Rob Prince's Blog

Two weeks ago, Shepherds Circle convened pastors from the majority of churches in the Church of the Nazarene (those churches with fewer than 100 people in attendance). Last week, I sat with pastors from the other end of the spectrum: those serving in the 5% of our churches with more than 250 in attendance, including nine pastors from the top 0.7% with attendance above 750. Then, a group of district superintendents came to the Nazarene Global Ministry Center.

Different churches. 
Different responsibilities. 
Different challenges.

But I walked away with one overwhelming realization: Every shepherd carries a heavy load.

The stressors may not be the same, but I’m not sure our hearts, minds, or bodies know the difference. Stress is stress. Pressure is pressure. And ministry can be tough at any size.

A church of 50 may be struggling to pay the electric bill. A church of 1,000 may be laying off staff because the mortgage has become too much. A district superintendent may be trying to find a pastor for a small, faithful congregation that simply cannot afford to pay a pastor a living wage. Different problems. Same weight.

It hurts when a long-time family leaves a church of 75 for a mega church down the road. It hurts when a long-time member of a larger church takes to social media to criticize the music, the pastor, or the perceived political bent of someone in leadership. And it hurts when long-time church leaders gossip concerning the district superintendent’s leadership style.

It’s lonely when a pastor in a church of 50 feels like there is no one to talk to. It can be just as lonely in a church of 1,000 when a pastor has no one trusted enough to have an honest conversation. And it’s lonely for a district superintendent who spends more time putting out troubling fires rather than experiencing Pentecostal fires in the district churches.

Besides those stressors (and so many other burdens in ministry), life happens to all of us. Troubles at home, health trials, extended family responsibilities will take a toll on anyone. Those circumstances aren’t church matters, but they affect the ability to minister well. 

Here’s the bottom line: 
Pastoring a smaller church is tough.
Pastoring a larger church is tough.
Being a district superintendent is tough.

All of these are callings. All are important. All are needed. Each pastor/district superintendent I met with is serving well and joyfully. But being called doesn’t mean being immune to stress, disappointment, criticism, loneliness, or exhaustion.

And that is why Shepherds Circle is being created.

Pastors need help. They need encouragement. They need someone who understands. They need someone they can trust. They need people who will listen without judgment, pray with them, walk alongside them, and remind them that they don’t have to carry the weight alone. They need to connect with someone who will hear them.

Pastors of small churches need that.
Pastors of large churches need that.
District superintendents need that.

Creating healthier pastors creates healthier churches which creates healthier districts—and ultimately strengthens the mission God has given us. No matter the size of the church, no matter the title, no matter the challenge: Shepherds need shepherding, too. Every shepherd needs a circle of people who are genuinely on their side. That’s what Shepherds Circle is all about.

.

Last week, Shepherds Circle gathered a group of pastors whose churches average fewer than 100 in worship attendance. Originally, we called this group “small church pastors.” But during last week’s conversation, it became clear that “small church” may not be the best way to describe this group. 

According to the latest data from Nazarene research, the breakdown of worship attendance across Nazarene churches in the USA/Canada is the following:

Worship AttendanceChurches%Zero3838.1%1–492,28948.4%50–991,17224.8%100–24964013.5%250–7492104.4%750 330.7%Total4,727100.0%

Of the 4,727 Nazarene churches in the USA/Canada, 3,844 have fewer than 100 people in worship attendance. That represents 81% of all churches. Moreover, 57% have fewer than 50 people in attendance.

 “Small” may technically describe these churches, but maybe it is not the most helpful term. “Average,” “normal,” “majority church,” or simply “the majority” might be a more accurate descriptor. In fact, “the vast majority” may be the best narrative of the group representing more than 80% of our churches. Which raises an important question: If the vast majority of our churches have fewer than 100 people in worship, shouldn’t our strategies for moving forward reflect the realities, strengths, and challenges of the vast majority?

