a great story for anyone in ministry

I got this from a weekly e-newsletter I receive. It's a really awesome story that speaks volumes and testifies to why many of us are really in ministry.

Just Rock

Some people really live through hell—I mean real hell, hell on earth, hell now. Zack is one of them. His life for years was like a volcano waiting to erupt, and during that dormant time, like most kids I know, he had done such a concealment job that no one knew of the violent, unstable environment at home and inside his heart.

I had met him once or twice while at East High School, where I was working with Young Life at the time. Zack was a name among many names. I didn't know much more … until one Monday when I swung by the school around lunchtime to visit with some students and remind them about Young Life that evening.

As I entered the office to sign in, the principal, whom I had befriended, pulled me aside. He asked me if I knew Zack. It seemed to me I knew 12 Zacks, but eventually through associations I was able to zero in. The principal looked at the tile floor as he shared how Zack had found his father dead the day before in the garage. It was a clear suicide. He was an alcoholic. Turns out, the family had been suffering from his physical and emotional abuse for years.

I was dumbfounded. Zack on the outside seemed normal, even happy. I promised the principal that I'd seek him out and do what I could to care for him. He told me when and where the funeral and memorial services were happening, and thanked me.

Zack wasn't at school. I didn't expect to see him until Wednesday at the services, so it came as quite a surprise when, halfway through the first song that night at our large-group meeting, Zack walked through the door. Immediately, he was encircled by friends, engulfed in hugs. I was glad he was there but a little nervous, too. I had nothing to offer. What do you say to a kid in hell?

Afterward in the parking lot, I told Zack as much, told him I would be at the funeral, told him if he ever wanted to talk that I'd listen.

He looked at me and smiled as if just being there was enough. "Sure," he said. Then, he hugged me.

It was the first of many hugs, the beginning of a great friendship.

But he never talked. Periodically, we'd hit Wendy's for a Frosty. We would wander about safe topics like sports, movies and cars until our Frosties turned to chocolate milk. We'd scrunch our napkins making ready to leave, and I'd finally muster enough courage to ask him if he wanted to talk about it. He'd say, "Nah." That would be all.

Zack came to Young Life camp with us that summer; he was the first to sign up. We had a blast—his face told the story of a kid in a dream. One afternoon, he walked with me lakeside over to some rocking chairs. We just rocked, watching as people were catapulted awkwardly and painfully into the lake by the Blob, an inflatable, water trampoline. I asked him about his week. He said, "Great." I said, "You want to talk about it?" He said, "Nah." And so we just rocked.

We continued to be close. The following school year he was a junior, and he never missed a thing. He was a leader among his peers. He had the full appearance of being a new creation, but at times when I caught his eye I could see the hidden pain. We kept slurping Frosties. It became routine-we would get to the end, I would ask him if he wanted to talk about it, he would say "Nah" and give me a hug.

I felt like a failure.

He came to camp again the next summer and was personally responsible for getting a half dozen more folks to sign up. Again, he had the time of his life; again, we sat on the rocking chairs and just rocked. And by the end of the week, I knew I was a failure.

I had known Zack for two years, was closer to him than any other adult, and yet I never managed to get a word out of him. We just rocked.

That fall I received this letter:

I don't really know what to say because there aren't enough words to explain how much you mean to me. Young Life has been so important to me, and I only wish I had started coming earlier. I never had a friendship quite like ours before. Though I've only known you for a little while, you're pretty much like family to me ... I can't tell you how much I appreciate knowing that I have someone I can talk to about anything even if I can't always actually get it out and say it ... Thank you for everything you've ever done because whether you know it or not, it has really touched my life.
Blessings, Zack

I learned from Zack sometimes all you need to do is sit there and rock. Just rock. The ministry of presence may be the most meaningful ministry of all.

Ned Erickson serves as the recruitment director for Metro Denver Young Life. He is the author of Falling into Love (RELEVANT Books).




On another note, many of you may have known Robert Garner. He was the principal at College Hills Elem and also Rock Prairie Elem in College Station for many years. He was a strong member of our church and a wonderful man with a big heart. Mr. Garner passed away this morning and I can promise that along with his family, his students and co-workers are mourning the loss of a great educator.