Quite recently in my life, I’ve realized a few key things about myself. One, I want to travel and experience different cultures. Two, I’d love to express what I find in my travels through the written word. And three, I have to quit my job doing youth ministry.
As a newly graduated community student, a frequent thought and worry of mine has been, “What am I going to do with my life now that I’m done?” The answer to this question is still somewhat ambiguous, but in considering it, I have realized some of the things that I don’t want to do. One of these things is ministry. At the time of writing this post, I work at a church as a pastor’s assistant. I got the job when I was 16 without really thinking about what effects it might have on my future. Two and a half years down the road, the effects have become self-evident. Because youth ministry doesn’t fall under that umbrella of jobs most people have when they’re young, I’ve had a difficult time expressing my thoughts about it to others. However, something happened to me recently that I think might help me communicate some of the reasons I want to move away from the job.
Wednesday the 16th of September I was driving home from youth group thinking about the day. It was longer than usual—around 10 hours worth of work—and it included a variety of different tasks: setting the stage for worship and the sermon, programming all the onscreen media, running over to a different youth group for an hour to practice music for an upcoming event. All of these things were fairly typical. However, there was one task that I wasn’t quite prepared for. During the youth pastor’s sermon, I had to assist two girls who had passed out. One in the bathroom, and one in the youth room.
I was alerted to the first girl by a friend who had gone to the bathroom to check on her—she had been in there for a prolonged period. When I arrived, I found the girl lying on her back, unconscious with a crowd of well-meaning but ultimately helpless friends. After pulling everyone away and calming them down, I asked her younger brother what we should do. He let me know that it was a normal thing for her and didn’t require a 911 call. Relieved, I gently woke her up and moved her to the nursing room for her to rest and wait for her parents to arrive. Now keep in mind, this was all during a sermon being preached not even a hundred feet away in the next room.
At this point, something started scratching at me in the back of my head, but it wasn’t until later that I realized what it was. I returned to the youth room no one the wiser to what had taken place. The night then continued normally, and we ended with a group prayer circle. During the prayer, I remembered something from earlier that day. Before youth group started, I had received a text from my friend Carys asking if I could watch out for her little sister Claire that night. For context, my friend’s little sister, due to various medical issues, would pass out every so often. Now, since I already had one girl pass out on me that night, I thought the odds of another one passing out must be low, but I was still kicking myself for forgetting to check on Claire. I walked up to her after the prayer circle. It was soon clear that she wasn’t doing well in the slightest. Following a series of moans, groans, and side clutches, she eventually passed out. Thankfully, my friend Caleb was there with me and ready to catch her, but even so, it was clear that we had to move her from the crowded youth room. Picking her up, I began to take her to the sanctuary to lay her on the padded pews in the back. While she wasn’t heavy, there’s something about carrying a person who isn’t conscious that’s a bit unnerving. Though you’re as close to their body as can be, they themselves aren’t offering any support; they’re just limp and unmoving. Further still, there comes a certain responsibility with carrying them. The knowledge that the person doesn’t know that they are completely in your hands when it comes to what happens to them next is quite heavy. All this makes even the lightest person feel heavy.
Laying her down on the back pews, my control of the situation began to slip. For one thing, there was a prayer meeting going on in the sanctuary, so walking in with a girl passed out in my arms wasn’t exactly a grand entrance. I began to tell them that her sister and father were on the way and they didn’t have to worry, but during my reassurances, she began to have a seizure. While Caleb made sure that she wasn’t hitting her head or hurting herself, I was juggling calming people down while also trying to get them to vacate the area to give her breathing room. The situation quickly became a spectacle. At the height of everyone trying to figure out what was going on, a woman came up to me and asked if, “…someone other than a male could hold her.” Claire was still, at this point, seizing. There have not been many times I’ve actively wanted to fight someone during my work hours, but that is one I will remember. After what seemed like too long a time, Claire did stop seizing and things began to calm down. Carys showed up and was able to coordinate with their dad over the phone, and Claire had since woken up and was talking again. All this to say, I was exhausted.
My reason for telling this story isn’t to simply complain nor is it meant to belittle either of these girls. Rather, it’s meant to represent my reasons for choosing to come away from ministry. I mentioned before that something began to scratch at my mind after I had dealt with the first girl. It became clearer after feeling the weight of the second girl and it was fully realized when I drove home that night. There’s a certain heaviness that comes with ministry, a heaviness that isn’t unlike that which is carrying someone who’s unconscious. My duties in ministry are not just the prior mentioned menial tasks, but they also require me to be a leader and to talk and engage with people on a regular basis. In many ways, the job requires me to emotionally connect the job to who I am as a person. Now, if these things are like carrying someone who’s unconscious, it’s because the responsibility of you taking care of them is really only known to you. Carrying them is unnoticed, but dropping them is an issue. There is an expectation of safety involved.
There is one thing that I need to be clear: I’m in no way trying to discourage people from ministry. While it is a heavy job, there is a certain strength you build from doing it. There have been many, many things that I have learned working for the church, and I don’t regret my time there. What I am saying, rather, is that I’ve reached the point where the weight is no longer building me but tearing me. Just as a muscle can no longer be built if it’s overworked, so do I feel about my time in ministry.
This is my very first post on this blog pertaining to adventure. One might ask what this particular story has to do with adventure at all; I would answer them this way. I feel that this event represents the peak of the strength I built carrying the weight of ministry. Everything I had ever learned was tested. I had to effectively communicate with others as well as take the stress and turn it into productive energy; I had to have grace. I took the problems in front of me and tried to solve them as best as I could. I don’t say these things to boast. In the end, all they served to do was make me realize it was time for me to put down this particular weight. This adventure of ministry has made me stronger, but I believe it’s time for me to seek out new weights.
From here on out, I do not know whether or not I’ll continue to reference the blog itself or try to keep things more self-contained. In any case, I want this to be a place for me to put stories down, first and foremost. I believe that form is important, and I will do my best to stay consistent; but I am only human, and I think that’s why this story will count as my first adventure.