So the family and two of our four dogs piled into the minivan earlier this week and headed a few hours up north and to the left, to a mountain cabin my parents built in 1980.  When folks ask me where it is I tell them, somewhat accurately, that's it's in between Boone and North Wilkesboro.  But honestly, it's like telling someone that Kansas City is in between Los Angeles and New York.  Truly, this place is in the middle of nowhere, NC.  Winding mountain roads off a dirt road off a dirt road off a dirt road. No wifi or cell signal, and the nearest grocery store is 20 minutes away. It's glorious.

Day 2 found us taking a trip down memory lane.  My memory, that is.  As a tweener my younger brother and I would take these long hikes straight down from our mountain house, a pretty steep drop through leaves and trees and mountain laurel, eventually reaching a bubbling creek below.  We'd hang a left and follow the creek around a bend to these huge rocks.  I mean, automobile-sized huge.  Tens of thousands of years of never-ending water flow had eaten through the sod and carved winding flumes in the rock, and now we were the beneficiaries. We'd hop from one to the other, trying to be prudent but taking risks we probably should have avoided.  We'd hunt down cascading waterfalls and throw small sticks above them to watch them work their way down.  And if we found an open pool, chances were pretty good there were round flat rocks nearby - "pancakes," we called 'em.  Perfect for skipping rocks, a skill our father had taught us long before.

And now, some thirty years later, it's my memory being re-experienced through my two boys, my wife, and the two dogs, who had also made the trek.  True, I was now the parent, so it was a slightly different stance I had to take: don't make that jump, look out for snakes, try to avoid throwing rocks when someone is right in front of you. Silly parent stuff like that.  Still, it was pretty awesome when my own flesh and blood managed to skip a rock 15 times after a textbook toss, or make that hop from one rock to the other with not only ease but the same eager anticipation I had years before.  Coming alive in this little nirvana that so few people on this planet had ever seen, because it's a mile hike off a winding mountain road off a dirt road off a dirt road off a dirt road.

We had been then for a while and I mention to my wife that perhaps it was time for us to head back to the cabin. Why, she asks incredulously, they're actually getting along and not beating each other up.  A wise observation from my betrothed.  We stick around.

This is why we have vacations, people.  So we can go to places out in the middle of nowhere, which is actually somewhere, always with the people we love doing the kinds of things we should always make time to do.

You need to know, folks, that my heart is full right now.  That's usually what happens when I come home from these church youth conferences that weave their way in and out of my life a handful of times each year.  There's something about the synergy of energizers, music, a good message, even better people and the holy presence that often leaves me without words to express it all.  I've done this sort of thing enough - as a participant and as part of leadership - to know it's always tricky negotiating what's not-so-jokingly referred to as "re-entry:" going back to life as we know it and somehow living differently when, for everyone else, the planet has been spinning around its axis all the same.

Thus the dilemma I faced as I prepared to stand before 300+ youth and adults and give the sermon for closing worship at the Massanetta Middle School Conference last week. As the keynote speaker I'd been in the habit of talking to them a fair bit.   But what more was there to say?  So I was grateful when a friend offered up a little gem for me to chew on: think bigger than this one conference, Steve. Tell them what you want them to hear about themselves. Speak your heart.  And that's precisely what I did.

Four thing - four things that I want the youth of our church to know:

1. YOU ARE NOT JUST THE CHURCH'S FUTURE, YOU ARE THE CHURCH'S PRESENT
It always baffles me, and slightly irritates me, when I hear well-meaning people refer to youth strictly in terms of being "the church's future" - as if at some undetermined point a switch will be flipped and they'll instantaneously go from being participants and observers in the life of the church to suddenly leading it.  We need them to know that now is the time to grab hold of the leadership reins. Which means, of course, that we have to start letting go - and there's the rub.  "Youth on the session or on our committees?" someone once remarked to me. "I'd sure hate for them to see some of the things that go on there."  Hmm.  Perhaps the better solution is not shielding our youth from seeing something that shouldn't be there anyway, but bringing them on board to help us change things so that stuff isn't there to begin with.

