Praying in Church, or What I Have to Prove

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.

Acceptance, Endurance, and Joy

I expect storms in the Christian faith. It was through suffering that the Son of God won our redemption, and His closest friends soon followed Him through it. And so when faced with storms, when faced with suffering or doubt or frustration, I am quick to accept these things as normal. I sing with the hymnwriter:

Why should I complain, Of want or distress

Temptation or pain? He told me no less*

Suffering, in my mind, is to be expected. And mingled with any suffering, for me, is a doubting of God's presence. I doubt whether I know Him, I doubt whether I love Him. I doubt whether He is good. I am almost always dissatisfied with my experience of relationship with God, and suffering magnifies my dissatisfaction.

But I expect suffering, and having lived with myself for a decade or two now, I expect doubt as well. And so when storms come, I am not surprised. I do not quit. I just keep moving. I focus on the task at hand, on survival and my immediate responsibilities. To continually consider my perceived distance from the Lord brings pain, and confusion. To continually analyze whatever suffering I am experiencing breeds insecurity, and anxiety. So I withdraw, and reef in the sails of my thoughts and emotions**. I will recover them when it's over- they have caused too much pain before. I will focus on enduring.

But then, sometimes the gale softens, and I look up to gain my bearings. Or it intensifies, and forces me to be alert. And when I look up, I find I am far from where I began. The sea seems foreign, alien, unpredictable. I have waited and withdrawn and held on for long days and long nights, confident that the storm is 'the normal Christian experience', and confident that to endure is to be faithful.

But eventually in my begrudging, hardened acceptance, either by the grace of rest or by the grace of challenge, I realize that it has been a very long time since I felt joy. It has been a long time since I felt love. It has been a very long time since I was broken in compassion for a friend or a neighbor. I have begun to forget how to pray.

And worst of all, I realize that it has been a very long time since I last glimpsed my Savior. I discover that I have long watched the water pass beneath me, but have long forgotten the horizon. And the thought awakens my heart with despair and hope beyond hope like a sweet memory of lost childhood. Suddenly I wonder where I am, and how I've arrived here.

Hebrews 12 is a chapter on suffering. It bids us continue through it, as Christ bore suffering on our behalf. But it describes His journey differently than mine. For Christ too expects suffering. He is no stranger to it, nor does He shy away from it. Christ does not stop, but walks fully into pain and fear and despair. But Jesus does not lower His shoulder and drop His gaze. He does not lean into the wind and focus on His path, on survival and His immediate responsibilities. He is not defined by a begrudging acceptance of His suffering; He is defined by something altogether different.

The Lord of all endures the cross for the joy set before Him**. He has a prize from which His eyes never falter, and from which His face never turns. I am sure He would have suffered less had He turned away, had He reefed His sails of thought and emotion and focused instead on endurance. Yet He does not suffer for suffering's sake, nor endure for endurance's sake. He suffers for my sake. He endures for me. And so He bears the pain of my absence for the joy of knowing that I will one day be reunited with Him. For the joy of knowing that the very suffering He endures will bring me back to Him in love.

This is the glory of all glory, wonder of all wonders. I am the joy set before Him. We are the joy set before Him. And so I have come to realize that to endure is not the same as to be faithful- to be faithful is to look on my hope, my love, my joy. Endurance is the byproduct of worship, and of meditation on Jesus. He is the prize, the goal, the joy that we have been promised, and the joy that empowers us to suffer, doubt, and struggle well. It is by looking to Him that we truly endure. I ask for the grace to continue to learn how to do just that.

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* John Newton, Begone Unbelief, 1779
** To reef a sail: to reduce the amount of sail presented to the wind by partially lowering the sail and rolling up and securing the excess fabric now at the bottom edge. Reefing is used in heavy wind on larger boats to reduce the danger of capsizing. 

*** Hebrews 12.2