Youth Ministry = Long, Difficult Hours

For all you skeptics out there, this video is proof just how hard we work at our jobs in youth ministry.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LnA8ynX_jxU

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Watch the video before you continue reading this entry.




This past weekend, MCC Youth Staff held our annual dodgeball tournament. For those of you who don't know, this is truly a big deal. I mean, come on, its dodgeball. Who doesn't like to watch young adolescents flail rubber kickballs at their peers? Face smashing, clothes-lining, girly screams from the voice box of puberty-ensuing males. Awkward 15 year old girls making an attempt at athleticism, impervious to the social expectations, and sold on the "girls just wanna have fun" attitude.

Our youth staff bonded together more than any previous event, most probably because of the requirement of each person to pull their own weight for the success of such a momentous event. We pulled in volunteer referees, a special guest MC, and every piece of sound, light, and video equipment we could find, steal, or borrow. Yours truly spent his time on that technical side orchestrating the musical arrangement, setting up lighting effects, and plugging in excessive bundles of squabbling cords.

Upon the approach of the highly anticipated first pitch, we took our appointed places. Kev embraced the light board, Annie, wielded her cameras with all her subtle might, Mo and Ashley biting mentoring awaiting players on the tactics of not only dodgeball but four square as well. Where was I? Hiding behind the sound booth, fumbling through an iPod playlist that lacked half the music I expected it to have. Luckily, the impromptu king himself, Kelly Garrett had given generously of his coveted time and comedic abilities to the Master of Ceremonies position. His clever wit accounted for my early silence on the mic and dry undertone as the night progressed.

After tripping on cords, incidental unplugs, and energy-zapping song transitions, I eventually learned that rooting my feet to one position and fading with only a single slider, the sound technician in me could flower like a blade of grass in a florist shop.

There were intermittent activities tossed into the schedule as superfluous, yet encouraged excitement. They competed for fastest coke chug with following belch, a Greaseian style dance competition, pregame interview video, and things of the like. We invited those not yet old enough to enjoy a movie or two on the lush patch of grass we cherish on our premises. It was a collide-o-scope of chaotic fun.

The hint of closing ceremonies came when a surprise game of intern-only dodgeball clashed on the duct tape court. The typical melodrama that encases any intern-only public event finished and the whistle blew. Kev met his match within the initial 30 seconds leaving me stranded to battle the three girls with only my acute sense of dodgeball awareness and rusty throwing arm as weapons. Odds stacked against my favor, I ruthlessly blocked, ducked, and flipped over projectiles seeking to end my dodgeball career, then and there. Resolute, I found God's favor obliterating 2/3 of the the opposition. But the fight was not yet over. One of the referees (who must have a crush on the only girl left), clear out of the dark sky, whistled me eliminated from the game for a 10-second ball hold. Fury replaced the blood in my veins and I opened a line of communication with that ref used only by military and sailors. That's not true (it was church event...). But we did have some fun dialogue exchange as we dammed the pressure of a smile seething behind our teeth.

We played best 2 of 3 games. Perhaps this is the best explanation of how the following games resolved: the next day, all three girls grumbled about how sore they were from the torrent of dodgeballs they encountered the night before.


I woke the next morning sick, even after an 11 hour recovery sleep. Nothing too serious (don't freak, Mom...), only a nagging sore throat. It was worth it. Youth ministry is tough.