Author: Heather Lea Campbell

#ThrowbackThursday: Heather talks about Communion

christianity, Theology

When I was growing up, I didn’t understand Communion at all.

And looking back, it’s kind of adorable. I have four stories:

Heather at 7

We called it “Lord’s Supper” at my church growing up. And even though I really didn’t understand it, I was drawn to it.

In our tradition, you didn’t receive Lord’s Supper until you were saved. At the ripe age of 6, all my friends were getting saved and baptized, so I asked Jesus into my heart too. I loved Jesus, but I also wanted to fit in with my friends. Because my parents didn’t attend church, they moved very slowly to honor their wishes and make sure that I was “serious” about that act.

But who is “serious” about Jesus at 6? Well, maybe I was.

And so…I walked down the aisle about another dozen times.

One Sunday, I walked down the aisle to ask Jesus into my heart again. I filled out the membership card again. And because I was in the front aisle, I missed the Lord’s Supper.

After the service, I told the pastor I missed it. He told me it was okay. But I insisted–I was 8 years old and I wanted the wafer and the juice. So, he took the Lord’s Supper with me, individually. I don’t think I’ll ever forget that moment. He may not, either–it’s when the church realized I was going to be pretty unrelenting about this whole Jesus thing. So a few months later, my entire family came to church (for the first and only time in my life) and I was baptized.

Heather at 11

My dad’s side of the family is Catholic. One time we were visiting my great-grandmother’s church for mass. When it was time to receive the Eucharist, I stepped forward. In a Catholic church, only Catholics can receive the sacrament. My family was trying to tell me, in hushed tones, that I couldn’t go forward. In order to get my attention they were pointing and waving and even physically trying to block me.

I’m sure you’re not surprised: I pitched a fit. Upset, I cried and didn’t understand why I couldn’t receive some bread and juice. I didn’t understand the Eucharist fully, but that didn’t mean I should be denied the elements. How could you tell somebody that they can’t have the body and blood of Christ?

Heather at 18

At 18, I was first introduced to Communion by intinction. Up until this point, I had wafers and cups of juice. At one point my church had switched over to the cups where the juice was at the bottom, then there was a film, then the wafer, then another film (Looking back, I wouldn’t ever do it that way again, personally).

We were at summer camp, where I was a counselor. The camp pastor didn’t explain intinction, and nobody knew how to do it…including the adults. He left it on the altar for anybody to take it as they’d like, at their own pace.

About 12 minutes in, nobody took the Lord’s Supper. In the Southern Baptist tradition, you don’t take Lord’s Supper if you have unrepentant sin. The camp pastor got wise to the fact that this room of teenagers wasn’t that strict…so he explained it. And guess who was first to grab that bread?

Heather Lea Campbell.

Heather at 21

I took a class in college called “God and Humanity” that changed my entire perspective on Communion. For the first time, I got it.

At the end of 30 Hour Famine, they suggest breaking the fast with Communion. At my church where I served as youth director, technically anybody could serve it. But women couldn’t serve as pastors, so it’d be taboo for a woman to serve Communion.

I’m sure you can guess: I served Communion to my students. Without asking leaders of the church. I just did it. And it was fantastic.

Heather at 26

Today, I still love Communion. Since I run programs during church services, I don’t take it often, except with staff once a month.

So the Heather of today tries to sneak over into church on the first Sunday of month and take it with the congregation. We use Hawaiian sweet bread, so you can understand.

I didn’t realize my funny history with Communion until I was writing a lesson on it for Confirmation–we talked about how it’s kind of an awkward act, taking someone’s body and blood and popping it down the hatch.

But for me, I have always been an embracer of awkward and mysterious things (hence why I work with middle schoolers).

My hope is that we can raise up a generation that is desperate for Jesus the way I have been my entire life for the bread that represents the Body and the blood that represents his lifeline.

 

#ThrowbackThursday: The Time 20yo Heather taught on the Armor of God

lessons

Last week I gave my intern, Zach, an especially difficult lesson that he was to write from scratch and then I would watch him teach (this was the first time for either in a very long time): The Armor of God.

I forgot how difficult that passage was, and last week when I sat down with him to talk about it, I wanted to show him how I taught on it when I was his age. Except it would be a lesson of What Not to Do.

The Armor of God was the first curriculum series I ever wrote. I was 20 at a small Southern Baptist church and only halfway through my youth ministry degree. You can already tell this won’t turn out well.

I am so grateful that this church trusted me to lead their youth group. Really. But I look back at the things “20 year old Heather” did in ministry and LAUGH. This church allowed me the space to us their students as guinea pigs. I’m happy to say that they all have turned out to be functioning young college students, but that’s because they had a really great community to support them.