The vast majority of churches don’t necessarily need to know how the 0.7% of churches with 750 in attendance operate. That is a different ball game. The vast majority need strategies for the realities they face every day: navigating difficult parishioner dynamics (like the pastor who last week described a member threatening to leave over the church’s lighting); addressing deferred maintenance in aging facilities with limited resources; and discovering creative revenue streams to help fund the mission.

Does what’s reported on the Annual Pastor’s Report (APR) show the health of a vast majority of the Nazarene churches?  Maybe not. Does an improvement in worship attendance from 75 to 80—or a five-person decline—really tell us much about the faithfulness of a congregation?  What matters is what that body of believers is doing in its community. Are they loving people beyond the walls of the church? Are they praying? Do they have a broken heart for those who are far from Jesus? How many members are engaged in mission and service? Are they supporting their pastor? Are they forming disciples who are learning to live holy lives in a post-Christian America?

These questions may tell us far more about the health of a church than an attendance number. That leads to an even larger question: If the metrics we often use to measure success or failure—the numbers reported on the APR—do not fully reflect what is happening in the vast majority of our churches, do we need to consider new metrics?

Maybe success should not be defined simply by how many people fill a pew, but how many people serve after they leave their seats. Success should not be determined by how much money is placed in an offering plate, but how much love is offered to a neighbor. Perhaps we should be asking not only how many people attended last Sunday, but how many people were discipled, served, prayed for, welcomed, encouraged, or introduced to Jesus during the week.

Those kinds of kingdom activities are much harder to capture in a report filled with numbers. The APR gives statisticians a picture of certain realities, but it does not capture all the ways the kingdom of God is advancing through a local congregation.

The vast majority of our churches are doing the work of the kingdom. Much of that work simply isn’t recorded on the APR. Let’s find better ways to articulate, recognize, and celebrate what is happening.

Facts: 
1. The vast majority of our churches are faithfully serving Jesus in their local contexts. 
2. The vast majority of our pastors are faithfully leading, loving, praying, serving, and persevering. Their churches may not be large, but their faithfulness is significant.

Conclusion: 
1. Maybe it’s time to stop calling them “small churches” and start recognizing them for what they really are: the vast majority of the Church of the Nazarene.
2. And maybe it’s time to celebrate them—not because they have achieved impressive numbers, but because they are faithfully doing the work God has called them to do.

.

Paul writes in his letter to the Ephesians that God calls some people to be evangelists. Along with other ministers, evangelists are “to equip God’s people and to build up the church” (Ephesians 4:11–12). Paul clearly understood the evangelist to be a necessary ministry within the church.

Is that still the case?

Recently, I spoke with one of the few remaining tenured evangelists in the Church of the Nazarene. There are fewer than a dozen active tenured evangelists in the denomination. Even more striking, in the past ten years, only one person has been elevated to the status of tenured evangelist.

One tenured evangelist. In ten years. For an entire denomination.

It seems that itinerant evangelists are becoming a dying breed.

Consider a few basic facts:

The church still needs to be equipped and built up.According to Paul, equipping and building up the church is part of the evangelist’s calling.The Church of the Nazarene considers this calling important enough to maintain an extensive process for organizing, recognizing, and categorizing various levels of evangelistic ministry. See the Manual for the details.Yet very few people appear to be responding to that call.

These facts raise some difficult questions. Is God still calling evangelists? Has the evangelist become a relic of the past—a ministry that was once useful but is no longer relevant? Do we still need itinerant evangelists in the 21st century?

For generations, the evangelist’s role was preaching in a week of revival meetings—sometimes two weeks. It was an annual staple of most Nazarene churches—sometimes twice a year. But that practice has become increasingly uncommon.

At the same time, as many churches are experiencing declining attendance, diminished finances, and increasing challenges in reaching their communities, one could argue that the church needs to be equipped and built up more than ever. In other words, perhaps the problem isn’t that we need fewer evangelists. Maybe we need more—just a different kind.

The 21st-century evangelist’s job description may look less like the one we inherited from recent generations and more like the ministry of Philip, “the evangelist,” in the Book of Acts. Philip was one of the seven chosen to help distribute food in Acts 6. In Acts 8, he preached to crowds, but he also shared the gospel one-on-one with the Ethiopian eunuch. Then, in Acts 21, we find Philip in Caesarea, where Paul and Luke were recipients of his hospitality. Philip preached—but he did much more.

