It was a debilitating epiphany.

Kelly was my girlfriend in 5th grade. I remember thinking how beautiful she was (still is). She had hair that looked like curly fries (still does). We had even gotten in trouble for kissing on the playground. Even though I didn’t grow hair in certain areas until I was in High School, I was still an aggressive 10-year-old. We dated in High School. Married in college. Now eight years and three kids later we stood across from each other confused, unable to communicate and pretty much depleted.

How did this happen?

Hardly a day goes by that someone doesn’t tell us what a great couple we are or how cute our family is.

I felt an incredible numbness. I couldn’t move. I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to pursue her. I spend 50 plus hours a week pursuing people. That’s my job! When I come home I want to rest. I want a break. I just want to watch TV.

Does she not know that? Have I not shared with her all the affirmation I have been receiving from the people I’ve been pursuing? Does she not know all the good I’m doing? Does she not know that people need me?

How did this happen to me?

My dad owns a commercial tile construction company. During the summers of my High School days, I would work for him. I hated it. But tonight the thought of laying tile, even though it is hard, laborious work, seemed so restful. Maybe if I were a tile-setter I would want to be the “spiritual leader” of my family, because I don’t now. I don’t have the capacity.

Earlier that same day I was preparing a lesson on the feeding of the 5,000. Before Jesus performed this miracle, he asked Philip, one of his disciples, “Where shall we buy bread for these people to eat?” The author then tell us that Jesus already knew that he was going to solve the problem miraculously.

So why did Jesus ask?

When confronted with an overwhelming need or a debilitating epiphany, what’s our response?

Philip’s response was “It would take almost a year’s wages to buy enough bread for each one to have a bite!”

Looking at my 5th grade girlfriend, grown-up and heartbroken, my response was “I can’t fix this and I don’t have the energy to try. At least not right now. I have a few things I have to get done at work first. Right now all I want to do is watch TV.” And that’s what I did.

Standing in the kitchen I knew what my response should be. I still know what my response should be. It’s part of my job to know the right response. But even as I write these thoughts down, evoking pretty s*!tty feelings about myself (please don’t go back and read my previous post…you will all turn on me), I still don’t really want to turn to Jesus with my overwhelming need.

Another of his disciples, Andrew, Simon Peter’s brother, spoke up, “Here is a boy with five small barley loaves and two small fish, but how far will they go among so many?”

Jesus said, “Have the people sit down.” There was plenty of grass in that place, and they sat down (about five thousand men were there).

Jesus then took the loaves, gave thanks, and distributed to those who were seated as much as they wanted. He did the same with the fish.

So glad it’s all about grace.

Zach

This time when I received the email, I decided I had been negligent about my Facebook correspondence and needed to spend some time “catching up.” While feverishly “liking” people’s statuses, I came across a status my wife had posted on December 26, 2009 at 11:47pm.

Kelly Van Dyke sitting in the front row of an empty sanctuary listening to Zach preach!!!

After spending a few moments thanking God for giving me a wife that would listen to me practice my first sermon into the wee hours of the night, a thought crossed my mind that could lengthen my procrastination.

I know Kelly journals. Maybe she would allow me to post her thoughts about that first sermon for this week’s article.

God loves me. Like many times before, Kelly shocked me by saying “yes.”

As I was listening to Zach practice his first sermon in an empty sanctuary at midnight, I was filled with pride. It wasn’t perfect. And despite working on it and practicing it all day, it was still fifty minutes long. (Zach told me the first time he practiced it, the sermon was an hour and forty minutes long). He still needed to cut twenty. It was late and this was crunch time. He preached his sermon again. We discussed, cut, re-worked and then he preached some more. Still fifty minutes.

I had to come to terms with the possibility of sleeping at the church and wearing my sweatpants and Uggs to the service.

Laying across the front row listening to Zach pray and plead for the Holy Spirit to come and speak to His people, my thoughts began to drift. It was late, nearing one in the morning, it was the day after Christmas and we have 3 young children, I was exhausted. I entered a kind of dream-like state. Not really sure how to describe it but I kind of journeyed through my past, our past.