2. YOUR VOICE MATTERS
It was last summer when I experienced  a 6th grade girl pony-tailed girl who, through a voice all her own, showed me how much her voice mattered and how much the church needed to hear it.  That was confirmed again last week at Massanetta around the lunch table one day, when a casual conversation with some of our youth leadership segued into a heartfelt discussion about the denomination's recent General Assembly actions and how their respective churches were dealing with it. I heard both hope and angst around the table - not only with what was happening in their congregations, but the ways in which they were or were not part of the conversation.  We need our young people at the table to lend their voices so our dialogue will be that much richer.

3. YOU REALLY CAN MAKE A DIFFERENCE
Going out on a limb here with a broad declaration, but more and more it seems to me that the church's worst enemy these days is not a culture of secularism but a culture of ambivalence.  Nothing can change. It doesn't really matter anyway.  Our young people are right at that critical point of looking at us and deciding if we're worth their time and investment.  So as the church grants our young people a place at the table, we need to make sure that it's more than simply a seat.  It needs to come with a voice and the empowerment to do things that actually matter.   If they sense all they're getting is a token position, we've lost them already.

4. YOU ARE ALWAYS, ALWAYS LOVED
One of the workshops at Massanetta allowed folks to anonymously name and claim their fears, and one night during our leadership devotion the workshop director shared some of them with us.  My heart broke as I heard so much confusion, angst, pain - and, running through them, the very real fear that they may not be accepted for being themselves.  In a society where our young people are constantly judged and valued for what score they made on a test, how fast they run a mile at practice, how well their college essay is written, and how much what they wear is in style, the church is in a beautifully unique position to tell them over and over again that they are loved not for anything they've done but just because of who they are - and, more importantly, whose they are. 

So those are the four things I shared with the youth in my closing sermon.  What about you - what things would you tell them, if you were given the chance?

If you don't have a clue who Adam Silver is, I won't fault  you. Honestly, had it not been for the fact that our family has become rabid former-Bobcats-now-Hornets fans since our move to Charlotte eight months ago, I probably wouldn't have known he's the new NBA commissioner either, coming on the job this past April.  Some thought that following his long-term and very successful predecessor would be a challenge, but Silver has more than demonstrated he's up to the task, as evidenced in how he's handled a couple of tricky situations with tremendous grace, compassion and action.

In fact - and here's a true sign that you can paint me Hornet purple and teal, folks - I actually think there's a few things pastor types like me can learn from the NBA Commish.  Here's what I've got:

WHEN TRAGIC THINGS HAPPEN TO SOMEONE IN THE FAMILY,
FIND WAYS TO HONOR THEM AND HONOR ALL.

Last Thursday night found the Lindsleys joining a few thousand of the Hornets faithful at Time Warner Cable arena in uptown Charlotte, attending the NBA Draft Party.

You heard right, people.  A draft party. This is what my life has come to.

Anyway, in addition to watching our team pick an Indiana power forward with great potential and freakishly huge hands, we also got to see this:

How amazing is this!  In a radio interview a few days after the draft, Austin said that Silver had called him the day after he learned his medical condition would keep him from pursuing his dream.  I want you to be my special guest at the draft, and we want to honor you" was all Silver told him.  It would've been enough if Silver had simply acknowledged him, said everyone was rooting for him.  But he took it a step further and gave Austin what he wanted most on that night: to hear his name called, go up on stage, get a cap, get "drafted." You can see in the video how much it meant to him.  And how much it meant to everyone else there - players, parents, fans.   

The real beauty of what he did?  It not only communicated authentic compassion to this one player, but to everyone there.  It sent a clear message: we care about you in this league.  When one of us falls down, we're there to pick you up.

Pastoring people means you're there for folks in both the good and the bad.  It's pretty easy to celebrate the good stuff; it's a little harder to know how to respond to truly tragic situations in transformative ways - ways that communicate the same caring love not just to the one directly affected, but to everyone.  Silver led in a special way in this instance; pastors as well should keep their eyes peeled for moments to do the same.