Perhaps we should envision an evangelist who is not simply a pulpiteer, but also an equipper, encourager, consultant, trainer, and partner in ministry. Someone who can help a church evaluate its effectiveness, identify opportunities, and develop practical steps for reaching its community.

Imagine an evangelist who comes alongside the local pastor—not to replace the pastor’s leadership, but to strengthen it. An evangelist who trains, equips, and empowers pastors and congregations to reach their communities with the gospel and to pursue holiness. Maybe the 21st-century itinerant evangelist will spend less time behind the pulpit and more time in classrooms, coffee shops, living rooms, and one-on-one conversations.

Is this where the future of the evangelist lies—not in abandoning the historic calling, but in rediscovering it? An additional voice alongside the local pastor can still be powerful. The church still needs to be equipped and built up. People still need to hear the gospel. Believers still need to be challenged toward holiness. Churches still need encouragement, renewal, and empowerment. The evangelist’s job is not done. 

What may need to change is not whether we have evangelists, but how we use them. We need a new breed of evangelist—men and women who are called, trained, and released to build and equip the church in ways that make sense for the world in which we now minister.

The fields are still white unto harvest.
The church still needs evangelists to equip and build it up to reach our world.
It just might look different than it did in the past.

Could God be calling you to a new and essential ministry of evangelism?

Shameless Plug Alert: Nazarene Bible College can help evangelists-in-training develop the theological, practical, and ministry tools they need to fulfill that calling in the 21st century.

Maybe because I’m inching closer to the finish line than the starting gates of life, but lately I’ve found myself thinking—morbidly, perhaps—about the perfect pastor’s eulogy. What will be said or written about me when I’m gone?

What would I want someone to say?

Would I care about the number of sermons preached? The number of people in the pews? The dollars collected? The programs started? In my final Annual Pastor’s Report, what would I want said? What would I really want included in the summary of my life and ministry?

Luke gives us a pretty remarkable answer in Acts 6.

Luke, the careful historian, writing Stephen’s obituary tells how he performed great wonders and signs among the people, but Luke doesn’t give us the details. We don’t know exactly what Stephen did or didn’t do. There is nothing in Stephen’s obituary that sounds like an entry on an Annual Pastor’s Report. No attendance figures. No financial totals. No list of accomplishments. Yet in two phrases, containing thirteen words, Luke basically says, Stephen was full of it.

A drug addicted, thief once said that about me after I advised his dad not to give the man any more money. He was not pleased with me at all. But I don’t think he and Luke meant the same thing. Being “full of it” in the conversation with the thieving son was not a compliment.

But in describing Stephen, Luke said, Stephen was “full of faith and the Holy Spirit” (Acts 6:5) and “full of God’s grace and power” (Acts 6:8).

Stephen was full of “it.” The “it” being faith, the Holy Spirit, grace, and power. I want to be full of that too. Being full of it meant there was no room for Stephen to be full of pride, greed, significance, or self. 

But being full of “it” didn’t mean Stephen was spared hardship.
He was the first Christian martyr.

Being full of “it” didn’t mean he avoided pain or suffering.
He was dragged outside the city and stoned to death.

And yet, being full of “it,” his next to last words were, “Look! I see heaven open and the Son of Man standing at the right hand of God” (Acts 7:56).

Then, like Jesus, Stephen entrusted himself to God and prayed that the Lord would forgive those who were killing him.

It’s quite a eulogy from Luke. Stephen’s life was quite a life.

So, Pastor, maybe your Annual Pastor’s Report doesn’t contain numbers that would wow anyone at the Global Ministry Center. Maybe it isn’t filled with impressive attendance figures or record-breaking dollars. Maybe the statistics don’t tell the story you wish they did. 

That’s not the goal.

The goal is to be full of it.

Full of faith.
Full of the Holy Spirit.
Full of God’s grace.
Full of God’s power.

When the final report is written, those are the things I hope can be said about me.

