I was tired. Tired of the apathy an affluent community felt for religion. Tired of cajoling people with packed schedules to make room for worship. Tired of begging people to give a little more money to the church instead of a coffee shop. The joy had gone out of ministry, and I was spiritually dead.
With news reports of refugees spilling out of Syria and Nigeria, children fleeing gang recruitment in Guatemala, and a people wanting to build a wall, it just didn’t seem that anything we did in church really mattered. Preparing good sermons and meaningful Bible studies felt pointless. No one would show up anyway. I wanted out of local church ministry. I knew I wasn’t doing the church any good in my current state, but I couldn’t see other options for income. I told God to either make me love ministry again or get me out of it.
And I gave up. I quit trying to get people to come to events; no amount of catchy titles and compelling series had worked. I eased my furrowed brow and didn’t sweat the church budget. I couldn’t make people give more money. I accepted that worship would take a backseat to sports and the desperation of families for a quiet morning.
I surrendered to the power of God. The Common English Bible translates Psalm 138:7 as, “Whenever I am in deep trouble, you make me live again.” That was my experience. When our church worried how we’d make ends meet, I took a staff member’s suggestion for a noisy coin offering but designated it for missions. Sermon writing became a process of spiritual discovery, not marketing. Most surprisingly, Monday night Bible study became a place where my own spirit showed up. I gave up needing to be in charge, and the conversation about scripture’s intersections with our lives deepened. I found life.