WHEN CONFLICT AND DYSFUNCTION REAR THEIR UGLY HEAD,
CONSULT, PONDER, PRAY - AND THEN ACT.

Back in May, news broke that Los Angeles Clippers owner Donald Sterling had said some pretty heinous racial things.  For those who have followed him over the years, this came as no surprise, as he'd compiled a stellar track record of offending just about every minority possible. Roughy four days later, Adam Silver stepped to the mic at a called press conference and responded - lifetime suspension, huge fine, and pushing him to sell the team.  It was the strictest punishment Silver could administer per the NBA bylaws.

It would've been easy for Silver to have looked the other way (it's what his predecessor did for years) or give him a slap on the wrist.  But Silver chose to act.  And the thing is, he didn't make the decision in haste or by himself.  It came after a pretty intense period of discernment and consultation with other NBA owners and players.  He got all the information he needed, he heard the thoughts and opinions of others.  And with that surrounding him, he stepped to the mic.  

It's one thing to have some minor disgruntlement in a church ; it's another thing when there's an ongoing dysfunctional pattern of behavior that's harmful to everyone.  Churches, like so many organizations, tend to deal with this sort of thing by sweeping it under the rug or rationalizing it away.  Pastors are in a unique position to help a system heal.  However - and this is key - they should never try to do it by themselves.  Talk to people, seek out counsel in and out of the church, gather information, and then act.  It's hard stuff, but the dividends pay off in many ways, including a healthy family system that has greater potential to flourish and grow. 

DON'T TAKE CREDIT FOR THE GROUP'S SUCCESS (AND DON'T LET THE GROUP LET YOU).

Weeks after Silver's press conference on the Sterling matter, he stepped to the podium at the annual NBA MVP awards ceremony.  And something unheard of happened: the place erupted in applause.  It's well-known in professional sports circles that a true fan holds general disdain toward their sport's commissioner; the "big brother" that meddles and screws up the purity of the game.  Heck, every time NFL Commissioner Roger Goodell gets introduced somewhere the crowd boos lustily.  It's like a rite of passage.

But not this time - Silver stepped to the mic and fans clapped and cheered.  And how did the commish react?  Raise his arms up in the air, flash the "victory" sign, pump his fists?  Hardly.  Slightly taken aback at first, Silver briefly paused and then proceeded with his remarks, quieting everyone down.  He didn't bask in the glow - because, in a sense, he realized that it really wasn't his glow anyway.  They were applauding a system that worked.  He only stewarded the process along.

Pastors are a lot like sports coaches - they tend to get more credit than they deserve when things are going well, and more blame than they deserve when things are not.  It's rare, especially in the church polity I serve under, that a single individual can make significant changes all by themselves.  In the church, pastors and congregations "succeed" together.  Just because it's one person standing up in the pulpit every Sunday doesn't mean he or she is up there by themselves.  Which brings me to my next point....

WHENEVER POSSIBLE, SIT IN THE STANDS.

Watching the NBA Finals this year (another thing I didn't do much of until recently), I remember one point when the camera panned the crowd for a few seconds, stopping to focus on a relaxed Adam Silver chatting it up with his neighbor and drinking bottled water.  This, when he as the Commish could've easily scored seats at floor level, or in the team owner's box sipping champagne instead of Dasani.  I've since learned that this is his normal routine at games - whenever possible, he sits with the fans.

Churches are way too eager to put their pastors on a pedestal.  It's an odd dynamic, thrusting a person you ought to be close to at such a distance.  Pastors should find ways to gracefully resist this and plant themselves in the crowd.  Consider asking folks to call you by your first name instead of using titles like "Reverend" and "Doctor."  Head to the back of the after-worship lunch line instead of letting those well-meaning folks push you to the front.  Keep your office door open when you're not sermonizing or counseling someone.  We serve our people and lead them much better when we are truly among them, not apart from them or over them.

What are other important qualities of a pastor and leader that you see in people you admire?