I hope they can be said about you, too.

Shepherds Circle is going to help a lot of pastors.

It will be an encouragement center. An equipping center. A place where weary shepherds can catch their breath, where healthy pastors become healthier, and where those sensing God’s call can discern it with wisdom and confidence. It is a needed ministry—for pastors, future pastors, and those just beginning to wonder if the Lord might be calling them. I’m deeply grateful for the opportunity to help build it. Thank you, Nazarene Bible College!

But there is something I’ve discovered over these last few months.
I miss preaching.
Not a little.
A lot.

To my fellow preachers: never become so familiar with the pulpit that you lose your wonder of it. There is nothing quite like the moment when the Holy Spirit takes hours of hidden prayer, study, and preparation and breathes on them. Truth catches fire. Eyes brighten. Hearts awaken. The Bible is expounded. Christ is lifted. God is magnified. And somehow, in His mercy, He chooses to use ordinary people holding open Bibles to accomplish extraordinary things.

I’ve missed that.

Stepping into the pulpit (and yes, I know many of us haven’t stood behind an actual wooden pulpit in years) is one of the greatest privileges entrusted to a person. It is also one of the greatest responsibilities. Every sermon is more than a talk. It’s not a speech. It is an act of stewardship. The preacher stands between an open Bible and hungry souls.

When the preacher has prayed, studied, wrestled with the text, depended on the Spirit, and then faithfully proclaims God’s Word, something holy happens.

The lost find Christ.
The wanderers come home.
The weary are strengthened.
The proud are humbled.
The broken find hope and healing.
The lonely realize the Lord is with them.
The believer is shaped a little more into Christlikeness.

Not because of the preacher’s talent, but because the Spirit delights to work through faithful proclamation. There is a joy in being part of that miracle that is difficult to describe. It is not the applause of people. It is not even the satisfaction of delivering a good sermon. It is the quiet, settled wonder of knowing that, for a few sacred moments, God allowed you to carry His Word to His people.

My Bible-proclaiming brothers and sisters, stay faithful.
Stay on your knees.
Stay in the Word.
Stay filled with the Spirit.
The world is full of opinions. The church (the world) needs God’s indescribable power.

Keep opening the Book. Keep lifting up Christ. Keep trusting that the Lord is doing far more than you could ever see.

I look forward to filling pulpits again, preaching renewal services, and encouraging pastors through retreats and conferences. But this season away from regular preaching has reminded me of something I never want to forget.

The privilege of preaching is too precious to presume upon.
Every opportunity to proclaim Christ is a gift.
Every sermon is grace.
And there is no joy quite like watching God use His Word to change a human heart.

Amazon arrived. Reading habits shifted. Publishing economics changed. Borders, Waldenbooks, Zondervan, and B. Dalton are gone. Honestly, given the publishing industry, it’s a miracle that there is still a publishing entity in the Church of the Nazarene. Nazarene Publishing House morphed into the Foundry.

With our changed world, the Foundry was forced to no longer send people like George Rice, Tom Roat, Matt Zimmer or another sales representative to district assemblies and camp meetings with their familiar routine. The bookseller would hold up that year’s featured holiness book—often written by a general superintendent, seminary professor, or influential pastor—and declare, “This year’s holiness book is the best I’ve ever read.” (They said the same thing the year before.)

Then came the sales pitch.

“Pastors, you need this book. Your church needs to hear this book preached. Raise your hand if you want a copy.” Hands went up quickly. The representative would continue, “Laypeople, if your pastor’s hand is not raised, buy the book for him/her. Your church needs the holiness message contained in this book.” More hands would go up across the sanctuary. Volunteers moved through the aisles distributing books by writers such as W. T. Purkiser, Al Truesdale, John Allen Knight, and others.

Something more important than selling books happened because of the NPH sales pitch. Pastors bought, read and built sermon series based on them. As a result, local churches received a regular, denominationally grounded dose of Wesleyan holiness teaching. Today, no longer resourced with a steady stream of holiness literature, Nazarene pastors stopped preaching an annual sermon series built around those holiness books. Instead, they regurgitate sermons from Craig Groeschel, Andy Stanley, John MacArthur, and a host of other evangelical voices. Those pastors may be gifted communicators, but they are not Wesleyan holiness preachers. 

