I've felt called to ministry for a long time. In eighth grade I wanted to be a park ranger. But by ninth, I was looking towards youth ministry.
I helped with youth, and planned on youth ministry through high school and into college, and was affirmed by friends and family every step of the way. I was good at it, and relatively mature in my leadership. I was looked up to by those under me and my peers, and challenged to grow by those above me. I loved teaching, and counseling, and applying the love of God to every situation. And I loved power, and the euphoria of being liked by everyone, and the false community of easy compliments and stage personalities.
In college, I began leading worship, and thought perhaps that was my calling. I loved leading people into some 'encounter' with God, setting the stage for people to listen and respond. And I loved the attention, and the power that comes with a microphone, and sounding good, and doing something special.
By the summer between junior and senior year, I was increasingly aware that I wanted to preach. I wanted to guide a body of believers in thought and practice, comforting with that by which I have been comforted, preaching reconciliation, peace to those far off and those near. And I loved the power that comes with knowledge, and the admiration of men (usually the immature or ignorant ones).
And now I am in ministry, full time. And I see my desires for the gospel matched for desire for my own recognition and support. I am not a humble man, but self centered and introspective.
And this is why it is harder for me to pray in a church job than it was for me to pray at Kudu. Because at Kudu I didn't have time to think about myself. There were people to serve everywhere, needy co-workers and best friends and grumpy customers and the greatest regulars a barista could ask for. I was there, but the entire job was immediately other-focussed. There was little time to seek admiration, and nothing to prove. I was working in a coffee shop- the humility that this ground into me was real, and righteously overtook my pride (at first, I will admit, I felt that I 'deserved better'- how self-righteous is my heart). Coffee was hard, but because it was hard it drew me to Jesus with need over and over and over again.
Now I sit in a nice office, with a window, at a desk for much of the day. My time is spent talking to leaders, organizing events, writing training manuals and devotional material, studying scripture. THE DREAM. I love what I am doing. But now I feel I have so much to prove. I have so much life-pursuit to validate, so many affirmations to live into and prove correct. I have the responsibility of many small groups of many people looking to me for leadership; in an area where I was sure I knew what I was doing, I am now being daily humbled at my ignorance and idealism.
All that to say, it's sometimes harder to pray in church than in a coffee shop. Sometimes it's easier to seek the Lord when you don't feel like you have anything to prove, and are face to face with the people you are called to serve. But now that there is truly risk- can I trust Him with something so dear to me as my calling? Can I trust Him with what has been so great a part of my identity? Am I willing to seek first the kingdom, even if it's against my desires to control and guarantee outcomes? Can I be drawn out of myself to love others?
Truly, I don't have a choice. As the Lord reveals an idol in ministry, I am forced to either repent or to grieve His Spirit. And for that I am grateful, because it once again forces me to pray. Pray, as I pray, that I would pray in church, that I would trust the Lord in my new job, and that I would seek Him not just for survival, but for the joy that is His love for me. By His grace alone, that has become my prayer of late, and I look forward to its answer.
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PS- I've had a few particularly sweet days in the past week. Great conversations, good reading, and beautiful rain. And just a brush of the nearness of God, like a breeze not felt but noticed by the coolness it leaves on one side of your face.
