walking alongside several, terminated, youth workers over the last several years tells me that both are probably true.
But this isn’t a column about getting terminated. Losing my job is simply the most intense personal experience I have had of my inner voice of fear. And my inner voice of fear has often been the primary tool the evil one has used to keep me frozen, exasperatingly short of the fully transformed life God has dreamed of for me.
In both terminations, I saw it coming. I grasped and positioned and politicked and even begged. I tightened my grip, hoping I could somehow control the situation and distract the approaching monster of loss. Once the control was taken away, I entered a very brief stage of disorientation mixed with relief. The waiting was over. My exerted effort to control (which is tiring!) was no longer necessary.
But hot on the heels of that moment, the voice of fear started to whisper: ‘You’re done.’ ‘No one will hire you after this.’ ‘You’ll never again impact the kingdom.’ ‘Your family is going to starve.’ (The voice of fear isn’t always rational.)
The coaching program I lead has given me a cautious invitation into the deepest places of struggle in the lives of youth workers. And I’ve found, over and over again, that somewhere around 50 per cent of youth workers struggle with fear. They might hide it well, even from themselves, but it colours interactions, nudges decisions in one direction or another, and limits our freedom and ability to truly be ourselves: fear of being ‘found out’; fear of being exposed as a fraud; fear of losing your job or the security of a salary; fear of having your integrity questioned, or your character accused; fear of not being good enough, or strong enough, or insightful enough, or capable enough.
My fears have not gone away. They seem almost like a cross to carry. They’re part of me, like a pet that could scratch my eyes out, but mostly lies innocuously in the corner
I’ll go a step further: we youth workers have a collective self-image of being fearless (‘Rawr! I’m a wild one! Get out of my way, ‘cause I’m a bundle of Jesus-y action and energy!’). That vocational stereotype – which is both thrust on us and self-selected – combined with the spotlight of ministry leadership, misleading us, telling us that experiencing fear is not in our nature. And that’s a killer lie.
Now for the uncomfortable part: it’s one thing to look at other people and their fear. We’re the change-embracing, risk-taking, Spirit-responsive youth workers, after all! We get this stuff. Except… the thing is… I’m riddled with fears. I might be pretty good at keeping them chained up in the basement of my soul and psyche, pretending they don’t exist. But in times of emotional intensity, like the two job losses, they start howling from their subterranean pen, threating to rip free of their chains and wreak havoc in my life.
Our God is passionate about transforming your life. God wants a new you, a better you, a more sustainable you, a version of you who more fully embodies who he made you to be, in both your personal and ministry life.
After I lost my job that second time, my fears wouldn’t be chained in the basement of my soul and psyche. They’d broken free, and wanted to destroy me. I retreated to a cabin in the desert, wrestling with God and my fears.
Listen: my fears have not gone away. They seem almost like a cross to carry. They’re part of me, like a pet that could scratch my eyes out, but mostly lies innocuously in the corner. Naming them defangs them, disempowers them. And by being aware of my fears, I’m able to consciously and consistently hold them up on the palms of my hands, as a prayer to Jesus, the one who longs to transform me. I’m not completely sure why Jesus doesn’t totally remove them from me (probably something about keeping me humble, or living a life of faith); but I’m OK with that.
How about you? Can you be honest about the fears that hold you back from experiencing the ongoing transformation and change brought by the Holy Spirit, and leading to a fullness of life? Can you acknowledge those fears – what you risk losing – and hold them out on open palms? Can you ask Jesus to take you to a place of risk, of faith, of deep revision?
Oh, I long for that in my own life, and will pray for it in yours.
