It starts sometime in February. A common conversation starter in the cafeteria becomes, “What are you giving up for Lent?” The first year I was on campus, I thought this was an anomaly. “We must have a particular group of very religious students,” I thought. But each year it has continued, and many of the students who seek so strenuously to observe Lent are nominal Christians, from families who rarely attend church.

I suspect that some of this emphasis on Lent is a result of the publicly funded Catholic school system in Ontario. Lots of students graduated from Catholic high schools, even though for many that was their only real contact with church. Lent was taught and observed at school, and the students bring that with them to university.

The popularity of Lenten disciplines also owes something to the diverse student population, especially the Muslim population. Orientation Week generally falls during the observance of Ramadan. Students move in, and are immediately aware that their roommate, or the person down the hall, is not eating at the regular hours in the cafeteria, because they are fasting between sunrise and sunset. Later in the month, Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur take place, and the Jewish students also fast. There is some relief when Lent rolls around and students who identify as Christian have a chance to say “Our turn!”

Students give up a variety of things. Dessert or french fries are popular items to deny themselves. A Facebook fast is also common, though many rely on the fact that Sundays are “mini-Easters” in order to survive the six weeks. At Renison, there's a fair bit of social pressure to give up something. One enterprising student added one more item each year, creating a cumulative list of foods he couldn't eat, until he realized that left him almost no choices in the cafeteria.

Some students understand the meaning behind the Lenten discipline. They listened in religion class, or were taught well in Sunday School. They ponder their strongest attachments, and consider what they might give up in order to remember what they truly need. They put money aside as a way of sharing their abundance.

Other students are responding to the social pressure, or are attracted to something that seems similar to the “purging” espoused by celebrities. My challenge is to help deepen this engagement with a spiritual practice, and then encourage students to reflect further.

Last year, an engineering student arrived in my office on Shrove Tuesday. “Help! It's Ash Wednesday tomorrow, and I don't know what to give up for Lent!” He ran through the list of what he had given up in previous years. I suggested he might want to take on something instead.

When he looked at me blankly, I explained, “Lent is about examining your life. It means asking, is this how I should be living? It's about getting your priorities straight, putting your life in order.” There was silence while he processed this. Then excitement and relief showed on his face.

“I have been thinking I do nothing but schoolwork. So maybe Lent means I should pull out my trombone more often and play?”

“Exactly!” I responded, “And maybe that's part of how God intends us to live.”

I have no idea whether this emphasis on Lent will remain with students as they move into the rest of their lives. But it has been a gift to me, made me ponder unexpected connections. I am keenly aware that we have a wealth of traditions, based on the observance of the church year. These include the Daily Office, Advent wreaths, bell-ringing at New Year's, the colour red for Pentecost, candles to remember the dead. How do we share these with a new generation? And what are you going to give up for Lent this year?

#5 Coffee and community are as important as liturgy.

This shouldn't have been a surprise. I was a parish priest for almost a decade; I know the importance of coffee hour. But conversation over the coffee and muffins that follow chapel worship generally lasts longer than the liturgy. Students turn up because they have heard about the quality of the conversation that takes place. The experience of community then draws people in. There's good reason for this. As any good Anglican knows—Jesus favoured food as a way of sharing the gospel.

#4 Trust God to be at work.

It's the typical clerical temptation: if I can just preach the right sermon and find the right words, then I can make people see God. But I don't preach much at St. Bede's. We're a small group. An interactive discussion on the readings makes more sense or group lectio divina—reading a passage, sitting in silence, then sharing God's word to us as individuals and in community. These young people have amazed and inspired me through their insights and struggles. I have finally realized what I should have learned long ago: God speaks to each person. It's not all about me.

#3 Students aren’t concerned with brand loyalty.

On any given week, most of the students in chapel are from a variety of Christian backgrounds. Christian Brethren, Baptist, Pentecostal and Mennonite students sit next to students raised atheist. The Anglican students are as likely to be at church elsewhere that morning. This is a generation who identify as Christian, and isn't too worried about denominational affiliation. As one student said to me, “I am Presbyterian at home; Anglican here.” That means the congregation may not share many of my assumptions about liturgy, and I have to ensure teaching opportunities are built in. But it also means I have discovered that Anglican liturgy holds an appeal to non-Anglicans.

#2 Lex Orendi, lex credendi is attractive.

