The title gives you an idea about this post. Not "where I'm coming from" in a philosophical sense, mind you. Well, not overtly, anyway, although I'm sure there's plenty about my current ministry setting that will inform the way I see and respond to things in Corpus.
What to say about Lampasas, TX? Small town, central Texas; about an hour north of Austin, about an hour and a half north of San Antonio. Two and a half hours south-ish from Fort Worth. Killeen is 40 minutes to the east, and we sit in the shadow of Fort Hood, so the US Army has a very significant fingerprint on the region's social and economic milieu.
The 2000 census has the Lampasas population at a little over 6,700; but as the county seat it serves more like 7,500 once you count all the outlying rural people. The Lampasas ISD has one high school, one middle school, and three elementary schools.
A local Lampasas church did a little survey a few years ago about church attendance; the results clocked in at a little under 2400 people who are active in local congregations. I don't have all the parameters on what consititutes "active", but on face value, that sounds pretty nice. That's about 1/3 of the population; it also means that Christians are in the minority among the rest of the populace.
During the school year, I made the local Middle School lunch a routine stop-in. It's a great way to make contact with kids who would never darken the door of a church. The school cafeteria is a "neutral" site - sort of. Students talk when they are in packs -- and it's funny what they will say when they think numbers give them leverage. Sometimes what they say shocks you; sometimes what comes out is profane, but more often than not it's profound. I never (more like rarely on second blush) broadcast that I'm the youth minister at First Baptist Church, but it usually gets around.
You build a pretty regular set of contacts after a couple of months. I don't sit unless invited, and I end up sitting quite a bit. We laugh about inane things, we chat about dorky homework and maddening teachers. Sometimes dark secrets from weekends pop up, then the students remind themselves that an "adult" in the conversation, and it dribbles away. Sometimes, they don't care.
I stay through both 7th and 8th grade lunches and usually end up "playing soccer" during the break before the 7th graders head back to class; I put playing in quotes because I usually stand in front of the goal, chat with the goalie, and "forget" that I have to use my feet to touch the ball. We laugh, they get sweaty, we trudge back to the pleasure of A/C in the spring, they to the slavery of the next class period and me to the cafeteria for the next lunch. 8th graders tend to be more content just dragging out lunchtable time before going in to class.
The best part about Middle School lunch? You learn to listen in a crowd. You learn to hear what people say, and what they don't. They learn church might not be a threatening place. You make witty banter with the school clerical staff when you sign in and the teachers start to trust you. Next thing you know, that kid (the jock, the all-dressed-in-black girl, the cheerleader, the know-it-all, the new kid from Canada) says "I didn't know you knew my name."
Sure didn't, six months ago.
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