To a casual observer of people in ‘professional’ ministry, it may seem like they are always the ones extending grace to other people. Most of the time it’s actually the other way around.
Martin B. Copenhaver and Lillian Daniel in Chapters 12 and 13 of This Odd and Wondrous Calling recall two instances early in their ministries of their own overwhelming need for grace as they live God’s calling.
Copenhaver recalls a time early in his ministry when he was arrogantly lecturing one of the homeless men who stayed overnight in their Westport, Connecticut church. During the “Stern Lecture,” he was interrupted by a call from the police telling him that he had “stolen” gas when he filled up at the local gas station. Although it was a mistake, the police officer initially insisted that he had to arrest him; at least until he told him that he was a minister. The recipient of “The Stern Lecture,” who as in his office the entire time, simply said, “Well, nobody’s perfect, I guess.”
Daniel tells a story about working out her own demons while serving as a fearful intern at a mental hospital. Her demons told her that no one respected her because she was young and not ordained. Her supervisor insisted that she go out and simply talk to the people in the halls who were spewing conspiracy theories or rocking in corners. She did this reluctantly for months until she was finally able to lead a worship service. During the more than 20-minute sermon, a woman piped up and asked if they could pray to Princess Grace of Monaco. Daniel tried to redirect her without success. Daniel finally paused, realized that Jesus called her to minister to these poor and dispossessed people. She scrapped her plan and invited the group to sing hymns and tell their stories.
The practice of ministry is peppered with these kinds of moments. Moments when you realize that, as one of my favorite seminary professors always said, “It’s not about you.” The Holy Spirit undoubtedly works through these moments to keep you “walking humbly with your God.”
I remember serving as an intern with The Night Ministry in Chicago while I was in seminary. I served as a “ministry intern,” which meant that I went out with the organization’s health and outreach bus and talked to patrons who came to the bus for basic health care services, hospitality and some nonjudgmental conversation. I spent months talking with people who were homeless and lonely, sometimes even addicted to drugs or involved in sex work. These people would tell me about their simple needs – food, a safe place to live or $20 to use the bus that week to get to their new job.
In my supervision meetings each week, I’d rail about how easy it would be to fix these simple problems if people were just willing to share more of their own things. I’d wonder out loud: Why did these problems even have to exist? Why don’t people do more? Why can’t I do more?
After weeks of this rant, my supervisor, who’d been serving as a night minister for years, said to me, “These people survived before they knew you.” His words were like a splash of cold water in the face. It wasn’t about me. It was about them – about them finding their own abilities and dignity that was granted to them by God and no other. They didn’t need me or anyone else to DO anything for them. They needed me to remind them of that loving, compassionate God that was with them always.
God was the one who who was in charge of the transformation. Not me.
Nicole Havelka
Associate Conference Minister Youth and Young Adult Ministries
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