Message, Means and Manner in Kids Ministry
This week I was asked to be the guest speaker at the 40th anniversary of the Christian school our 4 kids attended. Part of my challenge was to come up with something that might somehow span the gathering of preschoolers, pupils, parents and pensioners. And I had 10 minutes—which, I think, meant they expected me to go for 15.
Being given complete freedom to chose what to do can be a lot more challenging to me than being given a topic—even a tough one. In this case, the anniversary provided an obvious direction—it’s a time to reflect, remember, give thanks.
My perspective of the school has been, as an adult, as a teacher (briefly), and then as a parent of students (21 years as—10 of those years as a board member). But most of my listeners would be kids. I wanted to say something that was true, biblical, compelling, memorable: something about the outcome of a faithful life; the aim of an authentic Christian education (the school song, based on Psalm 1, seemed a great scripture at which to arrive). I was settling on my message, but I saw a problem looming.
The walk to maturity is lofty from the end—fruitful godliness—but very often messy, mundane and steep at the beginning. That’s especially true for kids, who get to see the mud and the footsteps and, perhaps, a misty glimpse of the summit. It’s full of “have tos” and “do what you’re tolds”; the humdrum of drills and tests and routine—which can feel like you’re not heading anywhere in particular. That problem unlocked the talk and gave me my means. Let’s build this thing around the experience of an obscured outcome.
Illustrating an Obscured Outcome
So what might help me illustrate that? Where else does that happen?
I had two ideas brewing—the means by which I might deliver the message.
OPTION A was to unveil a mystery box containing the ingredients of a cake (a nice tie-in to an anniversary). The ingredients are essential for the cake, but they aren’t the cake … yet. I’ll show the ingredients; ask, “Who wants a piece of cake?” then choose and feed my victim the raw, unmixed, unbaked ingredients.
OPTION B springs from being an old bloke—you’ve been granted time to see kids grow into adults: change … learn … develop. You’ve even done that yourself, real time. Kids are stuck in the now, but not if they had … a Time Machine! A 40-year school history has produced a number of teachers who are ex-students of the school, so I figured a cardboard fridge box, a sign saying “TIME MACHINE™”, some theatrical smoke and my toilet-paper leaf blower could conceivably send Mr Manns back to 1999, retrieve the Year 7 version of him to talk to us in 2017, then send him back and retrieve the grown up version. Effectively, we get to fast-forward, see that life as a kid has its good and bad, liked and disliked, but it’s all working towards an outcome. Potentially (hopefully) a positive one.
Now, because I liked both options, I decided to integrate the two (I’ll include my script—from which I didn’t stray too far). The message was really twofold. I wanted to say that we don’t always make sense of the now, but God is working his good purposes, shaping good things in those who live faithfully today. And I wanted to hold up the Bible picture of a good outcome, the good life of Psalm 1.
Given the school setting, I gave Psalm 1 a bit of a tweak here and there, to put it in a way that might speak more directly to kids—especially kids who’ve sung it a lot as their school song.
I roughed out a script, which gave me a sense of the flow of things and just where the illustration might step to idea, means into message.
That still left manner. What tone was I to take? How should I manage the balance between levity and gravity? Should I depart from the plan if a magic moment presented itself unexpectedly? Was there a persona to inhabit at some stage? Did I have the message clear enough to not get swamped by the means? If I wanted others to engage, had I created something that they could engage with? Could I have fun with this?
It took a while to get set on the morning (Being ready makes a big difference and actually aids genuine and useful spontaneity. I find good prep.—a clear, thought-through, preferably reviewed and tweaked plan with props and materials ready—always gives me the security to enjoy the journey, seize the moment and engage with the content as I go).
The hall filled with a beautifully diverse audience:
- High schoolers, whose default was probably not set to “sit in another assembly” mode.
- Parents, perhaps needing reassurance that their kids are in a good place.
- School founders, eager to see that first things are still first.
- Little preppies, legs swinging off their chairs… Pray that the lasso swings wide and well to catch them all…
God blessed the morning. I love it when the bits you think might be less tailored for the adults seem to be especially enjoyed by them (a model head rolling out of the smoking time machine definitely helped!) And when I’m thinking, “here comes a proposition, perhaps the kids will struggle now and switch off,” then it’s a joy to see young eyes meeting mine, showing that they’re right there.
Not every opportunity to share with kids—or adults—hits the sweet spot. It’s not always in our control, for one reason or another. We’re not always well prepped, or on our game.
But if our message is strong, sharp, thought-through and biblical; if our means is targeted, engaging, built to serve that message; and if our manner springs from who we are in Christ—Spirit-led, resonating gospel gravity, love, wonder, joy—well, we’re sure to be giving it a red-hot crack.
And, let’s face it, it’s not every day you get to spoon-feed a kid flour, coconut and butter, down a raw egg then operate a real cardboard time machine…!
