If you were at the annual parish meeting this past Sunday (and we hope you were!) you already know that Colin Hills was officially named youth minister for Transfiguration. We hadn’t planned on his post going up the week after the announcement, but what a perfect way for you to get some insight into what this man brings to our youth program!
contributed by Colin Hills
I could not decide how to tell this story, so I am just going to start with the facts. The youth helped EMF deliver food to The Gathering on Sunday, January 4, and had the opportunity to worship with a small part of the homeless community in Dallas. There were not very many attendees due to the temperature, so we were able to give almost everyone two sack lunches as opposed to the normal one. By the numbers, it was a success. Transfiguration was represented by at least twenty people, about fifty people (by my guess) were fed who otherwise would have gone hungry for the day, songs were sung, smiles were smiled, and so on.
That isn’t what happened though. What really happened went far beyond the scope of a few sack lunches. After staging the food to be handed out after the service, we were brought into the chapel and asked to stand around the perimeter to ensure that every attendee had a seat. That was when the collective comfort zone of the group was incisively removed. Suddenly, we were singing; I am not talking about the singing Transfiguration is used to. No, I’m talking about in-your-face, on-your-feet, clapping, HALLELUJAH singing. Then, because that clearly was not enough, the service leader decided we needed a singing competition to determine which group could sing the loudest verse. The teams were loosely assigned, but one thing was clear: The Fig was its own team, and we forgot to bring our choir with us. We lost, badly. But the service leader gave us a chance to “redeem” ourselves and, I am proud to say, we stepped up!
When the service began, there was still plenty of seating left so we repositioned ourselves. I had the great fortune of having a vantage point to watch what unfolded. Our youth began to find their seats, and promptly began to realize they were going to have to split up. There was a notable progression of facial expressions as they each began to realize that they were going to have to sit next to and worship with a homeless person. It was beautiful. Our youth overcame quite a bit of discomfort during that service, and were still perfectly willing and able to hand out the food at its close.
As I handed the last lunch I had to a man (I will call him Mark), he pulled me aside. He told me, with great effort, why he was grateful for the youth that day. That day, the first Sunday of the New Year, was a special day for Mark. It was the day he had chosen to walk around downtown Dallas, find a bus he liked, and jump in front of it. He was going to skip church that day because it did not seem right to commit the greatest sin – to take a life – right after church. Thankfully, something came over Mark that morning and he “didn’t have the guts.” He decided to come to church after all for a reason he could not understand.
Mark then told me that seeing our youth worship reminded him of the beauty in the world. He told me that seeing our youth be with each other, smiling, laughing at their own discomfort, and generally carrying on was enough to remind him that God was with him.
“I saw God in those kids. I saw God in them. Let me tell you, it’s been awhile since I’ve seen God,” Mark told me.
I couldn’t do anything but smile. I shook his hand, clumsily told him how grateful I was that we met, and handed him his lunch.
“Man, this is gonna be a good sandwich,” he said, smiling.
There is a lot to be taken from a story like this. We rarely get to see the effect we have on the lives around us, and when we do it often surprises us. In this case, it was pure, unadulterated joy that saved a man’s life. In retrospect, it was fitting that the closing song for the service was “This Little Light of Mine.”