Without up-to-date holiness books, it’s no wonder fewer sermons are being preached on historical Nazarene positions regarding sanctification, the Holy Spirit, and what it means to be a Nazarene. Over time, many Nazarene churches have sounded less Nazarene and more like the generic evangelical church down the street.

Moreover, Nazarenes singing has also changed. Forget Haldor Lilleneas. Now Hillsong, Maverick City and Elevation songs are sung every Sunday in many Nazarene churches. Those groups are writing good songs, but they aren’t holiness songs. Nazarenes no longer sing a steady stream of holiness songs. Holiness Unto the Lord is sung once a year—at the district’s ordination service. That’s it. The Haldor Lillenas’ hymn, Holiness Forevermore is not sung, not known and very possibly not a reality in many Nazarene churches. (Please note: This is not renewing the worship wars. I’m not calling for hymns over choruses. I’m begging for new holiness choruses that can be sung in Nazarene churches).

Like the book tables, the sales reps, and holiness hymns, one wonders if the sanctifying message of the Church of the Nazarene is being pushed out by our reading and singing habits? Has Amazon and the Christian music industry robbed the Church of the Nazarene of her distinctive doctrine?

P.F. Bresee’s dream that the Church of the Nazarene might “Christianize Christianity” is not possible with bland evangelical pulpits and popular choruses. To modify Bresee vision to our current reality, maybe it’s time to “Nazarene-ize Nazarenes.” It’s returning to our roots (that’s not a call for book tables and hymnbooks). But a deep desire to disseminate preach-able holiness materials that pastors can then use and beg songwriters to compose modern singable holiness songs. Nazarenes need to hear sermons preached and songs sung of heart cleansing once more. Holiness forevermore can’t simply be a song in a dusty hymnbook, but a reality that is lived out in Nazarene churches everywhere. Let’s Christianize Christianity. Dream of a better day.  

If holiness preachers have no relevant and current holiness materials from which to preach and if the word “sanctification” is rarely uttered from our pulpits (read: we hear more sermons based on popular non-Wesleyan, megachurch pastors than from William Greathouse or Mildred Wynkoop) and if we never dedicate time for spiritual growth (read: no revival services) and if we don’t ever get away purely for the sake of growing our relationship with Jesus (read: no camp meetings and pastor and/or lay retreats) and if we rarely have extended times of prayer with other believers (read: no prayer meetings) and if young people don’t hear how the spirit is moving in individual lives (read: no testimony services) and if we don’t unplug ourselves from the corrupt world (read: No personal devotions) and if spend more time scrolling news feeds than reading our Bibles (read: minimal time in God’s Word) and if our holiness is not played out in the real world as we care for the sick, needy and the “least of these” (read: no compassionate, social  holiness displayed) and if we don’t talk to our neighbors about Jesus (read: evangelism seems offensive to many) and if we’d rather argue about immigration than love our neighbor (read: the fruit of the spirit is not evident in our lives) and if our political loyalties stir more passion than the Gospel of Jesus Christ (read: Jesus is not Lord) and if our kids’ sports schedules have priority over their spiritual development (read again: Jesus is not Lord) and if our in-person church attendance is spotty at best (read: seriously, Jesus is NOT Lord), then why are we surprised that…

hearts are no longer being strangely warmed (sorry John Wesley) and the Pentecostal fires are no longer burning (sorry Phoebe Palmer) and our utmost is not for Highest (sorry Oswald Chambers) and we are no longer called unto holiness (sorry Phineas F Bresee) and we are not all out for souls (sorry J.B. Chapman) and we aren’t mentoring anybody and no one is mentoring us (sorry Jerry Porter) and our churches are too often dead, dead, dead they just haven’t had a funeral (sorry Jim Deihl) andthe slow drift from holiness has become our reality.

The previous paragraph was one long sentence—372 words, to be exact. My English teachers are undoubtedly shaking their heads.

