When Ministry Is Welcome

When People Are Grieving

by Barry Black, chaplain of the U.S. Senate.

“How can we believe in God when a good man can be so cruelly snatched away?” a young man asked after a memorial service. “How can we have faith in a world like this?“

Prior to my appointment as U.S. Senate Chaplain, I served 27 years as a military chaplain. Too often I had to tell family members of the death of a soldier. At those moments, we must avoid glib, omniscient platitudes regarding complex issues of theology. Grieving people aren’t looking for comprehensive answers; they want a connection. They want someone who understands the pain, if not the reasons for it.

At a recent service commemorating the one-year anniversary of a senator’s death, I lingered afterwards. Hurting people often wait until after a service to approach, looking for the right moment to seek guidance. It was then the young man asked me his question about faith in a world like this.

“I don’t know,” I answered. That response often diffuses the tension a deeply wounded person feels. Then, remembering 2 Corinthians 1:3–5, I sought to connect with the man’s sorrow. “I felt the same things when my mother was killed in 1987. I was ready to abandon the faith. But then I took all my angry conversations right to God.”

It was better to try to guide him from opposing God to exploring God, rather than trying to convince him, in a single stroke, to believe.

“That’s the most helpful thing I’ve heard in a long time,” he said.

The Move-In Special

by Dave Gibbons, pastor of New Song Community Church in Irvine, California.

Our church uses retreats, rock climbs, and other group experiences to build discipling friendships. But some transformations are long in duration and require more one-on-one interaction.

Over the past 10 years, I have invited a few men to grow in their relationship with Christ by living in my home, sometimes for six months, sometimes for a year. It’s easy to feel awkward teaching someone how to grow spiritually, and this prolonged exposure allows us to develop natural rapport. When we’re together “doing life,” teachable moments happen.

One man moved in after he was treated at a hospital for drug addiction. His family was in pain, and he wasn’t ready to go home. I invited him to see my home as a sort of half-way house.

Once, when we were playing one-on-one basketball, as we often did, he suddenly quit. He could have beaten me, but he quit. I challenged him not to give in and to learn to finish well. It proved a pivotal moment.

Three years later, he’s one of our pastors and heads “Mercy Walk,” a program for helping others with troubled pasts.

Keep Your Commitment to Love

by Bryan Anderson, pastor of Cornerstone Fellowship in Greenfield, Iowa

Roger and I kicked in the door at Glen’s house. Glen was suicidal after discovering his wife’s infidelity. But Roger, Glen, and I were in a small group together, where we had made a commitment to brace one another through hardship.

Four weeks later, it was Roger’s wife who was found unfaithful. His masculinity ripped to shreds, Roger shut himself in his house, wept, and—like Glen—wouldn’t open the door for anyone.

So I let myself in. Though Roger was embarrassed that I saw him with eyes swollen from crying, and though the awkward silence begged me to leave, I had made a commitment to support these men.

When a man hits rock bottom, he’s the most open to God. But preaching and theology go out the window. He doesn’t want to hear about grace and forgiveness when he’s been wronged.

I took Roger to the lake where he vented for two hours. When he said he wanted to kill his wife’s lover, I reminded him of his boys. I reminded him of how God used him to help Glen. And I made no promises save that God would somehow get him through.

Six months later, though Roger’s marriage was over, he was restored. He admitted, “I didn’t really want you to leave that day. I was embarrassed, and inside, I was testing your commitment, testing your love.”

After that, there’s no way I’m backing out when I have a commitment to love someone.

Dinner and a Personal Story

by Larry Zahn, pastor of Messiah Lutheran Church in Alpharetta, Georgia

My wife, Judy, worked at the library. A co-worker heard Judy speak freely of her faith and observed Judy’s moral lifestyle. The two of them began a friendship. Then Judy invited her coworker to visit our church on Friendship Sunday and to dinner at our home afterward.

In our home, I was able share the gospel with this woman and invite her to a class our church was offering. In time, she gave up a bad relationship, uncovered a childhood faith that had been lost for years, and today she is a pastor’s wife and Christian author.

Church members befriend unchurched people that we as pastors would never meet. If we provide special opportunity to bring those people to church, we may find that “pastorable moments” come to us.

When They’re Hungry

by Linda Wurzbacher, pastor of Blessed Hope Community Church in Rochester, New York

A group of elderly ladies were decorating our church for Christmas when a man walked into the lobby. Dripping wet, he demanded to see the pastor, and refused to leave until his demands were met.

With our pastor unavailable, the ladies called me (an elder at the time) and considered calling the police. But before turning to the authorities, I asked the ladies to let me talk to him.

He stared blankly ahead as he answered my questions. He was desperate, his children hadn’t eaten meat in a month, and he had walked 10 miles in the rain to get help from a pastor he had once known.

The Spirit prompted me into action. I went to the store and bought groceries (especially meat) for his family, and called a taxi to carry the man and food back to his home. He walked out with me to wait for the taxi, and his face changed from steeled determination to a frightened childlikeness. “Did I do something wrong?” he asked.

“Of course not,” I answered. “You needed help, and you came to a church. I helped you because God wants me to show you that he loves you.”

He cried. We prayed. And I will never forget the look of gratitude on the face in the window as the taxi pulled away.