In the current climate, the Anglican Communion spends a lot of time on doctrine, on articulating “proper” faith. As someone who loves systematic theology, that has an appeal for me. However, while many students want to dialogue about God and faith, they are particularly attracted to the traditional approach of Anglicanism: lex orendi, lex credendi (the law of prayer is the law of belief, often stated as, “what we pray is what we believe.”) This statement appeals to students because it presents an inherent mystery: that each person has a unique experience of God, but yet we hold these experiences in common. I often tell students, “If you can say with integrity the prayers we use, then you can be part of this community.” This statement has brought more students out to experience worship than almost anything else I have done.

#1 Students are very interested in church.

I've mentioned this before, but there is very little hostility to church from folks on campus. In fact, quite the opposite is true. I often get students who seek me out because they want to know more about church, Anglicanism, God, and Jesus. I have more conversations about faith in a week than I had over a year in the parish. That doesn't mean that crowds come out to worship, but it does mean that there are many students who try out worship or ask advice on local congregations. It also means that I am learning to assume a certain level of interest in worship, which I can then build on rather than starting from nothing.

These top 10 lessons about worship on campus have shown me that there’s great hope for the church. I don't expect a massive increase in numbers or a return to being at the centre of the power structures in our society. But I think the gospel will continue to be preached and the faith lived in ways that are inspirational. Worship with students means I can see the Holy Spirit at work, and I am curious and excited to see what this next evolution of church will look like.

#10 Young adults value tradition.

Think about a youth service. Are you picturing guitars, drama, and street language? Well, those things are still used. But most students also place a high value on tradition. I am repeatedly asked if we can have occasional services from the Book of Common Prayer. Don't get me wrong—they're not ready to throw out contemporary language, but they want tradition interwoven. (Don't believe me? Check out the rap by my fellow columnist Kyle Wagner, which many students posted on their Facebook profiles.)

#9 Always sing the preface to the Eucharistic Prayer.

This connects to #10 but was a big surprise to me. Most of the students who attend worship are not Anglican. My musicians rarely have experience with Anglican liturgy. I had to teach the sung responses in the liturgy and my natural instinct was to say the remainder of the Eucharistic Prayer. But at the request of the students, I now always chant the preface. Their reason? “It makes us remember the tradition this liturgy grew from, and it's a clear reminder that this is sacred.”

#8 A cappella singing works.

Okay, this isn't unique to student worship. It was true in the parish also, but it continues to surprise me. In the spring term I had no students available to play for worship. So I announced we would sing a cappella for the summer, which was received in skeptical silence. A month later, students enthusiastically turned up early for “choir practice” before worship, and the singing had become more participatory than ever before. I have musicians again for the fall but the group has requested we continue an occasional a cappella service.

#7 The best time to hold worship is Sunday morning.

This seems counter-intuitive in a campus setting. Aren't all students sleeping or hungover on Sunday mornings? Well, maybe not. For a time I offered Sunday afternoon services, but only a handful showed up and they were all students who generally came to the morning liturgy. Anyone new came out on Sunday mornings. Turns out that's the time students still expect church to happen. By Sunday afternoons, most students are frantically completing assignments due the next day, so Sunday morning it is!

#6 Beware PowerPoint.

Early in my ministry here, I broached the possibility of installing a screen in the chapel. The older members of my chaplaincy committee were enthused. The students were appalled: “We get PowerPoint presentations all day long, in every class. Don't let church become like that!” Since then, I have successfully used a laptop and projector for occasional multimedia enhancements to worship. (It's a great way to include art.)

This decision was affirmed when a group of us recently attended a service at a local church that used PowerPoint for the hymn lyrics and readings. It was done poorly. The timing was off on the hymns. The translation on the screen didn't match the one used at the lectern. The students were irritated, because each of them could have fixed the problems in short order. The lesson? Only use a screen and PowerPoint in creative ways that enhance worship—and do it well.

That’s enough for now. I'll continue part two of the countdown in my next column.

Fermented Faith is a lively discussion group that meets weekly at the pub to talk about science, religion, conversion, death, vocation, love, sex, etc. The format is simple: each week I bring a bag of 20 to 25 quotes and questions, printed on slips of paper. Questions are open-ended, for example, “Is there a difference between living together and being married?” Quotes come from a variety of positions; no one will agree with all of them. People take turns reading the slips, then everyone responds, while I act as referee. When the conversation dies, starts going in circles, or becomes hostile, I call “Next!” And we start again.

