My Love Letter to Ministry

Dear Ministry,

I was there, 2005-2019. We had a number of ups and downs together and my Church days are behind me, largely due to the downs. Today, I'm writing to thank you for the very real joys of work that started with the question, can I do that? Few people's ministry resumes include the Salvation Army, the Evangelical Presbyterian Church, the Presbyterian Church of the USA, and the Evangelical Lutheran Church of America, mine did. It's an odd theological map, but I'm not here to talk about that. I'm here for the people I had the privilege to walk beside in the journey of beliefs.

Arguably, my greatest joy in ministry happened the night I journeyed through the Harrowing of Hell with the seventh grade Confirmation class in New York. They brought all the questions and it didn't rattle me, I was there for it, as they say. I've never had more fun in ministry work than being intellectually and theologically challenged by middle schoolers over the who, what, why, where, when, and how of Jesus conquering hell. I'm grateful I got to have that experience. 

I also had the privilege of walking an adult through the Confirmation process one-on-one. The responsibility of that echoes in my heart to this day. I'm grateful for the ladies at my Wednesday night Bible study who had more collective wisdom than I ever will, but they looked to me for the lessons on the good book. 

Ministry work for me was as real as it gets. It was my purpose, mixed with my beliefs, and my educational training to teach others in the faith, and I also got to do lock-ins, laser tag, summer trips for service, and a lot of breaking bread. Oh, and Fear Factor night. I ate a live worm because I believe in authenticity. The sound of middle schoolers going bananas because you just ate a worm – joy! 

I'm so grateful for the journeys with different groups of high school teens across the country to places like San Francisco, Seattle, Portland, Chicago, and New Orleans. My back is probably grateful that I'm done doing that.

“Give me a ticket for an airplane, ain't got time to take a fast train, lonely days are gone, I'm a goin home” [I just wrote you a letter] (The Box Tops, “The Letter” – modification mine). This letter is for the joys of ministry, for the purpose and meaning that comes with connecting with the lives of others. It's a remembrance and proper goodbye to something that gave me a fourteen-year journey from youth ministry volunteer, to Biblical Studies and Youth Ministry college student, to Youth Ministry professional, and finally Church Council member and president. 

My professional ministry career died on May 14, 2015 (the seventh anniversary of my mother's death) and most of the time that grief has overshadowed the joys of the work. Some of my best friends are or were youth workers. Some of my favorite memories are from those experiences. And, if you've been reading my stories, my ministry career changed the course of my life for the better. 

Knowing that I was physically capable of doing youth ministry work opened previously closed professional doors for me as a person with a disability. Going to college for Biblical Studies and Youth Ministry gave me the opportunity to leave home and see the world differently. Youth Ministry is the reason I've been able to travel most of the US. College is where I met my present day ride or die friends. Ministry mentors taught me how to be a working professional. Three of my groomsmen were youth workers. Four of them have Youth Ministry degrees. The work supervisor I learned my best soft skills from is a retired pastor and he was right, everything is about relationships. We're still friends today. 

In a second chance moment, I got to do the youth group lesson on the Book of Jonah, which I translated from Hebrew, and subsequently memorized. That was so much fun for me. I'll never forget a late-night come to Jesus moment (pun intended) where I got to show grace and compassion to an inebriated young person and hold space for a rough time in their life. I had the joy and the privilege of knowing the stories of hundreds of people. My children were baptized by a friend and Lutheran pastor. One of my favorite people and former colleagues drove me back and forth across state lines for the beginning of my current chapter. They also drove me to attend WrestleMania in person and cross off a lifelong bucket list item. They might also be a reason not a lot gets to me at work lol. 

Youth Ministry also gave me the opportunity to help others be seen, safe, and supported. Sometimes from other ministries. To the young person who trusted me and a colleague to defend your rights and identity with my theological training, thank you for trusting me. 

I even have joyful memories of ministry parents (the hardest audience to please). To the spitfire church moms who made me laugh my ass off – yes, I have favorites from every church and state. Thanks for trusting me with the hearts and minds of your children over the years. Thanks for trusting me to keep them safe on trips and special events. As a parent now, those things sit differently for me. I always took it seriously, but now I can relate to a lot of your feelings as a parent. You have some amazing kids (who are probably all adults now)! 

I'm not in touch with the youth and families I did ministry with over the years, but I think about the life we did together a little every day. From my first youth group lesson to my final Confirmation class there are countless moments of depth and laughter. Thank you for the memories! 

In closing, I want to share why I decided to write this letter of joy and gratitude for my ministry career that definitely didn't go according to my plans. Much like losing a loved one, grief and joyful memories coexist. Every winter I think about a church mom I'll call Tyra for her privacy driving me 26 miles from the church to home because it was winter time and she didn't want me to spend two hours on the train and bus, or in the summertime when she slapped her own ass at me to tell me off because we were real with each other like that. Every May, I think of the “second ending” to put it in escatilogical terms. The grief and the joy can coexist. I wanted to acknowledge that in hopes to honor the joy for a change. 

Remember kids, “if you're going to [drop the f-bomb] in church, make sure the adults can't hear you.” Yes, that really happened. I thought it was funny as shit then and I still do now because I was on a different floor and I heard some high school girl say fuck so loudly that I had to acknowledge it. If she reads this (not likely), every now and then I remember that and laugh just like the day I called it out. 

So it is written, so it is finished. Peace be with you all.