The Value of Sticking Around

The University of Pittsburgh's football coach, Todd Graham, resigned yesterday after 11 1/2 months. I have been the youth pastor at Mountain View for 11 1/2 years.

Graham left for what he called his "dream job" at Arizona State University. He says he is a "family man" and he is taking the job to be closer to his wife's family. However, ASU is Graham's fourth job in four years. He resigned without speaking to anyone at Pitt just before boarding a plane to his ASU introductory press conference. He informed his players via a text message, forwarded through an assistant coach, in which he stated that he "loved his players at Pitt and was proud of them." I'm not sure the feeling is mutual. As one of the players tweeted, "Todd Graham's coaching commitments last as long as Kim Kardashian's marriage."

I always likened coaching to youth ministry. Like youth pastors, coaches talk of shaping young men and women, of setting a good example, of creating a legacy of memories and victories. Graham wasn't around long enough to bake a pie, let alone create a legacy. I doubt he knew half the player's names.

His decision causes me to reflect on my life.

When I came to Mountain View in July, 2000, I was 35 years old--a young pup in a sense but fairly old to be a youth pastor for the first time. The stereotypical youth pastor is 25, has a goatee and a pied-piper personality, plays guitar, is a master gamer, wears cool clothes, and uses the word "dude" a lot. Since only the last one is true of me, people probably wondered how long I'd last.

I remember Pastor Guy asking me then, "How long do you think you want to do this?" There exists a common belief that youth pastors are just using youth ministry as a stepping stone to "becoming a real pastor." That was never the case for me. Having already spent ten years as a youth volunteer, including three while in seminary getting a Master's degree in youth ministry, I knew this was my calling. I had no intentions of doing anything else. As I've often said, "Why would I want a demotion?"

I told Guy, "Dude, at least five years."

My promise has expired, but my commitment hasn't.

Not that I haven't wanted to quit on occasion. There have been more than a few nights--lying awake in a bunk bed somewhere, trying to catch some sleep while a cabin full of boys hyped on Monster make my life a dreamless hell--that I've considered stealing the church van and driving to Montana. Who would blame me? The FBI would probably offer me identity protection. I've wondered at my sanity and severely tested my longevity by planning events like all-nighters (never again), back-to-back retreat weekends (kind of like running back-to-back marathons), and parent luncheons ("Tell us, what are you going to do about those kids chatting in the front row?").

But I'm not even talking about those "quitting times." I'm talking about the times I've been so discouraged that quitting seemed like the only option. Many times, actually, I have told Karen, "That's it. I'm done. I'm not doing any good, so why bother?" Too many times I've had to beg students to come to events, even though I knew God was going to be there and change their life. Too many times students walked away from their faith, abandoning the promises they'd made to me, each other, and God for the glitz of the party life and the pursuit of pleasure. Too many times I've wondered why parents think soccer or lacrosse is more important than the moral and spiritual development of their children. Too many times I've gone home from teaching a meaningful lesson, only to find discouraging and raunchy posts from youth group kids on Facebook. Too many times I've felt that nothing I've said or done has made any difference at all.

I've quit more times than Todd Graham. I just never left.

And I'm glad I didn't. I might have, if my dream job had opened up. But even though the Pirates badly need a shortstop, they've never called me. So instead, I've stayed long enough to be able to perform weddings for former students. I've stayed long enough to have students return as volunteers. I've stayed long enough to see our building come into existence, and watch our youth center fill with kids every Sunday and Wednesday. I've stayed long enough to form a deep friendship with other longstanding youth pastors in the area and to feel a little bit like a youth pastor to the whole county. I've stayed long enough to teach my own kids the value of sticking around even when times are hard. I've stayed around long enough so that the people I've influenced over the years--even when I thought I was having no effect--know where to find me.

Two days ago, I received a note from a former student. I had poured myself into him for six years, but he wandered away from the youth ministry and from the faith his senior year, and hardly said goodbye. He was one of those who caused me to question if I was making any difference at all. He was one of the reasons I wanted to quit. This is what he said:


I don't think I ever told you exactly how much of an impact you have had on me as a person. As you know my father wasn't and still isn't a man of faith, a good man but nevertheless not an example of how a honorable Christian man is supposed to live his life. That was left up to you. Whether you knew it at the time or not. I know God is the only one that can eternally save, but he used your love and our relationship to save me. And for that I'm a truly grateful to both you and our Savior!


This summer, I will be quitting--in a sense. I will be taking a 10-week sabbatical. The elders told me I had to, and I'm pretty excited about it. For 10 weeks, I won't have to be anywhere, teach anything, or lead anything related to the youth ministry. But Lord willing, I will be back. I have nowhere else I want to be. I landed my dream job 11 1/2 years ago.