When you’re a new pastor, it’s amazing the phone numbers that get stuffed in your pocket. I’m not talking about the cocktail napkin variety that you get at a club (I’m married and have an infant son … what’s a club?). I’m talking about the truckload of bulletin scraps handed to me on Sunday morning from concerned Christians regarding certain men or women who, in their opinion, could use a call or a visit from a pastor to “straighten ’em out!”

These digits usually represent people who at one time or another, came to our church and involved themselves in the ministry of the body. Then for one reason or another, they stopped coming (queue the gasps).

Since I work with young adults, most of these “concerned Christians” are parents or grandparents of young adults who are walking through a wilderness of faith, a time of deep questioning. These young “prodigals” are searching for a faith their own one that stands up to the unique challenges of a postmodern culture. Though they may not fit into our mold of faith, and many are making decisions that may be detrimental to their future, they are simply learning what it means to live life on their own.

I typically try to oblige the paper-pushers and make contact with the “prodigals” by having lunch or coffee with them, if they are willing. Most aren’t too eager to meet with the new pastor, as no doubt their minds conjure images of a Ned Flanders incarnate, with judgment and self-righteousness in tow.

One guy (we’ll call him Tim) agreed to have lunch with me in spite of the stereotype. Tim’s a follower of Christ, but not connected to any Church body. Completely turned off by "church," he’s sick of the hypocrisy, the judgment and the legalism. And he was hesitant to meet me, concerned that I would bring an agenda, a judgment and an altar-call. I’ve never done an altar-call in a restaurant before. I imagine it would be a little awkward.

During the course of our lunch, it became clear that Tim was burdened with the pressures common to many young adults: a grueling school and work schedule, a dysfunctional family, a rocky relationship with a girlfriend and a faith searching to find significance in the midst of it all. The bottom line: This guy was dog-tired from trying to figure it all out. I could see it on his face.

As a pastor called to reach such people as these, what’s a guy to do? Do I like his chosen path to forsake the Church? No, I’m a pastor and feel like giving up on the Church often. Yet the Church, in all its brokenness, is the chosen bride of Christ. All followers of Christ are called to serve the body—no lone rangers allowed.

Do I love his authenticity? Absolutely. In that restaurant booth sat a twentysomething who believed in Jesus Christ and was trying to follow Him, while trying his hardest to make sense out of life. Tim is at the crossroads of faith, career, relationships and adulthood. He openly shared his struggles, his sincerity to do what’s right and his continual failures. His openness, his swearing and his zeal were all a breath of fresh air to this young pastor. Tim is a guy who wears his heart on his sleeve. He’ll tell you what he thinks, whether you want to hear it or not. As a pastor, I “converse” with way too many yes-men (or yes-women), all too concerned with maintaining the fragile façade of perfection.

So I chose not to travel down the nit-picky path of behavior analysis, rendering verdicts on every decision he has made. The guy was approaching the end of his rope. As his pastor, am I to kick him while he’s down? No, he needed encouragement and love from a brother in Christ.

I’m sure many of you are thinking, “Now, wait a minute—this guy needs truth, too.” My response: “Absolutely.” Tim needs the truth-as you and I do. But my question to you, the leaders of tomorrow’s Church, is: Can’t we communicate the truth in love? Can they coexist? Why do we represent truth and love as polar opposites?

Must we continue to convey truth in an ugly package of judgment and condemnation?

To condemn Tim would have only reinforced what he hated about the Church, and would’ve told him yet again what Jesus’ bride too often communicates to young adults: “No wiggle room here. Failure is not an option. Questions are discouraged. Perfect people only.”

Since our initial appointment, Tim and I have met a few more times. We meet, eat and catch up on life. He shares his heart; I share mine. He vents his frustrations on the Church; I vent mine. I do my best to represent myself as Christ calls me to—an imperfect, yet dedicated leader in the Church who wants to see more people like Tim included in our community.

At the end of our first lunch together, as we were walking out of the restaurant, Tim turned to me and said, “This was such a breath of fresh air. It was good just to have a conversation with someone without having them tell me all the s*** I’m doing wrong. I think you and I could be good friends.”

I didn’t do anything deep or overly profound. I didn’t have any zingers of wisdom or Scripture to put Tim in his place. I didn’t pull out my systematic theology texts and logically explain to him the deeper intricacies of Christian doctrine and belief. I simply had lunch with the guy and listened to his struggles.

The Celts had a term for what Tim and I experienced: “the ministry of conversation.” That’s it—using the ordinary, mundane verbal communication of everyday life to encourage, uplift and inject life into one another, and slowly but surely, nudge them Christ-ward. It’s a simple yet powerful tool of ministry that doesn’t require an expensive weekend conference or a hot new bestselling pastoral leadership book. The Church could use more “prodigals” like Tim. They breathe a new kind of life into the body: one that is challenging, messy and stretching—but real.

As a result of our lunches together, Tim by no means has it all figured out. He still struggles. He still fails. But at least now he feels like he has someone to talk to about it. May we all practice the ministry of conversation, loving all the young adult “prodigals” out there who simply need to talk to someone who is willing to simply listen.

Drew Moser is a pastor, writer, husband, dad and frequent daydreamer from Ohio. He doesn't have time for much else.