- I never wanted to shove an endless parade of facts into your brain. Instead, I hoped to kindle your heart and your mind to search for truth and beauty. I hope I did that.
- I never wanted to be another heavy-handed authority figure, but someone you could respect, laugh with, and learn something from. I hope I did that.
- I never wanted to treat you like a child but the emerging adult you are. I tried very hard to afford you the dignity, grace and respect you so richly deserve, so that you might want to treat your fellow classmates the same way. I know I did that, because you were so kind.
- I never wanted to bore you during chapel, so I weaved stories into my sermons so you might hear God’s narrative and be intrigued to dive further into the mystery of the Divine. I hope I did that.
- I never wanted to give you much homework because I wanted religion class to not only inspire your interest in God but in all of education. I wanted you to work hard in Chemistry, Math, and History because I knew your other teachers had so many rich gifts to offer you. I hope I did that. And I really hope you know how tremendously talented your teachers are and how very much they love you.
- I never wanted to be too busy for you. I cherished every time you came into my classroom just to talk. You taught me more than you know. I hope I did that.
- I never wanted you to know I was frustrated when you annoyed the heck out of me because I wanted to set an example of patience. Our hours together were short, and I wanted you to be the kind of person who always, always, always errs on the side of mercy. I hope I did that.
- I never wanted you to know how funny I thought you were or that I understood every one of your inappropriate jokes. I know I didn’t do that, because I always ended up laughing. Sorry.
- I never wanted to stop being your teacher but I knew I had to because I had to follow my own advice to you: Never, ever, ever stop chasing your dreams. Remember, the successful person is not the person with the most money, or the most resources, or the most talent, or the most beauty. The successful person is the one who gets up every day and gives it their all. I’m giving my all today, and I hope you are too.
- I never wanted to be this cheesy in front of you, so I did it on the Internet. Peace and Love, Saints.
I spent three years teaching religion to high school students.
Teenagers aren’t the slack minded creatures they’re often depicted as. In fact, I found them to be wildly curious, loyal friends, hilarious, and enormously sensitive to spirituality and the world of religion.
I like teenagers. A lot.
But one barrier I’ve encountered is that many teenagers, like a lot of adult Christians, aren’t terribly excited about reading scripture.
Don’t get me wrong. They want the content. They clamor for wisdom. They cherish the debates and discussion. But they don’t necessarily want to sit down, open their Bibles, and read the narratives.
Because they’ve already read it. They know the story. They’ve been taught the lessons. Why read it all again?
After all, Netflix is waiting. And if not Netflix — Instagram, Twitter, and Facebook. You get it.
Let me tell you a story. When I teach courses on the Old Testament the first homework assignment is to read Genesis 1 and 2 — the opening pages of the Bible.
The next class I ask the students if they did their homework. All the pretty little liars nod, smile, and say: “Yes, of course!”
I ask them to tell me how many creation narratives they found. The students answer almost unanimously: “One.”
I ask them to open their Bibles. I repeat the question.
Same answer is given.
I ask if they were honest about doing their homework. The tension rises. Eye contact is avoided, which I don’t mind because now they’re at least looking down at their Bibles. I ask again.
Then I tell them all is well; I know they didn’t read it. I knew they wouldn’t. We share an awkward laugh.
So I ask them to do the reading now, in class. I want to know how many creation narratives they find.
It takes an average of 21 minutes before the first kid realizes there are two narratives within Genesis 1 and 2.
These are smart kids. The problem isn’t that they can’t read. The problem is that they think they already know the story, so they don’t read.
We, all of us, need to read the story again.
Especially the gospel.
How much do we miss because we think we already know the story?
Here’s what I’ve done:
I reimagined the Gospel of Mark as a dystopic thriller. Basically, I hid the Jesus story within the framework of a larger, action-packed, three-book saga. Which, I know, sounds insane — but it’s not.
Without giving away too much . . . here’s the set up: The United States has fallen. In its place stands an oppressive Kingdom led by the handsome but vicious King Charles who controls North America with an army of foreign mercenaries. After decades of war, the king has finally tamed the once mighty shores. And the young king will stop at nothing to protect his reign – no matter how many Americans he must hang on a Kingdom cross.
I want to light a spark in people to read scripture by showing them just how thrilling, passionate, and page-turning the story of Jesus Christ actually is.
Think it’ll work?