It was intentionally exhausting because, frankly, that’s how the state of holiness sometimes feels. It is one overwhelming pile of symptoms—a barf-o-rama of spiritual drift. None of these things alone explains where we are but taken together, they paint a sobering picture of hearts that have gradually settled for less than God’s best.

I don’t blame social media.
I don’t blame cable news. 
I don’t blame sports.
I don’t blame politicians, publishers, pastors, or church leaders.

This is our world. It’s our reality.

The culture has changed, and the church must continue finding fresh ways to communicate the timeless gospel. I’m not arguing for a return to the “good old days.” Some methods belong in the past. But the message never does.

Holiness never goes out of style.
Prayer never becomes obsolete.
Revival is not for history books.
We don’t need nostalgia.
We need is divine intervention.
We need Pentecostal Power.

We need the Holy Spirit to awaken sleepy hearts, convict complacent souls, condemn misplaced loyalties, rekindle holy love, and once again make us a people who look like Jesus. The call remains exactly what it has always been:

“Be holy, because I am holy.”

God still demands and still provides a way for people to be holy. 

We just aren’t there.
Revive us again, O Lord.
And if revival is going to begin anywhere, let it begin with me.

The church I attended as a child is closed.
The church my wife’s family attended is closed.
The church where my brother was first a pastor is closed.
The church of my first pastorate nearly closed too. There were only five people. It was as close to death as a church can be. But through, God’s grace, it’s coming to life once more. Praise the Lord (and thank you Pastors Rich and Missy Evans!)

Churches don’t have to die.

In post-World War II America, the 1950s was a booming birth decade for many churches. We were all out for souls (thank you JB Chapman), planting churches left and right even in places like Bad Axe, Michigan. But jump ahead 75 years to our post Christian America and ask, “will the 2030s become the decade of death for many churches?”

Perhaps it shouldn’t surprise us. Churches, like people, have a life cycle. Left unchanged, many will live about four score years—eighty years or so—and then slowly fade away. 

We have options. We can sit quietly like a family gathered around Grandma’s bedside, holding hands and humming old hymns while another church slips away? Or we can say, “Not on my watch.” Not today. That means:

We begin with prayer.
Open my eyes to people who are hurting.
Let me see the wanderers.
The lost and the lonely.
Like Isaiah, help us say, “Here am I. Send me.”
Help me to step outside my comfort zone.
Let me love people.
All people.
Not with a bait-and-switch kind of love.
Not a “love your soul but not you” kind of love.
Really love them.
Serve them.
Listen to them.
Hope they see Jesus in me.
Earn the privilege of sharing Jesus.
Then help me to do it again tomorrow.
And the next day.
Invite the new believers to join me.
In parks.
In workplaces.
In schools.
In neighborhoods.
Wherever God places us
It’s called building His Church.
“The gates of hell shall not prevail against it” is the promise from Jesus.
Let’s stop acting like we’re planning a funeral.
It’s time to celebrate a rebirth.
No more dirges.
Sing a new song.
It’s happening in Bad Axe, Michigan.
It can happen in your church!
Let the 2030’s be the decade of re-birth, renewal, resuscitating the barely alive and even resurrecting the dead. 

Believe in a wonder working God!

See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland. Isaiah 43:19

This was my first Nazarene Youth Conference (NYC). My blog about attending NYC prior to the event is here. As a veteran of exactly one NYC, here are a few random observations:

There were other old people at NYC. It wasn’t just youth and youth workers. District Superintendents, vendors, college representatives and assorted grey heads (like yours truly) were present and accounted for. The students that I encountered either in the convention venue or in the hotel or restaurants were all kind, polite and a true blessing. We can be very hopeful concerning the next generation. The old people (like me) that I encountered all had good attitudes too. I heard no complaints about the music being too loud or the students being too rowdy. No one yelled, “Get off my lawn.”  I love it when various generations love one another.The currency of NYC is not cash or credit. It’s t-shirts. T-shirts were traded left and right. Each district had its own t-shirt, and the colleges also were giving out freebies.  From my vantage point the most coveted (can I say people were covetous at a holiness event?) was the Eastern Michigan District hockey jersey. Canada, Hawaii and Prairie Lakes were also in the running for the champion t-shirt. Ten thousand youth (and the smattering of old people) worshipping and praising Jesus was pretty great.The speakers were engaging and most connected well with the students. It takes a lot of planning to put on such an event. NYI gets a big “Great Job Everybody!!” congratulatory award!