The format works because everyone has a chance to talk. Whoever reads the quote has the first opportunity to respond, so even the quietest people have their voices heard. And the location works. The pub we use is also a restaurant, so students can attend even if they are under age or don’t wish to drink alcohol. It’s right next to campus, so accessible for students, but it’s technically off campus, so non-students can also participate. It’s a pub that’s popular with students at night, so they already know the venue, yet it’s fairly empty on a weekday afternoon, so we can take over the space.

“Take over” pretty much describes what happens. When I first went on a scouting expedition, pub staff were skeptical and asked, “but people will buy drinks?”

Now that the pub staff knows the crowd, the waitress keeps an eye out for newcomers, seats them with the rest of the group, and reassures them that the chaplain will arrive soon. (Even better, as I walk in the door, she is already pouring my Guinness.) From an original group of three to four students, we now have 12 to 28, which makes us the dominant presence in the pub on Thursdays.

We attract a diverse group. There are, predictably, students who are part of the Anglican chapel community, but there are also members of the campus atheist club, eager for lively debate. Evangelical Christians come, curious about the unlikely setting of a pub. Mainline Christians are relieved to discover that it’s okay to voice both deep faith and intense critique. We have undergraduate and graduate students, studying everything from pure math to social work. We’ve had visits from local clergy, other campus chaplains, and struggling local poets. The only common denominator is a deep interest in faith and a love of dialogue. It’s been so successful there are students who now plan their class schedule around Fermented Faith.

And there are many grace-filled moments.

A biology student, incensed by a reference to “godless evolution,” waved excitedly and declared, “But evolution says we are all interconnected, from the very smallest to the largest—and if that’s not God, then what is?”

A social work student, struck by the quote “you must be born again,” paused a moment before half-whispering in awe, “It’s like the Sufi poets. Like Rumi. Such sensual imagery. I never heard it like that before.”

A professor, meeting in the pub with his grad students, asked me afterwards, “What class is this? Such enthusiasm and interest!”

Or our regular waitress, who after a term of listening with interest, said “We’ll miss you guys!”

I’d love to claim Fermented Faith as my idea. But like most good things in ministry, I borrowed it. It’s a model used in many places, but I was specifically inspired by “Pint and a Passage,” hosted by the Rev. Canon Bill Cliff at Huron University College and “Theology on Tap” at St. Jerome’s University.

So feel free to borrow. (I have this lovely vision of Anglicans in pubs every Thursday from coast to coast, all passionately discussing their faith.) Or consider yourself invited. If you are ever in Waterloo, Ont. on a Thursday afternoon during term time, we meet at Molly’s in University Plaza from 2:30 to 4:00 p.m. Everyone is welcome. I am even inclined to think you might meet Jesus there, raising his glass and caught up in the heated discussion. Cheers!

When I became a university chaplain in 2006, I expected this attitude to still exist. In fact, given the gloom in church circles about the lack of youth involvement, I thought this apprehension of worship and organized religion would have increased. But the opposite seems to be true. There are now sizeable numbers of students who get themselves up on Sunday morning and head off to local congregations or to the college chapel. Such students remain far from being the majority, but they are a tangible group.

And here’s the exciting—and surprising—part: many of those students are from mainline denominations (including Anglican), and most of them are from small churches. This change in attitude isn’t the result of specialized youth ministry. If there was a youth group in their home parish, it was very small, and even then it was often a joint venture with other local churches. The primary faith formation that these young people received was simply being a valued part of a community, sometimes as the only teenager. And it’s that community experience that they are looking for when they head off to attend worship.

At the beginning of the year, students sometimes apologize to me:

“I hope you don’t mind that I don’t come to chapel. I like going to a real church, where there are old people and children—not just students!”

“I know you never see me on Sundays. It’s ’cause I have to go to a church, not just a chapel.”

For these students, their faith is simply part of who they are. Their faith and the experience of community are intimately connected.

Even more impressive, these young people know their faith. They compare notes on how their churches celebrate the feasts. “Oh, I love Easter vigil,” a young woman sighed. “Don’t you think that Advent is the best time of year?” a residence don asked me. Even in the college chapel, students will arrive with a marked preference for the Hebrew scriptures (“Those books have the best stories!”) or the epistles (“Hard to understand but so thought-provoking.”) There are still many students with no prior experience of church. But others, who grew up in a parish, drop casual comments that make it clear they have learned about liturgy and belief. Such knowledge is now a core part of their identity.

