On Work That's Worth It
The past two weeks held a flurry of ministry activity. They left me in such a state of exhaustion that I felt it necessary to hike through eight miles of secluded country under the shadow of the lofty Sierra Nevada. I did this to unwind; I did this to refocus. But I also did this to have a frank conversation with God.
Specifically, I found myself asking him, "Was all that worth it?"
You see, our two weeks of outreach had a twofold goal: one, increase the number of students actively participating in our fellowship, since we've noticed a significant decline in numbers from last semester. Two, we wanted to see students make decisions of faith, both fulfilling our original purpose to pursue mission on campus, as well as to grow our own faith as we stepped outside of our comfort zones to share the good news of Jesus with others. We thought up a wonderfully creative way to engage the campus in conversation. We allowed participants to write down their secrets, those close-kept intimacies that normally don't see the light of day. They wrote them down, put them in a discreet envelope, and view the anonymous secrets that others wrote before them. The display, what we call a proxe station, helped open us up to sharing about the God who cares about our secrets and accepts us no matter what. It was a message of love, of hope, and faith to rise above the sometimes shocking realities that we saw plastered onto the side of our booth. Abortion. Lost virginity. Addiction. Loneliness. Depression. Doubt in God. Through all of this, I know that the gospel message has the opportunity to reach across all self-created chasms of alienation. It is the beacon of truth in an otherwise subjective human experience full of pain, longing, and heartache. Our conversations culminated in an invitation to our large group gathering, where we presented the gospel explicitly, and invited those attending to make a faith decision. This is the heart of our ministry, to share the love of the God who reached out and redeemed all of our brokenness.
What was the result of such hard work? Meager student attendance. Zero conversions or decisions of faith.
We left disappointed, a little more loneliness and frustration creeping into the space that we had created in anticipation for the Lord to fill. Instead, we were empty, the desire for growth still lingering in our hearts and minds.
You can see why a serious conversation with this God was in order. It was a chance for me to bring my concerns to the throne of one whose mercy and love endure despite all my petty problems. As I walked through the lonely trails that snaked their way up the oak-laden sides of the San Joaquin river gorge, I voiced my pleading silently, laying bare my frustrations and longing for more. You might commend me for my spirituality. Surely God answers prayers uttered in earnest by one so sensitive to the rhythms that undergird reality as we know it, right? Not so. No, I left with sore muscles and silence to testify to my times of intercession to my Maker. The still, small voice was smaller still.
Do I believe God had abandoned us? Did he turn away from our efforts under my leadership and leave us out in the cold, grappling for meaning? I do not believe so. Instead, when the freedom of human will seems to overcome the earnestness with which we present our message, I am reminded that I am not the one whose fingers span the distance between stars. Like the troubled ugly sister Orual in Lewis' masterful myth Till We Have Faces, I come too close to meaningless envy of others (in her case, of the beatific Psyche) and forget that the divine is present in love, which surely is not diminished in our efforts.
Yes, I read prayer letters, status updates, and tweets about the wonders of God's movement in others. I hear of healing, I rejoice with others over answered prayers. Meanwhile in the depths of Fresno's inner city, the Lord does something unique. Am I willing to hang on to see what that is? I hope I have the strength. In the meantime I use the Psalmist's cry to utter quietly those lamentations masterfully written down for us to sing in the spaces of our hearts.
It's apt that we face this struggle during this liturgical season of Lent. We see kneelers in the church pews rotated down. We turn in repentance to the Lord, confessing our sins and collective need for a redeemer. We fast, pray, and give to steel our resolve and prepare ourselves inwardly for that most holy season of Christ's cosmos-shattering death and resurrection. Today may be, using the language of the season, the Holy Saturday of our time. The truth of the Resurrection points me to the truth that no matter what, Love wins out over death. Faith holds out in hope. Truth overcomes the great lies spun in secret from the days of the garden. The stone is rolled away from the empty tomb.
Tonight, I pray a prayer of gratitude. This, I've found, provides the quickest antidote for the feelings of frustration that come from such circumstances as this. I have my health, the love of family and community, modest financial security, and meaningful work.
What about you? What areas of your life feel like Saturday? How can you engage in this Lenten season to make this journey more meaningful? I trust that you'll continue to hold out in hope that our God indeed is worth cherishing in this pilgrimage. I know I certainly do.
Specifically, I found myself asking him, "Was all that worth it?"
