Key demographic.
Since being appointed at the age of 25, my friend Greg Tuttle often reminds me that I'm probably the most un-senior senior warden in the world, but that's really nothing special. What is remarkable, however, is that I've lasted this long without having a set of keys to my church. I'm hoping to make it through my entire term as senior warden without having keys. Not only am I the only senior warden to go without keys, I'm probably the last person in the entire neighborhood, parishoner or not, to be granted unbridled access to the parish hall. Fortunately for me, this means that anyone at any given meeting will be able to open a door or two. My lack of church keys was never an issue. Until now, of course, and I will likely refuse them if the priest or any of the sweet office volunteers try to force a set on me to break my winning streak in these final months.
My church, keychain generosity aside, is quite a remarkable home. I fell in love with the beautiful sanctuary and the refreshing worship when I was a junior at UCSD. Gradually, a few more of us young folk descended upon first two pews, and before long, many parishoners referred to us fondly as their "two row's worth of young adults."
It's interesting, however, the niche that was quickly opened and filled for us young adults. I feel like we all grew up really fast. Our lives were accelerated by our comfortable acceptance in a cross-generational haven. Soon, we were all getting married and then at least one member of every couple ended up on Vestry at the same time, and then there were babies and grad school and people had to start resigning from Vestry and Sunday School. Other people moved away to fancy jobs or schools in other cities. We still have a strong presence in the church, but it has definitely changed from those halcyon two-pew days – for better and for worse. There are some Sundays we don't even fill up half a pew.
It seems that churches are in danger of getting what they want. If, suddenly, an influx of energetic youth or young adults come into the parish, and then those people are made welcome in conventional ways – elected to Vestry, asked to be Sunday School teachers, signed up for a plethora of committees, given special youth meeting times, given sets of keys to the parish, etc. – the energy can be stifled. These people will come to the church for a brief period, and eventually, feel hardly anything special drawing them nearer into the community. They'll realize that they're pigeonholed as the "two pew's worth of young adults," and feel like there's nowhere to grow, like nobody is going to expect more of them than their token assignment. The danger is that we're treated as a possession – a commodity. We're "their" young adults. It's certainly not of negative intent – churches want us there for our benefit - but sometimes you just can't help but feel like you're in a display case.
I hate to over-categorize, but youth and young adults generally crave the unconventional. We don't want the church of our parents just yet. From our churches, we crave authenticity in its rawest form, and we thrive on a mix of comfort and challenge – intellectual, spiritual, and relational. Don't appoint us to committees just to say you have us on committees. Put us there because we're pretty smart, we care about our church, we're savvy, and sometimes we can be pretty hip (granted, we are also big geeks). Just what the church needs.
We're not the "future" of the church, nor is it cute that we're on your Vestries and appointed to be your senior wardens. This is now and this is it. We are the church, and we have a lot of work to do. But first I'll need someone to unlock the parish hall.