As a child, I went through communicants class in this church. My dad had been a pastor here for 14 years. I met Zach here in fifth grade. This church, this body, had loved me and hurt me. They took part in shaping and shaking my view of God. They had ministered to me, walked by me, and deserted me. Many times I have had to forgive and others have unexplainably forgiven me. Chills began to fill my entire body and I was overwhelmed by the thought that I just need to rest in the arms of the One who is writing my story, Zach’s story, our story and the Church’s story.

We headed home a little after one, and we both got very little sleep. Zach was up with stomach cramps at four, throwing up at five, and left for the church around six. He left saying, “Never let me do this again! I know God gave me this message specifically for these people, but I don’t want to do it! Next time I am preaching on something that doesn’t expose me. Transparency sucks!” I rolled over and went back to sleep for another hour or so annoyed at my husband’s flair for the dramatic.

Around 7am, I was awakened by my own stomach cramps and an unbearable fear and panic set in. I had to stop Zach! I had to keep him from standing before these people! I had vivid visions of an angry mob. I had to protect him! Now this may sound ridiculous, but for me, in this moment, it was so real. Fear gripped me. I laid prostrate on my living room floor crying and asking God to take this burden, this responsibility, this calling away from us. I grew up as a pastor’s kid and had experienced so much pain from this very church. I have seen too much! It hurts.

I told God, “I don’t want this!”

He then gently reminded me of the prayers He had given me since Zach took the job as a youth pastor. “Lord, less of me. More of you. Use me, please. Use Zach. Let us see Your church and ourselves as You do – beautiful, spotless, forgiven. Give us adventures and let us always say ‘yes’ to the places you are leading.”

I knew I needed to say ‘yes’ despite the pain. ‘Yes’s’ are costly.

Eventually, I placed Zach, myself, my family, and God’s people into His hands…where I know they already were; yet I am so grateful he allowed me the chance to lay them down myself.

I went to the church, prayed with Zach, and then waited restlessly in the front row.

I was too nervous to visit with anyone, sometimes praying, sometimes wondering how Zach was feeling and wishing that I could be filled with peace and joy knowing that my husband was ministering God’s Word.

I began to wonder how all of the other pastors’ wives do this. They always sit poised and smiling. I’ve never seen a pastor’s wife that looked like me- red eyes, biting fingernails, bouncing her knees. Oh well. The moment was here.

As my husband stood up to preach his first sermon ever, I made eye contact with him and gave him the biggest smile I could muster. I prayed, “Ok God, do Your thing. I am ready for the ride. Come Holy Spirit, come.” And He did.

For the next thirty-seven minutes (far from one hour and forty – Praise Jesus!), I sat in awe of the real presence of the Holy Spirit and the impeccable way that He was speaking through the mouth of my husband. I had heard this sermon a few times, but this was different. God had a message for His people and He spoke it clearly, with smooth transitions, poignant illustrations, clutter free and straight to the heart.

After a breathtakingly beautiful sermon, Zach closed, “So glad it’s all about grace. Amen.” I burst into tears.

Zach had said “yes.” And God showed up for him…and me…and our church body. What an unbelievably unique blessing to hear the voice of my Heavenly Father, through my terrified, diarrhea ridden, sinful, and willing husband.

As I was driving to the home of a Ray and Trish and their 5 kids – Daniel, Andrew, Patrick, Caroline and Stephen – four of whom are or have been part of my student ministry, I kept repeating to myself: “I know how you feel.” (Don’t say it. Just don’t say it.)

Pulling up to the home, I was overwhelmed by the number of people that had already gathered in their front yard. People were crying and embracing, walking around stunned. I immediately walked over to a group of students who looked like they had all taken a slam to the gut by a 2-by-4. It had only been 30 minutes since Trish and her 5 kids learned that their husband and dad, who had been missing for the past 24 hours, had taken his own life in a wooded part of their neighborhood.

“Did someone say Zach’s here? Send him this way immediately. The kids need him inside.”

All the sudden, I was being escorted passed all of the friends and neighbors gathered in the front yard…

Why are they singling me out?

Passed the police officer standing guard at the front door…

I don’t know what to say?

And inside the home where I encountered the unedited shock and raw grief that accompanies tragedy. It was at that moment that my calling became real…and painfully convicting.

