A ministry of showing up

If you’ve ever been to a conference, it’s likely this has happened to you – you sit down at a table for a meal with a bunch of strangers and the small talk begins with, “Where are you from?” or something similar.

What we don’t often expect, however, is that the conversation will quickly go deep.

Or that God will surprise you.

But here’s what could happen when you practice what I call “the ministry of showing up.”

He’d traveled from south of London, which is a lot closer to where we were in Oxford than me from the northwest corner of the United States. I asked about how he ended up at this particular conference, but rather than the “I heard about it from…” that I expected to hear, what he told me was a life story. He’d only been a Christian about seven months.

I reciprocated. I shared with him my own story of waywardness, from running from the church I knew with two pastor grandfathers, descending into a rock band lifestyle and all that that entailed, not surrendering to Jesus’ lordship until my early thirties, and that my own slow sanctification had not been an instant, road-to-Damascus transformation. He responded that he’d had a shortened version of that, including smoking marijuana.

“And I still struggle with it,” he said.

I was floored. I’d just met this guy, and we were already into territory that some people never or rarely get to – our continued struggles. I give the Holy Spirit all the credit for what happened next, which was…nothing.

I said nothing.

I just listened.

After a pause, the conversation continued a bit. I don’t know if he was waiting for my condemnation or a parental finger wag of a warning, but I had struggled with the same thing once. Just about the time that we were well down another conversational path, he went back to our point of commonality:

“So what do you think about weed?”

The context was clear — the unspoken words after his question were, “…for Christians?”

I put my hand on his shoulder. “This,” I said, pointing back and forth between us to indicate relationship. “This is what Jesus wants, right? He’s right here, right now, right?” He nodded, and I continued.

“The Bible doesn’t say anything about weed, but in the New Testament Paul writes about wine. He says, ‘Don’t get drunk, because that’s dissipation.’” I have no idea why I remembered that word from whichever version of the Bible that was. The truth is that I mixed up something Jesus said with what Paul said.

“And what he’s talking about is focus. He goes on to say something like ‘be drunk on me – I want to be in awesome relationship with you.’ Think about it — if you are in relationship with someone and you get hammered, are you attuned to them, really connecting?”

I was making an assumption, of course, that he’d been in love or experienced the power of connection. He nodded an acknowledgement, and I kept going.

“The Bible doesn’t say don’t have a beer, it says not to get yourself into a state that hurts relationship, that diffuses your focus, that diminishes that awesome connection. Now can you have a beer and not get drunk? Sure. But what happens when you smoke weed?”

He didn’t say anything, but he again acknowledged with a nod. I put my hand on his shoulder again.

“This,” I said again, motioning again to indicate connection. “This, with Jesus, is the most awesome relationship you will ever have. Jesus wants that with you.”

And that’s where the conversation ended. For the rest of the week the young man and I exchanged hearty greetings and a few pleasantries. He indicated really connecting with something one of the speakers said, and I encouraged him to take it deeper with a book or two. I said goodbye and gave him a hug. Sadly, I don’t know if I’ll ever see him again. Gladly, however, what I do know is that I gained a brother.

I don’t share any of this this for my own self-aggrandizement, but perhaps to share my own amazement. I’m not a new Christian. I’m nearly complete with a theological Master’s degree. But what God used that day wasn’t my elegance or perfect Bible recall (I clearly mixed it up). Instead, as Paul does write

Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God. For as we share abundantly in Christ’s sufferings, so through Christ we share abundantly in comfort, too.  2 Cor 1:3-5, ESV

Anytime we see Paul use a “…so that,” that should tell us to pay attention — what comes after a “so that” is going to deliver the payload of an argument.

Why do we numb ourselves with food, sex, TV, wine, or even marijuana? To deaden the pain. To avoid something. To try to feel something that ultimately and rightly belongs to our relationship with God.

And why do we fail? Because for a moment we don’t trust that He will deliver. But here’s Paul saying that not only will God deliver, but that thing, whatever it is, becomes part of our purpose — so that we can help others.

That’s the crazy thing about God. He’s never the author of evil, but He uses it. Including the junk in our lives that we were the author of. And if there is one thing that is both unique and beautiful about the Christian life, it is that freedom in Christ produces humility and, dare I say, vulnerability. This doesn’t happen when we’re all alone, of course. It’s part of what I call “the ministry of showing up” — not just in person, but with a whole heart.

Finally, if you do not know the freedom and healing Jesus brings, let me direct the final word to you. Vulnerability brings risk. It’s probably a main reason we hide behind clothes or cars or Instagram selfies or other trappings of this world. I have been there.

But the perfect grace that comes through accepting Jesus’ offered gift changes that. It doesn’t mean life instantly becomes perfect, but it does mean you’ll experience a settled peace with your past. And, dare I say, with every conversation you’ll have in the future, too. You may even find yourself looking forward to your own “ministry of showing up.”

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Roger Courville, CSP is a globally-recognized expert in communications, an award-winning author, and a passionately bad guitarist. A five-time entrepreneur and certified John Maxwell Team leadership coach, his latest endeavor is For The Hope, a daily Bible and apologetics podcast and training company equipping on-the-go professionals with confidence and courage for marketplace relationships. On Twitter can follow him @RogerCourville and/or his podcast @JoinForTheHope, or get all updates by email subscription at www.forthehope.org