Leadership Journal

Josh, a twenty-something guy in my church, invited me to play basketball at Triangle Park. "A lot of guys from church will be there," he said. Without much thought, I said yes.

When I showed up in my JCPenney sneakers, I looked around the asphalt court and realized the last time I played 5-on-5, full court, was longer ago than these guys have been alive.

The game started, and I ran the court, filling the lane like my freshman coach had taught back when Dr. J was playing in the ABA. It felt good to go up for a rebound. I've still got it, I thought. Then I threw up an air ball. The next time I got the ball, it was quickly swiped away. In theological terms, my game bore the marks of the Fall.

After my team lost, new teams were formed (the main goal being to divide up the guys from Indiana, where they start dribbling a basketball in preschool), and my team was designated "skins." I'm so white and skinny, I look like the Pillsbury Doughboy after he married Jenny Craig. When I peeled off my t-shirt, some of the young guys hooted.

As I drove my minivan home that night, I thought, I embarrassed myself. I showed how painfully old and uncool I am. Plus, this wasn't doing anything in the way of ministry.

The next week, Josh asked, "You coming out to Triangle?"

"I, uh, no, I'm kind of busy," I said.

"Well, okay, but we'd love to have you."

Well, yeah, I thought. It's nice to have someone to score against. But then Nate stopped me at church and said, "It was great having you play this week. Hope you come again." Scott, one of the Indiana guys, said the same. So did another guy. I got more positive comments from that lame basketball performance than from most sermons I preach.

That led to other discoveries about ministry among twenty-somethings. There are some clear differences between the generation that beat me at basketball and my own.

Baby Boomers tend to ask me about results: "How many showed up last night?" Millennials ask about relationship: "Next Tuesday, can you hang out?"

When we bring loving pastoral discipline to a Baby Boomer, he will often try to squirm out of it; when we do the same with a Millennial, he's likely to stay and end up closer to the pastors and the church.

Baby Boomers show up for classes and programs; Millennials show up for mentoring. Both show up for retreats.

While Boomers want their church leaders relevant, competent, and efficient, a new generation is looking for a different kind of minister. At my church, 80 percent of adults are under 40, and they seem to want me firm, mature, and relationally present (even if I'm uncool). In short, they want me to be a spiritual father. For some, I'm the Christian dad they never had. For others, I'm the father figure who's here now.

This is causing me to rethink the way I do ministry. It has driven me back to the Scriptures. For this is far more than mere generational preference. What's at stake is our very identity as pastors. It's how we as pastors answer the question: Who am I, and what am I supposed to be doing?

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