You see, our two weeks of outreach had a twofold goal: one, increase the number of students actively participating in our fellowship, since we've noticed a significant decline in numbers from last semester. Two, we wanted to see students make decisions of faith, both fulfilling our original purpose to pursue mission on campus, as well as to grow our own faith as we stepped outside of our comfort zones to share the good news of Jesus with others. We thought up a wonderfully creative way to engage the campus in conversation. We allowed participants to write down their secrets, those close-kept intimacies that normally don't see the light of day. They wrote them down, put them in a discreet envelope, and view the anonymous secrets that others wrote before them. The display, what we call a proxe station, helped open us up to sharing about the God who cares about our secrets and accepts us no matter what. It was a message of love, of hope, and faith to rise above the sometimes shocking realities that we saw plastered onto the side of our booth. Abortion. Lost virginity. Addiction. Loneliness. Depression. Doubt in God. Through all of this, I know that the gospel message has the opportunity to reach across all self-created chasms of alienation. It is the beacon of truth in an otherwise subjective human experience full of pain, longing, and heartache. Our conversations culminated in an invitation to our large group gathering, where we presented the gospel explicitly, and invited those attending to make a faith decision. This is the heart of our ministry, to share the love of the God who reached out and redeemed all of our brokenness.
What was the result of such hard work? Meager student attendance. Zero conversions or decisions of faith.
We left disappointed, a little more loneliness and frustration creeping into the space that we had created in anticipation for the Lord to fill. Instead, we were empty, the desire for growth still lingering in our hearts and minds.
You can see why a serious conversation with this God was in order. It was a chance for me to bring my concerns to the throne of one whose mercy and love endure despite all my petty problems. As I walked through the lonely trails that snaked their way up the oak-laden sides of the San Joaquin river gorge, I voiced my pleading silently, laying bare my frustrations and longing for more. You might commend me for my spirituality. Surely God answers prayers uttered in earnest by one so sensitive to the rhythms that undergird reality as we know it, right? Not so. No, I left with sore muscles and silence to testify to my times of intercession to my Maker. The still, small voice was smaller still.
Do I believe God had abandoned us? Did he turn away from our efforts under my leadership and leave us out in the cold, grappling for meaning? I do not believe so. Instead, when the freedom of human will seems to overcome the earnestness with which we present our message, I am reminded that I am not the one whose fingers span the distance between stars. Like the troubled ugly sister Orual in Lewis' masterful myth Till We Have Faces, I come too close to meaningless envy of others (in her case, of the beatific Psyche) and forget that the divine is present in love, which surely is not diminished in our efforts.
Yes, I read prayer letters, status updates, and tweets about the wonders of God's movement in others. I hear of healing, I rejoice with others over answered prayers. Meanwhile in the depths of Fresno's inner city, the Lord does something unique. Am I willing to hang on to see what that is? I hope I have the strength. In the meantime I use the Psalmist's cry to utter quietly those lamentations masterfully written down for us to sing in the spaces of our hearts.
Why do you hide your face?
Why do you forget our affliction?
For we sink down to the dust;
Our bodies cling to the ground.
Rise up, come to our help.
Redeem us for the sake of your steadfast love.
-Psalm 44:24-26Notice how this section of the psalm begins with despair, and ends in faith. The tension is left unresolved; we are unable to foresee the victory of the God of Israel. This tradition is documented well in the genre of psalm we see: laments are common and reflect the sensitivity of the writers to the struggles of the pilgrim nation of Israel throughout frequent seasons of violence. Luckily, our work on campus does not put us face to face with violence. No, this battle is a spiritual one. The enemy holds his hooks into our obsessions with media, material, and self-referential apathy. As long as we proclaim the truth, and the fullness of truth in the person of Christ Jesus, there will be push back. I've suffered mentally and physically from the strain of such work, but I'm not ready to give up just yet.
It's apt that we face this struggle during this liturgical season of Lent. We see kneelers in the church pews rotated down. We turn in repentance to the Lord, confessing our sins and collective need for a redeemer. We fast, pray, and give to steel our resolve and prepare ourselves inwardly for that most holy season of Christ's cosmos-shattering death and resurrection. Today may be, using the language of the season, the Holy Saturday of our time. The truth of the Resurrection points me to the truth that no matter what, Love wins out over death. Faith holds out in hope. Truth overcomes the great lies spun in secret from the days of the garden. The stone is rolled away from the empty tomb.
Tonight, I pray a prayer of gratitude. This, I've found, provides the quickest antidote for the feelings of frustration that come from such circumstances as this. I have my health, the love of family and community, modest financial security, and meaningful work.
What about you? What areas of your life feel like Saturday? How can you engage in this Lenten season to make this journey more meaningful? I trust that you'll continue to hold out in hope that our God indeed is worth cherishing in this pilgrimage. I know I certainly do.
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