NYC became a community of grace and kindness and worship and service (the students all had a serve day during the event). All this to say, NYC is probably the best event hosted by the Church of the Nazarene.

Of course, the question becomes: Can other Nazarene events (General Assembly, M-29, even camp meetings and district assemblies) learn from NYC?  Is it possible for the other gatherings to have the same devotion and commitment and holiness and zeal? 

I hate to write what’s coming. You might hate to read it. Here goes: Old people need to learn from young people. No one was jockeying for position (unless it was to get a t-shirt). There were no church politics. No grumpiness. No phoniness. No “we-haven’t-done-it-that-way” attitudes. No sacred cows that had to be observed. None of the students that I observed, seemed to be worried about others noticing their devotion or expression of faithfulness. They were singing and leaning into a holy devotion that would have made Phineas F Bresee proud. 

I pray that we old timers at our next Nazarene gathering can likewise live out the holiness we say we believe. Let’s make our gatherings less like a political convention and more like NYC. Less like a fashion show, and more like NYC. Less like a funeral procession and more like NYC. Less look at me, and more look to Jesus (in other words).

At age 62, I am attending my first Nazarene Youth Conference. Lo those many years ago, when I was a teenager, this event was called the World Youth Conference. Only a select number of students attended. Entire youth groups didn’t go. To be selected, prospective attendees memorized scripture and then recited the Bible passages at an interview. The moment the words “memorizing scripture” and “recite at an interview” were uttered, was the day my 14-year-old self said, “I’d rather spend my summer playing baseball than traveling with a bunch of strangers to Estes Park, Colorado.”  

Both of my boys attended NYC (no scripture memorization required). Alex to St. Louis and Ben went to Louisville (twice). Now it’s my turn. I’m heading to Salt Lake City. I’ll be representing Nazarene Bible College, as well as the new Pastoral Center I’m helping create. I hope to rub shoulders with some fellow old-timers as I begin laying the groundwork for the Center.

Still, I have questions.

What does an old guy wear to a youth conference? It’s going to be hot. Mid-90s hot. Can an old guy wear shorts? I’m not trying to look cool; I’m trying to be cool (as in not hot).

I’ve also been told that I can’t recruit among the youth pastors and young adults attending the event. Recruit them to what? The Center doesn’t have a name or logo. I’m not handing out swag or candy or brochures. I don’t have an event to promote. No recruiting? No worries.

As one of the oldest guys at a youth event, am I obligated to yell, “Hey, you rotten kids, get off the lawn!”? None of the lawns belong to me. Why would I care who walks on them?

Since we’re going to Salt Lake City, will I be impressed by Great Salt Lake? I’m from Michigan. We have Great Lakes. Plural. None of them are salty. Impressed?  Probably not.

Another question: Do I have to eat green Jell-O while I’m in Utah? Fun fact: Utah consumes more Jell-O than anywhere else in America. Green Jell-O has practically achieved state-symbol status. Nevertheless, I will probably pass.

Here’s my real question. Will we hear from God?

That’s the only thing that matters. More than the concerts, speakers, crowds or activities. Will we hear from the Lord? 

So let me ask a few more questions:
Will you join me in praying for that end?
Will you pray that thousands of students encounter God in a powerful way?
Will you ask the Lord to pour out His Holy Spirit on this gathering?
Will you pray that young men and women hear and answer God’s call to ministry?
Will you pray that NYC 2027 becomes more than an event—that it becomes a spiritual movement that impacts not only our young people but our entire church?

And while you’re at it, pray that this old guy doesn’t do anything worthy of receiving an “Old Geezer Award.” I’d like to come home without that dubious distinction.