Back on the Field

When I was in high school, I took an advanced phys ed class to fulfill my phys ed requirement, so that I could learn things in a class rather than do a bad job of throwing and catching various types of ball. A number of my classmates were excellent athletes, some of them already at the end of their careers. One had competed provincially in judo tournaments, but had suffered so many injuries that she was no longer competing. She was fairly happy moving into a teaching role, but you could tell she missed participating as she once did.

Pain has a way of getting to us. When we are hurt, we simply don't operate like we should, and often compensating for that injury creates a whole host of new problems. It's true physically, and it's true emotionally and spiritually.

Being part of a church plant and working with some rather tough inner-city youth – especially as young and stupid as I was when I started – left some hurt. Losing that church family hurt even more. I felt like I never again wanted to venture that much, to commit that much, to fight so hard, even for the sake of the gospel. It was a feeling that I didn't like. Mom always said, “you feel what you feel,” but she also always clearly taught, through word and example, that one must always act rightly in spite of our feelings. And so to feel like I didn't want to serve and risk and sacrifice for Christ was a feeling I hated, and one that I knew I needed either to move beyond or act beyond someday.

I've spent the last three years sitting comfortably in a pretty big church that doesn't need me. It's been kind of nice. If I don't show up, I don't have to worry that the attendance just dropped ten percent, or someone else will have to put together coffee or communion or potluck. But then four inconvenient people show up in my life: on fire for the gospel, with a heart for the lost, committed to proclaiming the glory of God in the city of Guelph.

I've spent the last three years loving the idea of church planting, loving church planters, even teaching prospective church planters, but not really wanting to do it myself. But I can't allow myself to be on the sick list forever. I can't let one instance of hurt cause my retirement. Jesus calls us to use well the things he has given us. God's people were told in Deuteronomy to love him with all their heart and life and resources. This isn't a matter of thinking a thing, it's a matter of doing. In Old Testament conception, to love is to serve.

We visited them recently, specifically with an eye to whether we thought we might fit there. Some concerns that I had were alleviated in a conversation, without the other person having any idea that he was addressing my concerns. But more than that was something a bit hard to put my finger on: a general feeling of peace and rightness and belonging. I figured if God called me, it would be kicking and screaming. For some reason, I thought that if I went back on the field, it would feel terrible. But it doesn't feel terrible at all. In fact, it may just feel like home.