Editorial

’m not sure that any worship lyric in the last fifty years has found such widespread resonance as the first two verses of Matt Redman’s ‘Blessed be your name.’ It’s easy to see why: those two short phrases sum up so much of the universal human experience: there are good times; there are bad times. ‘Blessed be your name… In the land that is plentiful… When I’m found in the desert place.’ Do we overuse it in church? Probably; yet I know of no song that better sums up the gritty reality of the Christian walk. Everyone will suffer a wander through the desert at some point; the question is, how will we respond when that moment arrives?

A few months ago, I had an email from a youth worker who had found herself firmly camped in that ‘desert place.’ As I read her story – of how God had called her out of a comfortable existence, to set up a youth work project in a distant part of the country, only to see it stutter and eventually fail – I was moved but also shocked. Why? Because we don’t hear stories like hers very often. For obvious reasons, they’re not the stories that make it to the festival platform. Of course, we hear the redemption stories – those with the perfect emotive arc where the terribleness is all made well again. We hear this story less often: ‘God called me to something, it failed, and now we’re just left with sadness and questions.’  

This month you can read her story, starting on p.14. I urge you to read and engage with it, to ask yourself: what would I do, if that happened to me? You’ll get no twee answers from the author, who wishes to remain anonymous for obvious reasons, nor from me. The reality is this: sometimes this great calling to love and serve young people, and to go where God says go, doesn’t add up; doesn’t make sense, and may never do so this side of paradise.

There’s another reason why I found her story so pertinent, however. Around six months ago, I felt very clearly prodded by God to hand in my notice; to leave Youthwork magazine after over 100 editions. A job possibility emerged, but it was far from stable; a new role that would need to be entirely funded through the generosity of grant-making trusts. I loved my current job. My wife had just become pregnant with our fourth child. It didn’t make huge sense, but I was absolutely convinced this was what God was saying. So, after careful consultation with Mrs S, I jumped.

The last five months have not been comfortable. As my replacements were hired, and as the potential funders deliberated, I realised I had completely exposed myself to the mercy of God. It sounds great in hindsight, but at times it was a terrifying experience. Thankfully, it turned out alright – by the time you read this, I’ll have taken up my new role as director of creative development for Youthscape, the Luton-based youth work charity.

So, this is my final edition of Youthwork. It has been an absolute blast; a privilege to serve this readership of incredible people, and a joy to work with some amazing people down the years, John Buckeridge and Sarah Wynter among them. I leave you in the more-than-capable hands of new editor Phoebe Thompson, a brilliant writer and thinker, and a passionate volunteer youth worker.

My time in the desert then was mercifully brief; for others like the author of our cover feature, it can turn into a longer residency. Whatever your experience, the thing that will get you through is the very same thing that sets us apart as Christian youth workers. We love God, and we love young people. Those two passions are worth suffering for. Thanks for reading.