And yet, and yet…

I want to let you see what a pastor sees.

A few weeks ago, I noticed that my gas tank was low so I pulled over to the side of the road at a gas station to fill up (and grab a Red Bull). As I stood at the pump with the sound of rush hour traffic rushing over me and the overly hot winter evening breezing in, I felt the press.

I had just left a hospital room where a woman would die 2 hours later, surrounded by family devastated by a swift departure. There would be several more deaths surrounding this day, all with personal connections, counseling, condolences.

One of our staff members that same evening would give birth to her third child. And in fact in the next week we would see 3 more babies born in succession in the church family.

Earlier that day I had the opportunity to speak with a young man exploring faith for the first time, beginning that walk in recovery and in reading Scripture.

Earlier that week, I spoke with one of my previous students about preparing for his upcoming marriage.

A week before that I sat in the home of a friend who is recovering from a stroke, working with everything he’s got to revive his brilliant mind and adventurous spirit as his body fights against him.

I led a wedding celebration a few weeks later, rejoicing with a couple we had recently met, but have already grown an affection for.

And in the midst of this churning tide of life and death and birth and rebirth and marriage, I stood at a gas station quietly sipping my caffeinated beverage, like a buoy on calm seas between storms.

So many people fear these major life events, but the privilege of a pastor is to serve as a beacon in the midst of all of them. We embrace and counsel people on their worst days, we smile and celebrate with them on their best. But in all of this, we point to Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith. For the joys and the sorrows of this life are universal, a turning sea that craves its horizon.

Why do I write this? Certainly not to impress you or beg for sympathy. No, I long to impress upon you the depth of what God has done, of what God is doing, and the beautiful stories of life in the people around us. I want you to feel the celebration of new life, the tired tears of new fathers and mothers rejoicing at their little one. I want to break your heart for the people mourning and grieving those they love and have poured their lives into, no matter the age or situation. I want to inspire your heart with the thrill of adventure, knowing the gospel absolutely does still radically change people’s lives for the better, that the responsibility and privilege of ministry is like loading on a hiking pack, ready for the next summit. I want you to know that no matter the circumstances, the weather, the brokenness, the disappointment, the gladness, the hospital rooms, the quiet homes, the full diaper pails, the wedding colors, the family holidays together, the moments in the darkness above your bed as your mind moves to rest

there is hope.

I think a quote from the movie Joe vs. the Volcano sums it up well, as the main character is enthralled by the enormous moon rising over the night sea after being shipwrecked, ““Dear god, whose name i do not know. Thank you for my life. I forgot… how BIG… thank you. Thank you for my life.”

I praise God that I can express the same things at a gas station by a busy highway, whispering hallelujahs over my can of Red Bull to the God whose name I know, and who knows my name.

Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, ² looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God. Hebrews 12:1-2