In ministry, we must intentionally try to interact with others like people, not projects. We must see them as more than as a sick person, as poor, as disenfranchised, as an immigrant, as whatever.

We name their suffering, but not label them by that name. Individuals are not defined by their ailments.

At the most basic level, this means learning their names, where they are from, their family, etc.

You just need to be faithful. You don’t need to be fantastic, you just need to be trustworthy. You don’t need to go viral, you just need to be reliable.

As I read the gospels, I can’t help but think that we could use a few more John the Baptists in the world—this world that is so hungry for clicks, likes, comments, and subscribers. John was an odd bird, for sure. I don’t necessarily think that we need more of his weirdness (maybe I’m wrong on that), but rather more of his authenticity and humility. More of his passion and devotion. More of his austerity and honesty.

It all depends on your approach. You can come at him in an angry mob, or you can welcome him in a hungry crowd. You can come to him like a humble child, or like an ambitious adult. Approach him from a wrong angle, with a certain energy, or with a selfish agenda, and he can slip away from you like a wild and free animal in the woods.

Jesus’ opponents, those who wanted to arrest him, were not the only ones who had tried to seize him. Ever since Constantine (and probably earlier) there have been those who have tried to seize Jesus not because they see him as a threat, but because they see him as an asset to their platform. Warmongers have emblazoned him on banners. Politicians have slipped him into their speeches. Pastors have even seen his popularity as a boost to their online followership. Business owners have put him in their logos. Drivers have put him on their bumpers. And millions of us average folk have invoked his name as a mantra that we hope will seal the deal on a prayer we just prayed.

Father, make me believable,
just like your Son, Jesus Christ,
not so much by what I say I as by what I do,
not so much by what I proclaim as by what I demonstrate,
not so much by what I profess as by what I manifest.

I want to be a believable witness
in a world full of unbelievable salesmen.
I want my life be received as truthful testimony of your love,
not as fishy propaganda of a religion.

In every human being. A mark of the Divine One. Something sacred, holy, precious, glorious, and godly. We humans are heaven-earthly creatures, although we don’t often see it—neither in others, nor in our own selves.

Surprisingly to some, in the Bible human beings are referred to as gods—little “g” expressions of something other-worldly, something more-than-earthly. Even Jesus affirmed this perspective.

Can turn to religious aggression on a dime. In ancient times this looked like stoning someone to death, while in modern times it looks like trolling someone on social media, or a churchified version of cancel culture.

This turns many people off to religion. Understandably so. But I think that results from jumping to a conclusion that may or may not be accurate. For me it raises a question: Is the problem with the religion, with the zeal, or with the people?

Because followers are beloved human beings to be stewarded, not human resources to be managed. They are people to be nurtured, not cogs to be systematized. 

Since leadership is a people business, it matters greatly the way in which a leader views people: How is it that they come under one’s purview? What is the nature of that relationship? What is the purpose of that relationship? What are the appropriate means of achieving that purpose? What are the warning signs that things are getting off track or unhealthy?

I’m not averse to the Church learning from the business world. There is much in the Bible and in Christian tradition that doesn’t necessarily equip leaders for the rapidly changing world we live in today. We must constantly learn and adapt.

Following the voice of God is like being a sheep following the voice of a shepherd in a foggy field. The idea is to peacefully graze, following your bliss chomping on whatever bits of grass or weeds happen to strike your fancy in the square foot of earth in front of of you. All the while ambling steadily in the direction of the shepherd as he walks along, mumbling to himself, or perhaps a fellow shepherd, or other sheep, or sometimes even you. Just remaining nearby is all you really need to do. There you are safe. Unlikely to fall off of a cliff. Protected from predators or thieves. Simply able to graze as God intended.

The longer I try to follow the voice of God, the more I think that we over-complicate it. Or place higher expectations on it. As if God has step-by-step instructions for our day that we dare not miss, when really he himself is content for us to simply remain nearby. To steadily wander towards him whenever we happen to catch an echo of his voice in the fog of our busy day.

In college, one of my creative writing professors regularly gave us this advice: Show, don’t tell.

That is, don’t tell the reader that your character is in grief—talk the gray clouds overhead and lines furrowing her brow. Don’t tell your reader that it was a beautiful day—describe what you saw, the way the sunlight felt on your skin, the scents that wafted through the air. Don’t write a poem telling the reader how joyful you felt on your first date—paint a picture of the candle-lit restaurant and the glint in your crush’s eyes.

Images invite the reader into the meaning. The more vividly their imagination is sparked, the more deeply what you are communicating will go.

Is essential to every good story. That dull story that you never retell? People already know what’s going to happen as soon as you begin. That boring novel that you wish you never read? You already knew what was going to happen. It doesn’t have to be a drama; even a good comedy or biography has an element of suspense.

The wonder of what’s coming next is what pulls us to the edge of our seats. The surprise is what makes us feel alive. The unexpected is what we really long for. The mystery is what keeps us coming back for more.