What draws us to kitchens? Even when the space is small, and the only seating is on the countertops, meaningful conversations happen in kitchens. Here is what happened when we invited Jesus into the kitchen.
When I was a child, my classmates and I memorized many poems. It was part of our school curriculum, and it served me well. One of my favorites contained this line, which remains stuck in my heart nearly six decades later:
"The kitchen's the coziest place that I know. The kettle is singing, the stove is aglow..."*
There's a certain allure to kitchens that invites comfort and intimate conversation. In this humble, safe space, I've grappled with some of the most complex issues in my life. The kitchen, any kitchen, exudes a sense of stability and service that is deeply comforting. It's such a constant source of peace in my life that I've often taken it for granted, never pausing to articulate its emotional significance. That is, until last Sunday night during youth group.
I have always found that kitchens are a perfect spot to interact with children. Kitchens are, in a word, comfortable. Some adults fear kitchens with their hot surfaces and sharp objects, but I believe children are usually pretty smart about kitchen dangers. I have never had one accident in all my years of parenting, grandparenting, and doing youth/children's ministry in the kitchen. I have taught practical lessons, engaged in happy experiments, and enjoyed feeding young people. Kitchens are wonderful classrooms.
Most Sunday nights, I am back at church with our young people. I do whatever needs to be done. My responsibility is usually to teach the lesson, but I also prepare food or direct recreation time when needed.
We serve them a meal each week. On this particular evening, a dietary issue required me to hunt for an alternative meal for one of the teens. One of the young girls followed me into the kitchen.
I began to scramble some eggs and search for a gluten-free side dish while the quiet young girl sat on a bar stool at the prep table and watched. I smiled at her, and she leaned her elbows on the countertop. "Miss Teresa," she began. "Do you think that dogs go to Heaven?"
I told her that God loves all of His creation and that I believe dogs go to Heaven for that reason and others. "But..." she pushed back, "my friend said..." and then she began a lengthy explanation of the Gospel according to her friend. After that, she asked the questions she really wanted to ask.
She wanted to know how she could be assured that she would go to Heaven and how she could be sure that God loved her.
We talked while the skillet heated and the eggs were whisked and cooked. The conversation was deep and weighty. She nodded and asked more questions as my responses gave her food for thought—the discussion wound through and around many aspects of life with the Holy Spirit and issues about the Triune God. I listened, I spoke, I listened some more.
The girl for whom I was scrambling the eggs came to join us. I served hot scrambled eggs to both of the girls. The conversation continued with the other girl joining in and asking about significant eternal issues. This evolved into them expressing fears about death and God's possible response to social media. They told of young people they knew who had died. Were they in Heaven with God? How did I know?
I scrambled more eggs because they were still hungry. They shared more thoughts and questions. They were open and vulnerable in a way neither had ever been in a more traditional youth group setting. They felt comfortable and safe.
It was a holy moment. While we leaned on a stainless steel prep table with huge pots dangling from a rack overhead, Jesus came for a visit. I could sense Him perched on the drainboard next to the industrial dishwasher listening to every word and loving us while we talked.
They ate eggs and pickles. I washed the skillet and the utensils. Their plates were empty, and still, they talked. I nodded and commented. They asked questions. They answered each other's questions. They looked to me for approval and richer explanations or alternate thoughts. We were all surprised when the other adults called to us through the serving window for closing prayer. We had been in the kitchen for over forty-five minutes.
Youth time was over, and parents were in the parking lot. The other kids had met with the other youth leaders, and the three of us were left alone. We were in full view since the kitchen door was propped open and the huge door to the service window was opened, but still, the space felt private. It was, after all, a kitchen—a true safe space.
Here are some things I realized:
Allow room for the unexpected. I strongly believe in a well-organized ministry for young people. We must give them high-quality discipleship, and that requires planning and intentionality. But sometimes, the plan gets overruled. Jesus needs room to work.
Be ready at any time to explain your faith. 2Timothy 4:2 tells us to be ready to share the truth of Christ "in season and out of season". In other words, watch for the moments when, out of the blue, you get a chance to talk of Jesus. Be ready to teach when it is time to teach, but also when you are simply scrambling eggs in the kitchen.
Remember what is at stake. I ask that all Christian adults covenant with me by committing: "I will teach the young people of my community the love and grace of Jesus Christ as if the salvation of their entire generation depends on me."
Each young person is a soul that needs to hear the words of life. Only Jesus has these words. He is the word that became flesh. Tell the children every day. Live your life as though they are watching because they are. Teach, tell, love, listen. Move with your children to the kitchen and see what happens.
*Excerpt from "Animal Crackers" by Christopher Morley published in 1917 by G. Schirmer, Inc. New York
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