It’s in vogue to make a difference, with the motto of this generation being YOLO (you only live once) – or in other words, you’ve got a limited amount of time to make an impact, so you had better get on with doing some great stuff and fast! Even in Christian circles we can become preoccupied with ‘making a difference’ or ‘having an impact’. Whenever I ask my young people what they want to do when they are older, they respond along the lines of ‘making a difference’. This in itself is not wrong, but as Jamie Cutteridge explores in ‘Youth work in the age of the selfie’ (p. 24), is symptomatic of an individualistic culture in which self-fulfilment and self-realisation is king. There’s a very subtle line between ‘I want to make a difference’ and ‘I want to make a difference’.
What history books don’t tell us is what these revered people were actually like, day–to–day. What did they enjoy? Were they kind? Were they doggedly pursuing the thing they are known for, or was it a by-product of their compassion-filled lives of excellence? According to reports, Albert Einstein was a slow-to-speak young man who struggled to use language as a child, causing his parents and doctors great concern. He also developed some odd habits in later life; his chauffeur reported that he once plucked a grasshopper off the ground and ate it, and would take his violin along on bird-watching treks, playing music with tears streaming down his face.
Most of us know only a little about Dietrich Bonhoeffer - generally something to do with his part in a plot to assassinate Hitler, a cause he ultimately died for. A lesser known aspect of his life is his work as a chaplain, and the time that he spent with young people in confirmation classes. Andrew Root reflects on one of his confirmation class sermons, and the lessons we can learn from it (p. 16). It seems that Bonhoeffer was so much more than our GCSE history books testify to.
Unlike most other figures in history, we know a lot about Jesus’ personality – what he said and did, day–to–day – as well as the big history-making, dying–on–a–cross stuff. We know how he treated people, how he spent his time and how attractive he was to all kinds of people – including the worst of sinners. He never got caught up in the ‘I’ve got a world to save’ mentality so much that he didn’t value the one-on-one encounters, the hidden people and the seemingly unimportant moments. The big history–changing, legacy–leaving stuff, came from the small things. It was the overflow of his compassion-filled life.
Perhaps most shockingly of all - Jesus seemed to advocate the unnoticed, insignificant life. As the late and great youth worker Mike Yaconelli said: ‘Christianity shows itself most powerfully in the unnoticed life, in the inconspicuous servant, the unrecognized saint, the invisible disciple.’ We may not make it into the history books.
We may not even feel like we do anything of lasting worth. But maybe – in the climate of individualism and self-realisation – what our young people need is not another model of super-duper history making faith. What they need most are examples of humble, invisible, faithful disciples.
