I can’t play any instruments, I can’t stand rock music, and I don’t play any sport. Like most things, youth work is all about relationships.

Over the years, I’ve supported a lot of very different youth workers. Some are very relational; some love to be up front. We need both.

Most people could do youth work if they wanted to. There was a youth worker in a church where all the boys had mountain bikes. They were con­stantly breaking; so he invited this old guy in the church whose bike was in perfect condition to come along and teach the boys how to mend their bikes. Though they never called him a youth worker, that’s what he was doing — getting alongside them. It’s something churches can do really well if they want to.

I’ve worked in two dioceses — Norwich for seven years and St Albans for 15. I had this theory that I’d move every seven years, but some­how, in St Albans, I missed the boat. There was always something to do.

I’m moving now to head up the youth work for the Hertfordshire YMCA. It’s quite exciting to be still working in Hertfordshire, because I’ve got lots of contacts I can use. The aim is to get up to ten centres in the next five years. That’s a massive ex­pansion, but the need is enormous. The real challenge is going to be when the first big bunch of funding ceases, because people don’t like pay­ing for things that are already going on.

I must have always been big-mouthed, because when the youth worker left my church and no one else wanted to do it, I said: “Right — a couple of us will do it then.”

People used to say: “When are you going to get ordained?” but I felt I had already responded to my calling. I’ve always done youth work really — apart from my first job, which was as a management trainee for the Co-op in Luton. I got very disappointed by the focus on money, not on people; so I applied for youth-work-type jobs. I suddenly woke up and realised I was being paid to do what I’d been doing for so long anyway.

We get stuck in silos of our own age-groups, and we need to learn how to jump across them. The big thing for me is the mentoring and accompanying models. These give an opportunity for anyone who has a heart to do it (with a bit of training). There’s a guy who used to go to a group in Luton when he was 16, and he helped with the PA stuff. Now that he has his own business, he went back to see if he could help. He’s the sort who wouldn’t say boo to a goose, but he found that lots of the lads were the quiet, geeky sort, like him, and he spent the day teaching them tech­nical stuff. He now keeps in touch with them by email and Facebook. He’s not outgoing, but he offered his skills.

There’s no need for fancy pro­grammes. Take your experience, faith, journey, and find out if your local school is looking for mentors.

You don’t have to do anything special. Many young people need rela­tionships, and want to ask ques­tions about how they can make sense of the world, how they can make sense of their faith.

We need to accept that how young people are is a result of how we live. If we’re largely materialist, we’ll create a generation of young people who see that as their primary goal. If a 17-year-old sees 20- or 30-year-olds getting stoned on a Friday night, it’s quite difficult for them to see other ways of living.

I enjoy the writing of Mike Yac­conelli and his son Mark, par­ticularly his book Contemplative Youth Work. He describes how a church put on this girls’ night and lads’ night, and the women and girls were very organised but the men and boys — they basically just met in the church hall and didn’t know what to do. So one young person said, “Can we just ask you questions?” and at the end, the young people said, “It’s great, isn’t it? We thought that you were Christians, and so you had all the answers, but actually, you don’t have it all worked out, do you? It’s great just talking and sharing what we don’t know.” Messy Spirituality had a sig­nificant impact on how I saw what I do, and it hooks back into relation­ships. . . God being at the centre in­stead of flashy programmes or liturgy.

People think that, if they have a small church, they can’t do any­thing. But engaging positively with one or two young people can make a massive difference, and it’s amazing how many of them keep in touch when they leave.

Big events have their place, but rela­tionships are core. I was driving some young people home after an event in Norwich, and one young man of 17 said: “Church is terrible and boring and all liturgy and stuff.” I said: “Why don’t you go to the church down the road, which has a big youth group?” He looked at me and said: “But this is my church. They know me, and care about me, and are interested in me.” So then it dawned on me: it’s not what we sing or say: it’s about the relationship we have.

How we can help young people en­counter Jesus for themselves? If you’ve got that question in your head, it’s very different to: “Oh, we need to do some youth work.”

Technology has probably had the biggest impact on young people. I’m in my mid-50s; so we didn’t have mobile phones and computers and all the rest of it. We’ve been through the process of being worried about safely, parental control, TVs in kids’ bedrooms, and so on. Now kids all have smartphones, and can be on the internet anywhere. No one has con­trol any more.

It can lead to all sorts of situations, like “sexting”, where a young girl can send images of herself to a lad, who then puts them on the internet for the whole world to see. They’re test­ing technology in the States where, if you walk past a shop, you get a mes­sage inviting you in with a discount offer. It’s going to have a massive impact on how we spend our money.

We’ve got to help young people to be discerning — not to trust every­thing they read on the internet.

My two sons went through a phase when it was very exciting that Dad did all this stuff. Then, when they were older, it was incredibly uncool. They didn’t want to own up to being my sons; so we had an agreement that they’d just call me Dave when we were out. They would sometimes say: “Dad, you’re not going out look­ing like that!” and take me back up­stairs.

But when they were in their mid-teens, the technical stuff gave it a bit of edge — one helped with lighting and sound, and is now an events manager, and the other played the guitar and helped lead the worship. He’s a youth worker now.

We were at an event three years ago, and someone asked my younger son how I’d got him involved. He smiled and said: “Dad? I just help him out now and again.” That was lovely for me.

I find I visit the Psalms a lot — perhaps more as I get older? I love Psalm 139 — that’s so powerful. And I like Romans 8, especially that bit about being “more than conquerors”. Perhaps it’s something to do with having a dad who was a Baptist minister. He once did a 20-week sermon series on Romans 8.

I’m angry when I feel powerless to influence something. Also when people don’t do what they say they’re going to. For me, what I say and what I do need to match up.

I’m happiest when I’m doing some­thing creative with others — work­ing with a group of people on a project or activity.

If I’m driving, I’ll turn the radio off and pray for wisdom or a bit of extra insight as I head off to a meet­ing. I try to remember more and more that I’m doing God’s stuff, not my stuff.

God hasn’t given up on us yet. There are some awesome people in the Church, and some amazing people around. I had become quite cynical, but six months ago, I talked to 1000 people across the diocese, and found that they had real faith, really wanted to make a different in the com­munity. And I meet lots of young people who have an active, sincere, focused faith.

I’d love to be locked in a church with Desmond Tutu. I think the man has a lovely way with him, and great wisdom. To spend some time with him would be a massive privilege.

Dave Green was talking to Terence Handley MacMath.