By faith Abraham obeyed when he was called to set out for a place that he was to receive as an inheritance, and he set out, not knowing where he was going.
Heb. 11:8, NRSVUE
It’s hard to wait…
This is true for any of us whether we’re two or 82. Whether we’re looking for employment or the next chance to see our loved ones. Whether we want Gummi Bears or world peace. For me, waiting has been the toughest these last six months in the area of fundraising related to church planting. You need steady income to bring steadiness to ministry. You need regular infusions of cash to support healthy rhythms of self-care and sustainable ministry.
This past year, I had several pastors, denominational and other church leaders, friends, and family members who not only wished me well in addressing “The Great Dechurching” but used their power and influence to provide tangible support. To those unsung, courageous, and intentional leaders, I want to say thank you. I am humbled by your trust. I am inspired by your example. And I am deeply encouraged by your investment.
But the waiting is still hard. Fundraising involves seasons of intense focus. It involves deliverables and deadlines and sometimes those deadlines get changed. Goalposts get moved. There are many ups and downs and one “finish line” often turns out to be a mirage or just another step in a seemingly never-ending journey of faith.
As Joy Oladokum acknowledges in her great song “Look Up,” “Sometimes your life feels like a broken rollercoaster—a thousand useless moving parts…” In the midst of my own often anxiety-ridden, downcast, hopeful, emotional rollercoaster self, I’m learning to be more patient, emotionally steady, and dependent. Small blessings come weekly, sometimes daily but from unexpected sources. When I look at the big picture, pieces are falling into place and God is growing his people, but always from the inside out and in ways we can’t control.
My sense of call—something I’ve struggled with most of my life—is also getting stronger. My wife, Pam, and I just finished a provocative and helpful little book called The Remarkable Ordinary (how to stop, look, and listen to life) by Frederick Buechner. In the last chapter, he shares the seasoned reflection of a parish priest from one of the great George MacDonald’s (1824-1905) novels Thomas Wingfold, Curate. The first part, which I’ve italicized below, is something I resonated with strongly. Summing up his life as a minister of the gospel, this fictional pastor says:
“Whatever energies I may or may not have, I know one thing for certain, that I could not devote them to anything else I should think entirely worth doing. Indeed nothing else seems interesting enough—nothing to repay the labour, but the telling of my fellow-men about the one man who is the truth, and to know whom is the life. Even if there be no hereafter, I would live my time believing in a grand thing that ought to be true if it is not. No facts can take the place of truths, and if these be not truths then is the loftiest part of our nature a waste. Let me hold by the better than the actual, and fall into the nothingness off the same precipice with Jesus and John and Paul and a thousand more, who were lovely in their lives, and with their death make even the nothingness into which they have passed like the garden of the Lord. I will go further… and say, I would rather die for evermore believing as Jesus believed, than live for evermore believing as those that deny him.”
Frederick Buechner, The Remarkable Ordinary (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2017) 118.