On Humility

It felt like tossing a big juicy steak to a pack of wild dogs that had been chained up and teased for a week. Or like telling a kid on their first piano lesson that they were going to have to play Mozart's Piano Concerto No. 24 in C minor, blindfolded and one-handed, by the end of the class. I was absolutely convinced that in 2 weeks this poor guy in front of me was going to have to be scraped - physically and emotionally - off the floor and taken somewhere safe so he could glue together the pieces of his shattered worldview. But I get ahead of myself. I'll start from the beginning.

He was one of the first volunteers to come and work for me when I started at the youth centre I am at currently. I'll call him Jeff. Jeff was the son of career farmers, which is a hard profession these days, and had been raised Mennonite/Christian since the very beginning. He was hard working, cheerful, and friendly, and even though I was only 3 years older than him it felt like he was so young. Probably because he was - and is - one of the only people I know who says, "gosh," and "gee" in everyday conversation. There was a gentle naivete about him that was reminiscent of the Beverly Hillbillies. I'm honestly not trying to make him sound simpleminded, but these were the first impressions that he gave me when we met. You'll understand why I say this later.

I came to my position the at centre with the idea in my head that I was going to educate everyone about the social and psychological issues that were plaguing the town. Not a bad idea, really - small towns are rife with disorders, drug problems and all manner of issues that people are by and large uninformed about. And so I began diagnosing problems here and there, writing my thoughts on various "problem teens" and the family issues they likely had and so on. I don't mind telling you that I had a rather high opinion both of myself and of what I thought I could accomplish. I had visions of crowds of people flocking to my office, all clamoring for my aid and wisdom. Oh, I kept these to myself and one often does, but it was always in the back of my mind that I was Wise and Educated, and that they were Lucky to have me.

Enter Jeff. No formal education to speak of - there was some confusion as to whether or not he graduated from high school - and an eagerness to please and to help that stroked my ego in exactly the right way. He read few books except for the Bible, and was very honest about his lack of academic prowess. And so I began the task of teaching him the "necessary skills" to survive in Youth ministry. We met a few times before our doors opened, and I took it on myself to give grad-school worthy (I thought) lessons on what he would be encountering.

There was one teen in particular we talked about. This teen - we'll call him Randy - was born with a mental disability in the Autism Spectrum. He was very high functioning, but the combination of his disorder and subsequent social pressures (high school is cruel to any who are different) had made him into one unpleasant and socially awkward fellow. He'd lash out at volunteers and youth alike, sometimes physically, and generally made life difficult for everyone when the centre was open.

I talked for ages about this kid with Jeff. And I covered the whole nine yards - chemical imbalances, likely triggers of adverse behavior, and a psychological profile. The I'd switch gears and head into socio-economic issues, societal pressures and even a history of mental disorders and how we treated them in Canada. I was on a roll, let me tell you. And Jeff just listened to me prattle on, with a "gosh" thrown in every now and then for good measure. As we kept talking I got the feeling that this was all just a little too much for Jeff. And I was right - he made it clear that he was impressed and interested, but I had a feeling that total comprehension was not in the cards. Hence the feelings of steaks and piano lessons, as mentioned before.

So. On to what actually happened.

The doors open, and I see Jeff make a beeline for Randy as soon as he gets in. I chuckle and shake my head ruefully, figuring that I'll need to go bail the poor guy out in a few minutes. I was convinced that Randy would made mincemeat of him, and I would swoop in with my Bachelor of Arts and save the day. There would be swooning of maidens and singing in the streets. I was ready to buckle some serious swash, let me tell you.

But Jeff didn't need my help. He spent the whole night with Randy - 3 solid hours. Then he did it again next week. And the week after that. He spent every evening he was there for almost 3 months with Randy. He talked with him, drew pictures with him, played games with him, gave him Christian CD's, and invested time in him. All of this with Randy, who for some reason resisted my subsequent attempts to approach him.

And you know what? Randy started getting better. After a while he opened up to more of our volunteers - eventually, to me as well. And Jeff kept on investing in him, and in other kids as well. They thought he was great. He was becoming closer to kids in a few short weeks than I had in months. I couldn't believe it; it made no sense. Eventually I couldn't take it anymore; I took him aside him one night after closing.

"How are you doing it, man?" I asked. "How are you getting through to these kids? To Randy? He's interacting with the others better than I've ever seen. What have you been saying to them?" I was completely bewildered at this point.

He gave it some thought. "Well," he said, "You were talking about all these things that were wrong in their lives. About family problems and problems with their minds. And I just figured that it meant I just needed to love them more than normal. So I decided to try and love them as much as God did. And I prayed that He would give me more love to give them."

It seemed so simple. And it was something that I - in all my learning and my booksmarts - had overlooked. And that Jeff had grasped and given himself to so completely that he affected change where I could not. He shamed me with his faithfulness. Right then I realized that I still had a lot to learn.

It's been a while since then. And I've still struggled with my inflatable ego. I like to think it's a bit smaller now, but I try to be realistic. We've got a different batch of volunteers now, from all walks of life. Farmhands, professionals, college students, and retirees. All of them bring something to the table that I don't have. Don't get me wrong, my schooling has come in handy. It's given me insight, and helped me help others with complicated issues both personal and otherwise. I was just wrong to elevate what I knew above what others could tell me. Mostly, I learned this from Jeff. And when I look back at my education, he'll always be one of my favorite teachers.