Pastors are supposed to have all the answers and know the right things to say and do in any situation and to bring hope in the bleakest times. “God works all things for the good of those who love him”…right?

I can’t say that. I don’t believe that. I’m obviously not a good pastor. I’m a “religious professional” who sometimes loves Jesus but more often struggles with God’s goodness and sovereignty…and knows not to say “I know how you feel.”

Why is saying “I know how you feel” so damaging at times like this? The obvious answer being the people who do say something like that usually have no clue and no desire to know how that person feels. But what if you do?

David’s dad died of cancer in the middle of his sophomore year. It was a long and painful battle that turned brutal at the end. Does David know how it feels to play basketball with his dad one day and next find out his dad had taken his own life? No.

But does David know how it feels to be constantly aware that he will never see his dad again…not here at least? Does he know how it feels to watch everyone around him move on while he still struggles daily with the death of his dad?

David knows how Daniel, Andrew, Patrick, Caroline, and Stephen feel.

During his freshmen year, Evan’s parents divorced and his dad moved across the country to Arizona (and this week will be deployed to Afghanistan for a year). Does Evan know how it feels to have his dad die? No.

But does Evan know how it feels to lose his dad…to not have his dad here? Does he know how it feels to walk off the football field seeing dads throwing their arms around their sons’ shoulders saying “That’s my boy”?

Evan knows how Daniel, Andrew, Patrick, Caroline and Stephen feel.

Maybe Satan’s most ingenious lie during a tragedy is “No one knows how I feel…especially God.”

The other day I was reading John 18 (still working on reading through the Gospels for Lent…as you can see I’m almost done!).

When Jesus had finished praying, he left with his disciples and crossed the Kidron Valley. On the other side there was a garden, and he and his disciples went into it. Now Judas, who betrayed him, knew the place, because Jesus had often met there with his disciples. So Judas came to the garden, guiding a detachment of soldiers and some officials from the chief priests and the Pharisees. They were carrying torches, lanterns and weapons.

Jesus, knowing all that was going to happen to him, got up and asked them, “Who is it you want?”

“Jesus of Nazareth,” they replied.

“I am he,” Jesus said.

When Jesus said, “I am he,” they drew back and fell to the ground.

Again, he asked them “Who is it you want?”

“Jesus of Nazareth,” they said.

Jesus answered, “I told you that I am he. If you are looking for me, then let these men go.”

Ray was a good man. He often called me to talk about his kids and what he could do to be a better daddy to them. His suicide has messed me up.

Maybe a day or two after reading John 18, while sitting in my car at a stoplight, I couldn’t shake the images in my mind of Ray in the woods agonizing over what it would mean to continue living in a fallen world. And then an image of Jesus in the woods popped into my mind…and he was doing the exact same thing. He was crying and sweating and shaking. He was sweating blood.

And before the light turned green, I saw Jesus, “overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death”, getting up. He got up!

I still can’t quote Romans 8:28 to Daniel, Andrew, Patrick, Caroline and Stephen, but I can say to them with great assurance that when their daddy got to Heaven, Jesus looked at him with deep tenderness and said, “I know how you feel.”

And only because Jesus got up and walked boldly into the pain of not only the cross but also the pain of Hell, Ray and those of us who believe in His name (and love him sometimes) will never be able to say to Him, “I know how you feel.”

Jesus answered, “I told you that I am he. If you are looking for me, then let these men go.”

So glad it’s all about grace.
Zach

I included the actual names of these deeply wounded people in hopes that you will join me in praying for them by name.

heretic – [n.] anyone who does not conform to an established attitude, doctrine, or principle.

So the other day I wrote that Kay Arthur is teaching heresy on my facebook page.

Now before you post a comment or write KeyLife…

I, Zachary David Van Dyke, am in no way stating in this blog that Kay Arthur is teaching heresy and I will not be using this platform to comment on Kay Arthur and what she teaches.

And I know she has pointed many people to Jesus…every single one of my mom’s friends who are on facebook let me know…and yes, I have read all 40-plus comments that have been posted on my facebook wall about the great, life-changing precepts of Kay Arthur. She is a hero to many.

