BY SHIRLEY GAST LYNN

T'S STILL THERE, I THOUGHT, the tiny hole in the stained-glass window. It was like seeing an old friend. I sat in the back pew, a visitor to the church in which I grew up; where I sang in the choir and attended the youth fellowship vespers each week; where I first brought my children to worship.

I remembered sitting in this sanctuary month after month as a young adult, longing to be fed the Word of God. The sermons seemed to lack the Bible teaching I needed--something to get me through my often stress-filled days. During that time I noticed that hole in the stained-glass window. It seemed to point me to God and heaven.

The church looked the same but now many pews were empty. I saw some familiar faces. Then I noticed that at least 90 percent of the people there had gray or white hair.

"Where are the children and young adults?" I asked my mother. She assured me this was the group that attended church each week.

Suddenly an old wound surfaced within me, as I remembered the pain my son suffered at the hands of those he called the "pillars of the church."

High Hopes
My son loved going to church. He attended everything the church offered. He served as an usher and youth church board member and thrived on helping others.

When the long-hair craze swept the nation during his midteens, he let his hair grow down to his shoulders. But he still went to church each week freshly bathed, wearing a white shirt, tie, suit, polished shoes, and a smile on his face. The "pillars" were rude to him, putting him down for the length of his hair--my son, who one day, I hoped, would become a minister.

He endured this treatment for a long time, then one day as we were ready to leave for church, my normally neat son stood before me wearing soiled jeans, torn and patched; an old, sleeveless denim jacket; and a blue work shirt. His hair had not been washed or brushed. I was stunned and speechless.

"I don't want to walk in with you, Mom," he said as we got out of the car. "Go on ahead of me." Later, he told how he had been welcomed with open arms, smiles, and handshakes. No one recognized him. They thought he had come off the streets to find Jesus.

The next week he went to church dressed in his suit and tie, properly groomed, once again the butt of cruel remarks.

During a church retreat months later the presence of that "long-haired kid in church that day" came up in conversation. My son listened, and asked if anyone knew who the person was. No one did. So he announced, "It was me."

He never went back to church. Today he avoids organized religion, preferring his own private walk with God.

Failure to Meet Needs
Another young Adventist, the battered wife of a church elder in the process of divorce, moved home to be with her parents. She traveled a long distance each week to return to the church of her youth. During the first three months she attended, no one spoke to her other than the greeter and the greeter's husband, whom she had known years before.

Because of her need for spiritual nourishment, she kept going back. Someone with less determination might have turned his or her back on not just that church, but the Adventist Church in general. But this young woman has since become an active church member and is now experiencing the joy of a happy second marriage. But she never experienced that same joy within her church family and ultimately withdrew completely from the church.

Not long ago a group of sincere and talented Adventist young adults presented the Sabbath school and worship service, sharing their testimonies and singing and playing original songs.

I received a blessing that morning as the young visitors shared their talents and their faith. I couldn't help being reminded about my own musically talented son. Just before the sermon the guest speaker approached the podium and began an emotional apology to the congregation because someone had been offended by some of the music.

I felt humiliated that these young people had been judged in my church by this public apology. I had trouble concentrating on the sermon. At the end of the service, as the ushers moved to dismiss the congregation, instead of turning toward the back of the church to leave, I felt myself moving toward the front.

I reached the podium and announced I had something to say. I explained, "I'm offended by the criticism of these young people, just because someone else was 'offended.'"

I shared the experience of my son in my former church. I asked them to be understanding and patient with the young people; to allow them to grow in their Christian experience and let God work in their lives. I explained that if we don't, our pews will be empty in a few years.

Afterward, several friends gently reprimanded me. A man opened the door for me with his hand extended to shake mine and thank me for my courage. Others thanked me for speaking for them, and still others drew away.

Several days later I received a visit from the two pastors. They informed me that my appearance before the church family had been out of line. An hour into the 90-minute meeting, the visiting pastor leaned forward and asked, "Were you defending the young adults?"

"How could anyone think otherwise?" I cried.

Some thought I wouldn't dare show my face in church again, let alone look people in the eye. Maybe if my faith had been weaker, or if I had been younger and had not already survived difficult times in the past, I wouldn't have. But my convictions are the same today—I am concerned for the young people in our church, for those who have left the church, as well as for those who are considering leaving. One of the young men in the group that morning had been raised in the Adventist Church, had left it, and eventually became a rock musician. Through the guidance of the Holy Spirit, he returned to the church. But how long will he stay?

We Should Be Examples
One day in Sabbath school a visitor nudged me and said, "Look at that. Doesn't he know how to dress for church? And what about his hair?" Then he continued his tirade, even though the Sabbath school teacher had begun the lesson study.

Memories of my son swept over me. I turned and quietly replied, "Look past his clothes and the length of his hair; look into his heart and you will find a committed Christian. He has a ministry in this church. He is an example and a witness to people you and I will never reach with God's Word."

We hold Revelation seminars to bring people to accept Christ and our Adventist doctrines. But do we really accept them? Or do we try to change them by dictating the proper way to dress, eat, and think? Do we allow them, regardless of their age, to take the message they have received and work it into their daily lives?

Are we aware of the empty pews in our churches right now? There are empty pews formerly occupied by devoted members—young and old—who have felt slighted by someone, or feel unaccepted because they have been unable to resolve some habit. Others do not attend because they aren't able to dress as well as we do. Do we take the time and interest to search these members out, to encourage and support them, and to love them back into the church?

Bridging the Gap
Young people want to be more than tolerated. They want to be accepted. When they give their hearts to Jesus, He accepts them just as they are. He allows them to grow in their Christian experience. Why can't we?

What about your congregation? Are you ready to allow the children, the youth, and the young adults the opportunity to be used by God—to witness for Him, to share their faith and talents, to reach others who may not be reached in any other way? Are you ready to gently guide them within the structure of the church and to forgive them when they don't measure up?

Will we sit in Adventist churches years from now and say, "The church looks the same," and see gray or white hair on 90 percent of the congregation, as I did in my former congregation? Will we be asking, "Where are the young people? Where are the children?"

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Shirley Gast Lynn lives in Kansas City, Kansas.