YOLO
A few years ago I went into a local high school to talk to some of the pupils about the Easter story. It wasn't easy. I had a cracking talk prepared, even though I do say so myself, but they weren't interested. I changed tack and started asking them questions. Who believes that Jesus rose from the dead? One girl put her hand up and said ‘Yeah, I do’. I was encouraged by this and made the mistake of asking her to say more: ‘Yeah, like, it’s like why would they make that up if it wasn't true?’ I nodded encouragingly at the young apologist. ‘It’s like mermaids innit? They must be real, fairies too, why would people make them up?’ Either she was really cleverly taking me down here, or she was embarrassingly serious. I suspected the latter so offered the question to the rest of the group.
Anyone else? A girl in the corner, chewing gum, feet on the table, puts her hand up. ‘I don't think Jesus rose from the dead’. Good. Let’s have a debate then. I ask her how she has come to this conclusion. She replies with a crushing acronym: ‘YOLO’. For those of you over a certain age, YOLO stands for You Only Live Once, and for a short while, before it fell out of fashion, it was a rallying cry encouraging young people to live for the moment, to make a bucket list, to have as many experiences as they can, because, well…YOLO.
Even though YOLO is no longer cool, the concept is still a driving force for a generation wanting to find some significance in their lives. Be yourself, be outstanding - you're unique and special - be the best. Go viral. Be on the X Factor. Second is nothing. Get better, stronger, faster, reach higher. YOLO!
Nowhere is this more evident than on social media. The buzz of putting up a great picture and watching the likes flood in. Your clever/funny/wise tweet or meme getting retweeted hundreds of times, or your YouTube video going viral. There are celebrities on Twitter who have ‘hilarious’ banter about who has the most followers. The more followers you have, the more powerful and respected you are.
This kind of school playground talk (mine is bigger than yours!) is even prevalent among Christians. There are some church leaders I know whose conversation starter with other church leaders is always: ‘How many have you got now?’ How many have you got? That’s the kind of question you ask about a stamp collection, or a kid collecting football stickers, and no way to talk about people!
In my early twenties I was in a worship band that led worship at lots of the big Christian festivals in the UK. In some places there was a real celebrity culture and hierarchy, depending on the size of stage you had performed on, or the size of the church you were in. There was a trend of trying to climb up a ladder of success. We were interviewed once for a Christian TV channel after leading worship at a well known festival, and the interviewer said to us ‘this must be a big step up the ladder for you guys, playing at this festival for this amount of people’. I was surprised - we were there to lead some people in worshipping God, not to climb up some ladder - probably a ladder that only has about 3 rungs with not much of a view at the top! Surely Jesus would be burning the ladder if he was here now?
I have experienced this in the church too. A man on a gap year in another church came to do a placement in our church. When he first arrived I made him a cup of tea. He was deeply embarrassed that a ‘Pastor’ was making him a brew, when he felt it should be the other way round! On another occasion, I had spoken in front of a big crowd at a Christian youth festival, and our church were also running one of the cafes for the event. That afternoon, I was vacuuming the floor of the cafe getting ready to open, when a teenager walking past saw me and came in. She stared for a moment then came over to me and said: ‘Excuse me, but are you the guy who was speaking on the main stage this morning?’ I said yes and she said ‘So you were up there this morning, and now you’re in here, doing the vacuuming! That’s so amazing’.
For a while I was overtaken by the moment. I was the Humble Preacher. The Vacuuming Pastor, equally at home on big stages and cleaning up cafes. I deliberately vacuumed near the door for a while longer, in case someone else might notice my humility. I imagined writing my first book Humility and How I Achieved It: a guide to servanthood in the kingdom of God. Sponsored by Dyson and PG Tips.
How have we got to a stage where someone thinks it out of place for a church leader to make someone a cup of tea, or is full of surprised admiration for the fact that a speaker is doing a bit of tidying up? Are we followers of Jesus or not? Didn't he say something about the greatest among us being the servant of all? It should shock us if our leaders are not doing the washing up, or giving someone a lift at their inconvenience, or bringing a meal round for someone in need. Everybody wants to change the world, but nobody wants to do the washing up.
In his book Gracias, Henri Nouwen gives this stunning challenge:
'My own desire to be useful, to do something significant, or to be part of some impressive project is so strong that soon my time is taken up with meetings, conferences, study groups, and workshops that prevent me from walking the streets. It is difficult not to have plans, not to organise people around an urgent cause, and not to feel that you are working directly for social progress. But I wonder more and more if the first thing shouldn't be to know people by name, to eat and drink with them, to listen to their stories and tell your own, and to let them know with words, handshakes and hugs that you do not simply like them, you truly love them'.