Students from small churches have had the experience of being a valued part of their faith community, and they expect that will be true again. Indeed, they seek it out. They aren’t looking to be passive consumers of religion. They want to be actively involved, even though they have busy schedules. I know students who teach Sunday school in local churches, or offer to help at the Christmas bazaar. They are used to reading or leading intercessions. At Renison’s college chapel, when I am away, I have no shortage of students willing and able to lead morning prayer, many of whom have had prior experience leading worship in their home churches.

So hats off to small churches. Turns out you are doing a great job at forming the next generation of disciples. You may not have many children and teenagers in your midst, but you have loved and taught those that were there, and done it so well they expect to be an ongoing part of the church. In the midst of our collective angst about the survival of the institution, here’s a good news story. It’s a very different world on campus from when I was young, and small churches have helped transform that reality. So from a university chaplain—thank you!

Renison College's Ministry Centre buzzes with coffee and conversation.

It’s an average day. I show up at the college and make my way down the hallway. Inside the Ministry Centre, where I work as chaplain, the coffee is already on. A student stands at the sink doing dishes. Another is sitting on the couch reviewing a presentation for her ESL class. A third is checking email.

The morning ebbs and flows. Staff members pop in for a coffee. A student clearly upset appears at my door: “Have you got time to talk?” There’s a loud discussion about the difference between major denominations. A candle is lit, and prayers are said.

At lunch, almost every chair is full, and there’s a wild assortment of smells. Chopsticks appear for noodles, yogurt is spooned into mouths. Handfuls of cookies disappear, food is shared. Somebody’s laptop is hooked up to speakers—YouTube videos play amidst laughter. Class notes are passed on, textbooks dropped off.

By afternoon no one wants to work, and procrastination is the name of the game:

“Megan, what season in the church year are we in?”
“Hey, listen to this translation of Revelation!”
“What do you know about palliative care?”

Someone curls up and falls asleep on the couch. Conversations carry on around her. People come and go.

“Can I borrow this prayer book?”
“What’s this article in the Journal about?”
"Hey, I didn’t know you went to church!”

Sometimes the conversation is explicitly about church and faith. Sometimes it’s not.

“People are stupid.”
“Sure—but individuals can be pretty amazing!”
“I hate this class.”
“I don’t want to go home.”

Sometimes people know each other before they hang out in the Ministry Centre. More often they don’t. Individuals make their way here because it’s less scary than the cafeteria, or someone else told them this was a good place, or they heard there’s free coffee. And over that coffee, conversation takes place and community forms.

Approximately 70 percent of the students who use the Ministry Centre are registered with the Office for People with Disabilities, students who know that complete independence isn’t everything it’s cracked up to be. Many of the English language students make their way here because others will let them practice their conversation skills. They too know that they need other people.

Other people include off-campus folks looking for a place to sit between classes, staff who need a mental break from long to-do lists, or faculty who want to connect with students in a more informal setting. They are all part of the Ministry Centre.

Someone asked recently “But isn’t this just another lounge?” Before I had a chance to respond, there was a chorus of “No!”

What is it that makes the Ministry Centre different? Well, partially there’s religious “stuff” all over the place. From copies of the Anglican Journal, to the lending library associated with Renison University College’s Institute of Ministry, to prayer beads and candles, religion is woven into the fabric of this place.

So conversations about religion tend to take place: people compare different translations of the Bible (like The Word on the Street, which rewrites Revelation as a series of emails). Or they pick up materials on different church seasons in our display area (in February I was amused to see many students referenced Candlemas in their Facebook statuses). And because Campus Ministry and the Institute of Ministry both ‘live’ in this place, people ask out loud what religion and God have to do with their lives—and that’s a gift!

A graduating student said to me, “Every neighbourhood should have a Ministry Centre.” I wanted to answer, “It does. They’re called parishes.” But most of us know only too well that not every parish is a hospitable place. And there are good reasons why that is so—security, mental health concerns, expenses, etc.

But what would it look like if the Ministry Centre experiment was replicated on a wider level? Hospitality is a central Christian value, and entails far more than coffee hour. When I started my ministry on campus, the Ministry Centre was a way to meet students, to “hook” them. It has become a place where I am keenly aware of God’s presence.

The Indian poet Tagore wrote, “After you had taken your leave, I found God’s footprints on my floor.” The author of Hebrews said, “Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by doing that some have entertained angels without knowing it.” Indeed. Welcome to the Ministry Centre—welcome to the church.