One Family

It is only one family, but it is tearing me up.

I found out this afternoon that a family from our church has essentially left our church primarily because of my ministry. They have been gone two weeks "church shopping" for a youth group where their daughter "fits in" better. This is the first time I have ever known what this feels like. I have had a family consider this once before, but I had the opportunity to talk to them and explain about how the body of Christ has a responsibility to work through issues rather than run from them, which is what we then did. This time it was just like, BAM... they were gone. They didn't even mention one sniff of it to me or P. Mike.

The thing is... they say it isn't about me. They like me. They have told me they love when I preach. They enjoy my company. I even exchanged e-mails with the mom last week where she thanked me for my ministry and concern for the youth of this community.

It isn't me. It is my kids. They say that the kids who come to our youth group are the "scary kids" from Findlay High School and their daughter doesn't fit in with them. The "scary kids".

I didn't have the eyes to see "scary kids" when I was in high school, because my parents never let me. My parents blessed me with eyes of equality. I didn't think someone was too wierd, too smelly, too loud, too quiet, too black or too Amish. Don't get me wrong. I didn't like some people, I was mean at times, but overall I had eyes of equality. I couldn't see "scary kids", because to me they were normal kids.

I have seen this over and over here though. This is probably the 6th or 7th family who has commented on our scary kids. My scary kids don't do drugs, they don't start fights, they don't have sex in the youth room. You know what makes them scary? They dress in black a lot and they are poor. As far as poor goes... I mean middle to lower-middle class. Now, no one will admit this is a factor, but it is clearly a factor, but class is clearly a factor. We have some amazing kids in our youth group, with a heart for God, who don't have the right "look", who are grouped right in there with the others. As far as the clothing... I am not talking chains, piercings, black make-up and tatooes either (well, maybe a chain on a special occasion). I am talking about black jeans and a hoodie. Are they easy to talk to? No. Are they bubbling with holy joy? No. Are they calm, quiet and attentive? No. But neither are my preppy kids. In fact, if anyone is doing drugs (marijuana) and pushing the limits our parent's are fearful of, it is probably some of the preppy kids. In fact, it is some of the preppy kids.

Here is the thing. The preppy kids are the scary kids to the dark kids, because they are unapproachable, because they generally do avoid them, because they are the "cool" kids at school. I walked into the "scary kids" small group four weeks ago because there were a lot of them there and I was going to split their group for the night. In one voice the shouted (behind a closed door) "Rejects Unite!" "Don't split the rejects." "Don't split the rejects." "Don't split the rejects." They were laughing the whole time and I came back with "you guys aren't rejects". One of them responded, "James, yes we are. Do you see anyone talking to us? We are the rejects and we are proud. At least we know who we are."

I just don't understand. Am I supposed to reject those kids, just like everyone else does, so that our youth group is more comfortable, smooth and clean?

I don't want to.
I can't.
I won't.

It is only one family, but it is tearing me up.

---------------------------------To anyone from My Church--------------------------
I don't know if anyone from my church reads this to be honest. I have battled with whether or not to post this, but there are tears in my eyes and I feel compelled to be honest with my friends who I know commune with me on here. So, if you are from the church. Call me. Don't run and tell someone else about this or report me to the pastor. These are my feelings and if you found this blog somehow, somewhere on-line, respect what it is... a letter to my close friends, sharing my blunt feelings. If you want to talk, I want to talk to you.
Thanks for honoring that.
James