Reflections on Being a Bartender, Part 2

I'm finding it difficult not to enjoy being a bartender more than I do being a youth minister. I say this despite the fact my left shin still smarts from my least graceful trip to date of scaling up and over the Green Iguana's Tiki wall.

I guess, at bottom, I like being a bartender because when I go to work, and people come see me there, they want something. And some of them even know what they want. They know it by name: "Tanqueray and tonic." "Vodka-cranberry." "Beam and seven." "Malibu baybreeze." "Pixie sticks."

And even the ones who don't know what they want ("I need three shots. Surprise me.") tend to be able to recognize and appreciate when I deliver.

This knowing-what-they-want phenomenon differs greatly from my experience thus far of youth ministry. For one thing, not nearly as many folks come to see me in the youth room as come to see me at the bar. And for another, the ones that do come, seem to have very little idea of why they're there, or what they want, or if they even want anything. They're not falling all over themselves to pray with one another, they don't have burning questions about the Bible or the liturgy, and not all of them are certain they even like hanging out with one another.

Low numbers prod me to ask myself what they could want, what could draw a few more of them in, and what could give the ones who show up at all a better time. But then I think about it, and the reality of church work is more of a big shrug-off of what anybody wants anyway: because nobody wants what's right for them.

What I do, actually, is about what they need.

Whether they know it or not.