All of this, this ministry life, it matters. It matters so much. God is building His church, reconciling a people to be His very own, calling out His people from every tribe and tongue and nation. Someday He will end evil and rule and reign over this world, and we – we get to labor towards this for our short little lives, tiny pieces in His grand plan of redemption and restoration. This work carries a weight of glory, and yet sometimes, it feels like it just carries a weight.
On this particular Sunday my heart was heavy. Years of deep conversations and shared prayer and late night laughter and walking through hard things together and, this is what hurt the most – friendship – hadn’t been enough. Not when stacked against worship preferences, and so two families walked away, and the question was burning, “If all this loving, serving, and praying isn’t enough, then why are we doing what we are doing?”
At times I can’t help but question if I’m really cut out to be here doing what we’re doing. Do I really have it in me to ride the wild roller coaster that is ministry in Utah Valley? Christians who are transplanted here from a multitude of backgrounds and countries, former LDS people, current seekers, people fleeing polygamists groups, and good-old fashioned sinners populate our congregation. Their needs are dizzying, and this Sunday’s baptisms represent the wide variety of people and backgrounds that make up our church.
One couple had recently moved here from the streets of Hollywood, breaking free from a lifestyle of drug abuse and crime. The other couple had been staid, rule-following Mormons. Their stories make me forget my heavy heart. One set free of rebellion, another set free from rules and empty religion, but praise God, all set free. These wildly different people, right here, right now are drawn together, and all because of Jesus. Gospel beauty is playing out, right before our eyes, and my whole perspective is lifting and shifting, and then all that wild grace gets wilder still.
The son of the rule-following Mormons can’t contain himself. He suddenly runs up to the stage where his mother is climbing into the water and hollers with unashamed joy, seemingly unaware of all the eyes watching him, “Mom! You are getting baptized today!” He stands by my husband so he doesn’t miss a thing, and as Chad baptizes her and raises her out of the water he celebrates, jumping up and down and cheering for his mom. Tears stream down my face as I watch his unrestrained joy, and all I can think is, “I can’t believe we get to do this.”
Yes, this is it, we get to do this. God is rescuing people out of slavery to sin and empty religion, He is building His church, and we get a front row seat. These sinners and saints are precious in God’s sight, and for some reason I don’t entirely understand we get to be a tiny piece of the story He is writing. It’s a privilege, and all of the ministry pain in the world doesn’t change that fact.
We get to be here.
We get to do this.
We get to see God be God.
Sometimes the role we play in people’s lives isn’t nearly as long as we would like it to be, but this was never really about me anyway. I can be the grain of wheat in John 12, willing to be buried in darkness because I know many small deaths come before fruitfulness. Seeds get buried, split open, and emptied out. This is the normal seed life, the normal ministry life. So let’s take the fear and sting out of the pain. We hurt. We grieve. We are emptied out, and Christ chooses to bring something out of our profound nothingness. I could join that boy in his dance of praise. So could the Apostle Paul I think. “So it is all for your sake, so that as grace extends to more and more people it may increase thanksgiving to the glory of God. So we do not lose heart…” (2 Corinthians 4:15,16)
Taking it Further: How could refocusing on the privilege of ministry change your perspective?