So, here are 7 things about that series that I did that is kind of silly. I dug through pictures.

1. I took this series and drug it out over 12 weeks. Yep.

2. I creatively had them create “armor” out of things I found in my dorm’s recycling bin.

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3. And made them fight.

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4. I taught them that the belt of truth was for chastity. So, they created “belts” that covered everything. Look above.

5. I created an armor guy out of poster board and added a piece to him each week. HE hung up in there for the next two years.196512_1669217652438_6213234_n.jpg

notice how I added extra papers on “the armor of God.”

6. I actually wrote on the board “Be prepared for the apocalypse.”66969_1472194286977_3206936_n.jpg

7. This was a good part: I had them take the armor of God and get creative, drawing their own.75697_1507400007098_8201961_n.jpg

The boys drew a riot cop. The girls drew a conductor.

I’m sure that in 5 more years, I’ll laugh at 26-year old Heather. But for now, it’s fun looking at these pictures and remembering how God used a newbie in ministry to create a fun atmosphere and great dialogue with students who were probably smarter than I was. And as I coach newbies in ministry now, I can assure them with history to back me that God can use you even if you get it wrong.

Allowing Tweens to ask Tough Questions

junior high ministry, Millennial in Ministry

I’ve officially been at my church 2 years. Wow! As I turn 26 in just two weeks, I’m sure you can understand that I’ve never been in any position this long. It’s not my fault altogether; I mean, us Millennials are flakey. So I read.

I never thought I’d find myself in a progressive church. Women teaching? Heresy. Welcoming gay people? Blasphemy. Topical sermon series? Grandma is crying.

But the thing that terrified me the most: Creating an open space for people to ask tough questions.

And wouldn’t you know it: That’s the thing I love the most about my job in youth ministry.

We say we want students to ask the tough questions. We hope that students will come to us when they are stuck. But what are we doing to create that opportunity for them?

This year I took over our Confirmation class, and it’s been a pretty cool experience. One of the things Confirmation allows is for students to ask hard questions. So, I have three “panels” a year that gives students an opportunity to lay them on me.

And my, it’s terrifying. Every time I have one of these, I am anxious and have to lay down the coffee. In fact this last Sunday, I was so nervous I forgot my trusty pink Bible.

They ask me how I can know that the Bible hasn’t been mishandled by people over time (I read them the curse at the end of Revelation…smart move, Heather). They ask me who is going to Heaven, and what Hell is like. They ask me if God is going to allow the earth to get destroyed by the sun/ice caps/war/zombies, because, you know, there’s scientific proof for all that. And then we get to have a conversation that while science is true, God is bigger.

Then they ask me the things everyone is thinking: Did God get Mary pregnant the way that we get people pregnant? How do I break up with my girlfriend? Who should I pick for my football draft this week? Why exactly should I come to church? Will going to church help me play sports better? How do clams have babies?

(these are real questions)

And every time we do this, I walk away like I got slapped across the face 17.3 times. But every time they become more open to explaining their questions, laughing at my answers, and trying to figure it out on their own.

As a young adult, I have many of the same questions as them, and I tell them that. I don’t know who all goes to Heaven and what Hell is like. I can speculate. I can be gracious. I can even doubt it all together. But if I don’t have space to present my questions and my fears and my doubts, then I don’t have church.

So, here’s to two years here. I won’t be the flaky young adult that leaves when things get tough and scary. Nope, the toughness will define me and empower me.

Doing More?

god, identity

“I feel stuck.”

These are the words one of my precious student leaders pulled me aside a little over a month ago, as she continued to tell me of her eagerness to grow in her faith.  I listened to her, encouraged her, and gave her a few tangible things to “do.”  But I struggled to explain to her the fuzzy line between “faith without works are dead” and the hard truth that doing anything more won’t mean anything more to you without faith.

I talked to my sister today, who explains to me that she doesn’t want to “eat spiritual steak,” because she’s still a “spiritual infant.” Certainly, I’d love to see growth in my sister.  But I find myself again explaining to her that doing more won’t magically grow you more.

The crazy thing is–I think I operate my own life with the belief that I’m never a good-enough Christian, that there is always more to do.  I think of a conversation with a good friend a few weeks ago, who told me that there was “always more ministry to do” as she justified adding more to her plate.

I’m 7 years older than my sister, who is 7 years older than my student leader. Between the three of us, we have the same notion that we must do more in order to grow more in our faith. I asked my sister what she thinks the “goal is” for faith, and she told me to live a life where everything glorifies God. I asked her if she though I was strong in my faith then. She stuttered (jerk).  Point proven.  If the three of us over the course of 14 years all have this same notion, my guess is that this is a feeling that will never go away.