But this got me thinking…why does it bother us when someone else thinks one of our teachers, leaders or heroes says something that is wrong or false or heresy?

I decided to do a google search that included the name “Steve Brown” and the word “heresy.”

As I read the various articles and blogs that google produced for me, I found myself wanting to cut and paste a lot of the things that my post-menopausal friends had written on my facebook wall. I was outraged at the misrepresentation of my teacher and friend (and unofficial hero), Steve Brown. These “Heretic Hunters” just didn’t understand the context or what Steve really meant. I just needed a chance to explain it to them.

Just as I was about to post a comment I remembered something Steve says often; “50% of what I am telling you is wrong. I just don’t know which 50%.” (This is for the guy who said that those who study under Brown respond with “brownisms” instead of Scripture.)

The other night, I went to hear Rob Bell (a man who has been called a heretic by many of his brothers and sisters in Christ). It was crazy. About 2,000 people paid (me included) $20 bucks to hear him talk for two and a half hours.

The excitement in the theatre was palatable leading up to his entrance and once he made his appearance from the middle of the audience, the crowd went wild.

At one point, Rob asked if anyone was wearing a cross necklace that he could borrow for an illustration. A woman on the 2nd row hurled her cross earring to the stage like it was undergarments at Bon Jovi concert in 1988. (I have never been to a Bon Jovi concert and was only eight in 1988, but I imagine that is what it was like.)

During the event, no one yelled out “heresy” but if they did, there is no doubt in my mind that someone wouldn’t have hiked up his skinny jeans, taken off his spiked belt and started a beat down. Unless of course, Rob reminded him that “Love Wins.”

I got to read a paper a ninth grader wrote for his English class. The assignment was to write about your hero. His paper was titled “Zach Van Dyke.”

Does he not know that I am often mad at God and don’t believe He is good…
that I can give an entire talk at youth group and not believe a word coming out of my mouth…
that I’m a very selfish husband and distracted father…

or even WORSE…

that I sometimes sound antinomian…
that I was moved by The Shack…
that I once posted on my facebook that Kay Arthur taught heresy.

I had a vision as I was working on this blog…not that kind of vision…maybe it would be better to say I started daydreaming about heaven…

I saw Kay, Steve, Rob and I (how presumptions of me) sitting around Jesus laughing about how many times we were so wrong and thought we were so right and thanking Him for being a Hero that rescues “heretics” like us.

So glad it’s all about grace.

Zach

Out of the three summers I have been a youth pastor, this by far has been my most successful with the highest numbers and greatest excitement among students. Camp was amazing. Participation in service projects has been phenomenal. Students have taken initiative in speaking the Gospel into each others’ lives.

This has been a hard summer for me. Much harder than the past two.

My summer has been overwhelmingly busy, but not because I have been wasting time sitting at the feet of Jesus. (I still haven’t finished reading all four Gospels – one of my goals during Lent as you may recall.)

My summer has been filled with blatant sin, but not because I believe so strongly in grace and therefore abuse it. On the contrary, I have never struggled so much with unbelief in the grace of God.

My summer has been lonely, but not because I haven’t been surrounded constantly with people who care.

My summer has been hard because God has been silent.

Okay, don’t argue theology with me…God has been silent…you know what that’s like, don’t you?

Yes, I’ve been busy and haven’t been carving out time with Him.

Yes, I’ve been sinning and not repenting…sometimes even enjoying it.

Yes, I’ve been ignoring and avoiding the warm fellowship of other believers.

Yes, all of the above creates a barrier in the relationship between me and God…or does it?

Am I ever still enough…obedient enough…encouraged enough to hear from a holy and perfect God?

Last week at the end of a very busy, sin-filled, lonely day, I went to visit a man who was dying. His name was Scott and he battled cancer for 8 years. I almost didn’t go, because I felt guilty that I hadn’t gone to visit him more often and now that he was about to die any day, I suddenly find time for him.

When I arrived at his house, it was hard to find parking because so many cars were lining the streets. Scott had lots of friends and I wouldn’t be surprised if most credit God’s work in his life to bring about radical change in theirs. In High School and college, Scott and I had a sort of unofficial mentor relationship. Most younger guys who knew Scott even if for only one week would say the same thing.

