Oh, my bed. Approaching the church Sunday morning, Molly longed to be back home rolling around in her covers. Even the appearance of the church annoyed her unless she was going there for youth group. Stained glass windows on every side, deep mahogany wood floors and walls, beams on the ceiling, an organ with floor-to-ceiling pipes that the organist sure wasn’t afraid to use, a choir of one hundred people in gold robes. The whole thing was all very regal and rich, which, to Molly, meant stodgy and impersonal. Least favorite to her were the long, entrapping, purple-velvet padded pews. She shuddered just thinking of sitting in one of those coffins.
She thought back over some of the churches she had visited last summer when they did a local missions trip visiting various area churches to help them with service projects. Some of those churches were nowhere near as stately but were far more personal. She felt closer to God amid the casual spirits of the people who encouraged individuality and freedom of expression than amid hymns and repetitious prayers.
Molly looked at her mom and dad in their Sunday best—Mom in a dress with pantyhose on and Dad in a suit and tie. They thrived on the traditions and constantly argued that no contemporary song could even come close to the majesty of an old hymn. Perhaps they were right—if majestic music was what you were looking for. Maybe she didn’t know what she was looking for, exactly.
Molly sidled into one of the pews with her parents beside her on the right. She tried to scoot all the way to the other end so she’d have an escape route, but another family had begun to file in on her left, each person like another nail hammering her into a velvet coffin. Fidgeting, Molly hoped she wouldn’t have to excuse herself to go to the restroom.
Think about something else. Count the hats.
One, two, three … Does that woman have feathers and a veil on her hat? Molly rolled her eyes. Finally the organ started to play—its opening notes so loud that everyone jumped.
Molly giggled.
Mom ground the heel of her shoe into Molly’s foot.
“Ouch!”
“Behave yourself,” she hissed at Molly, turning red as people looked at them.
“Sorry.” Molly turned her attention to the song leader. She opened her hymnbook even though she knew the song by heart. “Blessed assurance, Jesus is mine….”
After the customary prayer, song, communion, prayer, song, offering, prayer, Pastor Marshall took his place at the podium. “Before I get started on my sermon, which will focus on …”
Sigh. Molly tried to contain her frustration. He’s going to do something even before he preaches. I’ll be stuck in this pew all day. Now I really have to go to the bathroom. She looked down each side of the pew. Her choices were to step over five adults on one side or two adults, two kids, and a lady with a walker on the other. Stuck.
“… we have an announcement to make. I’m going to let Pastor Mike tell you what’s going on.” Molly sat up a little straighter and forgot about needing to go to the bathroom. Curious, she even put down her bulletin to listen.
The youth pastor looked out over the families and smiled at some of his young people. “Folks, this announcement is a long time coming, and we’re so glad that it’s finally here. Beginning next Sunday, in the fellowship hall, we’re going to begin holding a teen worship service. We feel—” He was interrupted by cheers as his words sank in. After giving the youth some time to celebrate, he smiled and continued. “We feel that our youth need something a little different. They need to be reached in ways that speak to them where they are.”
He made eye contact with several adults in the congregation. “Now, I know that many of you feel that they should be raised in the same traditions and with respect for the history of the church. I agree with you on one level, but we’re not willing to sacrifice their church involvement and spiritual growth just so we can be sure they know the hymns the same way their parents do.”
He held up his hands in front of him, asking everyone to hold on. “But even though there will be some changes, important things will continue. They’ll just have a different flavor. There will be a time of contemporary worship rather than hymns. There will be communion time, but the music played and the format might be a bit different. There will be an offering, but it may be done as a contest or a game sometimes. The youth will be taught to tithe, but the teaching methods will be different.”
I can’t believe it. Molly looked around for some of her friends. She saw Sue sitting across the room. As a youth leader, Sue surely had something to do with making this happen. And across the aisle from Sue, Molly could see Brad’s tall head next to … Wait a second … Sara? It can’t be. Brad leaned forward to pick something up, and Molly got a clear view of Sara, who just happened to turn at that very second and lock eyes with Molly. They both grinned. Wow! It’s a good day.
The senior pastor took the podium again. “I hope you can all see that we aren’t separating like this because we can’t cooperate. We’re doing it as a celebration of the different needs in our body. We aren’t doing it as a concession to the irreverence of youth. We’re doing it out of the realization that we’re missing out on meeting a huge need in this body.” He looked out and made eye contact with several members. “Mark my words, in ninety days I’ll be able to report that the Sunday morning attendance of our teens has doubled. We can’t reach them if they aren’t here. And even though some of them are technically here, they aren’t being reached.”
Oh boy. Some people aren’t going to like this one bit.
“One thing I want to caution the young people on, though, is to hold fast to the teachings and traditions of those who’ve come before you. They’re rich and meaningful. Someday you’ll be grateful to know ‘The Old Rugged Cross,’ ‘Amazing Grace,’ and ‘It Is Well with My Soul.’ Don’t forsake your roots for what is new and fleeting. In all things may we all be open to the leading of the Holy Spirit and willing to move where He leads.”
The entire congregation broke out in spontaneous applause and got to their feet—every single person. Molly looked on in awe. Something was finally being changed for the better.
The pastor moved into his sermon for the day, but Molly couldn’t stop thinking about the very first youth service that would take place in just one week. Now to figure out how to get Jess to come.
“Hmm, I don’t know. I guess I have mixed feelings about it.” Molly’s dad hesitated as he turned the key in the ignition.
“Well, I think it’s fantastic.” Mom nodded vigorously. “If you want my opinion, this should have been done a long time ago. The Wednesday night youth group is more about fun than Bible teaching. Sure, there are devotions and a little bit of teaching, but I think we’ve missed out on some real opportunities with our young people. They need to learn the Bible and be held to higher standards of living.”
“Well, sure. But doesn’t that happen on Sunday mornings?” Dad countered. “Pastor Marshall teaches the Bible.”
Molly looked out the window, trying to disappear into the landscape.
“That’s the whole point, John.” Mom flipped her sun visor down hard. She took a deep breath. “They don’t relate to the adult teaching. It doesn’t reach them where they are in their lives.”
“Well, that’s only a problem because we as a society have taught them that it’s all about them. We have to cater to young people instead of having them learn from us. Whatever happened to ‘children should be seen and not heard’?”
That’s it. Molly whipped her head around. “Dad! Seriously? Let me ask you this…. When you train people at work, do you train them all the exact same way or do you figure out how to reach everyone differently and how each individual is best motivated according to what will achieve the most results?” Molly waited confidently.
“You know the answer to that, because I’ve explained it to you before, Moll.” His knuckles were white on the steering wheel as he looked up at the roof of the car and collected his thoughts. “You know what? You’re one smart cookie.”
Molly wiggled her eyebrows and grinned with victory. She offered a concession by throwing him one of his beloved clichés. “Chip off the old block.”