It’s a sucky feeling, to not feel good enough. We get enough of that in our day-to-day life, that when you add not being “good enough” in faith, it all just feels so hard. Faith shouldn’t be this hard, right?  Faith shouldn’t be something that you’re “good” at.

This last month on three separate occasions over the course of one month I’ve heard lessons taught on the comparison between the Pharisees and “sinners”: a tax collector, an adulterous woman, and the woman who fell at Jesus’ feet. In all three occasions, it’s proven that there is no distinction between them in terms of sin: They’ve all messed up, no one is without sin.

And in all three stories, Jesus proves that the ones who are “good enough” are the ones who know they’re not.  None of them are saying “Hey Jesus, what more can I do?”  In fact, the ones who do end up hearing answers that turn them away from Jesus (sell all my possessions? who is my neighbor, really?).

At the end of the day, all I want is God.

In every other aspect of life, I have to do something in order to gain something. It’s just the way it is. But what makes Christianity unique is that it’s the only way that doesn’t require more.

I’m not denying the value from spiritual disciplines. But I am denying the belief that doing them or anything else will somehow bring me certain results.

I just want to touch Jesus’ cloak for healing, wipe his feet with my tears, and admit I don’t have it all together. This is far more difficult that doing more, because it’s vulnerable. But that’s where God is–we’re too busy covering ourselves with fig leaves and to-do lists to understand that.

Why Campference is the Best Weekend of My Year

junior high ministry

I just got back from #Campference with two of my best volunteers. Campference is a half-camp, half-conference event that takes place only an hour and a half away from me for middle school youth workers–it’s basically a no-brainer to go to. This weekend had some fantastic moments. Here I want to highlight why Campference is not only the best conference around, but why it becomes one of the best weekends of the year.

A tribe is in it together.  Middle school students aren’t always held in the highest regard, but middle school youth workers are kind of obsessed with them (in a healthy way). Life proves time and time again that people bond over hard things, and middle school ministry creates a bond in youth workers that is lasting. I feel like when I come to Campference, people remember the details of my ministry–even some of the silly things about it. I love that! I feel truly known by people, and I feel like I have 100 people on my team supporting me.

The vibe is real life. The joke is that Campference is “Vegas,” and everything that is shared and experienced is honored and kept in a safe place. But more than being a safe place, it’s also  a fun place. We can make poop jokes, cuss a little, and know that this is how the “real world” is, and so we don’t have to pretend around one another. Also important– no one is on a pedestal. Speakers aren’t holy gurus (only once was I caught drooling), but normal people that sit down and have normal conversations with you over normal food. This is where real conversations happen.

The breakouts apply. All the time. Even when I went to a breakout that’s name didn’t totally convince me, I walked out smarter. Why? No one is imparting some great knowledge on “lesser” youth workers. Instead, we’re having conversations and growing together. We’re taking time to take names and stories and treat each other the way we would if it was our own youth ministry. This matters–most conferences have a style that is totally opposite of what we would do during youth group. And everything applies; even the games we play as groups can be taken back home and replicated in our church.

For me, this year Campference was healing. There were things that I was able to deal with in my own heart that I needed that space for. SO, shoutout to The Youth Cartel for putting on another great event. Go to their website and buy all their stuff.

Who am I?

identity

I love the song “Friend of God.” Maybe it’s because I grew up in a church that made it really popping. Kirk Franklin’s version frequents my car rides in the morning to work (well, all of his works do, let’s be honest).

I always get choked up when I hear, “Who am I, that you are mindful of me?”

I tear because I think, “Yeah, Lord, who AM I? I’m a hot mess.”

But as I read Psalm 8 today, I realized that I have been reading this verse wrong my entire life.  This question isn’t a rhetorical one meant to convict, but a legitimate question meant to encourage you:

When I look at the night sky and see the work of your fingers—
the moon and the stars you set in place—
what are mere mortals that you should think about them,
human beings that you should care for them?
Yet you made them only a little lower than God
and crowned them with glory and honor.
You gave them charge of everything you made,
putting all things under their authority—
the flocks and the herds
and all the wild animals,
the birds in the sky, the fish in the sea,
and everything that swims the ocean currents.

Who is humanity, that God would pay attention to us?  We are his prized creation, made in his image, in control and entrusted with the entire earth.

We are more than just his friends. We are just a little lower than God and crowned with glory.

This isn’t rhetorical. This is telling you EXACTLY who you are to God.

(and it convicts me even more–because rarely do I honor this God-given image)