Encouraged by his wife, I walked over to see him. His hospital bed was in the middle of the living room and around him people talked and laughed and ate. There was so much life in the room, but he looked dead.

I said to him “Thank you for loving Jesus in front of me.” I meant it, but I also didn’t really know what else to say and was still feeling extremely guilty.

He then opened his eyes very briefly and stared at me. He began to speak. It was really hard to understand him. He became frustrated at my inability to interpret his breathy, slurred words, so he called for his wife to come over. He insisted that she raise his bed to a sitting position. He was then facing the group of friends and family on the couches and chairs and strained to get out the words that he so desperately wanted me to understand.

One word at a time he said:

“It…has…been…my…honor…to…represent…Jesus.”

Once he got through every word, he began repeating that sentence over and over and over again each time a little louder than before.

As his family gathered around him with tears streaming down their faces, I moved back behind the bed and I began to pray that God would speak through him to those gathered in the room. Not sure why, God had been silent.

And as soon as I finished praying, Scott called my name, “Zach.”

He struggled to speak and I struggled to understand.

I want to pass these words on to my fellow brothers and sisters in youth ministry, because I think He intended them for you as well.

“It has been my honor to represent Jesus. Now you do that. Love those teenagers. Disciple them and send them out. I love you. Go in peace.”

So glad it’s all about grace.

Zach
2 Cor. 6:1

I’ve never once in my 28 years had the slightest desire to smoke weed…until now.

Why now? Why is there an inescapable burning in the bowels of my being to smoke weed?

Because I’m a youth pastor.

Seriously, the reason I want to smoke weed IS because I am a youth pastor. I have racked my brain for weeks trying to uncover where this unmentionable desire is rooted and I can’t think of another reason or other change in my life that would bring about such a yearning. So, I have concluded the blame rests solely on my profession.

It is a hard, at times unbearable, profession…but wait, have I forgotten that I get paid to just hang out with teenagers all day, buy Venti Java Chips on the church credit card and go paint-balling?! (Did I mention I get paid?!)

So why then do most youth pastors last only 18 months?

Doctors and psychologists say that the human brain isn’t fully formed until the age of 22. As youth pastors, we are not working with fully formed humans!

This morning, I was reading in Luke 6 (my goal was to read through all four Gospels during Lent…as I am writing this, Easter has come and gone, and I still have Matthew, John and most of Luke to read) and came across the familiar story of the wise and foolish builders.

I started to think about our calling as youth pastors and what role we would take on a construction site. We are part of the foundation laying team (along with parents, teachers, even peers). Our work doesn’t take place above ground, but below. Scientifically speaking, the building isn’t done for 22 years.

Unfortunately, we are often coerced—maybe even forced—to ignore our role as foundation layers, and we begin to try and do work to which we aren’t called. The building’s façade is not our problem!

The senior pastor wants our ministry to be thriving and relevant (meaning our numbers should be up…even if his aren’t)…

Parents want their kids fixed (not unlike a dog…sex and teenagers is scary…remember…I do)…

We desperately want to be liked (there’s a reason I drive a Jeep and brush my teeth).

We could easily spend all of our time making our students look good because more than likely, as youth pastors who last an average of 18 months, we will be long gone when the storm hits and the foundation or lack thereof is revealed.

Although it may get us fired, I am certain that if the foundation we lay is grace (even with its inherent “risk” of abuse), the building, even if it doesn’t look very pretty, will remain standing long after Starbucks declares Chapter 11 and paint-ball is no longer a fun but painful activity.

I do apologize for the horrible exegesis of this sacred text…just one more reason I am not a “real” pastor, but only a youth pastor.

Unlike Steve who can say to pastors, “Been there, done that and got the t-shirt,” I’m just there.

I hope you will join me and other brothers and sisters “who don’t really work” in the new youth pastors’ forum as we share stories, confess sins and encourage one another. Because what we do matters…a lot. Ask any builder.

See you in the forums!

And if you read an anonymous confession to smoking weed, don’t assume it’s me.

So glad it’s all about grace.

Zach