Woody Allen is credited with saying something like “life consists mainly of showing up”? It’s a witty comment, but it has substance—and application for ministry.
A friend recently told me the story of an experience he had while walking on a beach in Maine this summer.
“I came upon a young woman who was sitting by herself reading a book. It seemed appropriate to greet her with a ‘good morning.’ When she responded, I asked her what she was reading. She said she was reading the Bible and added, ‘I’m a new Christian. Do you know what that is?’
“I told her that I did and that, in fact, I was one—although an old one.”
My friend went on: “She seemed not to mind further conversation; so I asked her if she’d tell me more of her story. It turned out that she was a college student and that she was getting ready to return to school, this time as a new follower of Jesus.
“When I asked her who would be praying for her as she went back to school, she told me that she really had no one among her friends or her family. So I volunteered to be her prayer supporter.”
My friend concluded the story with this thought: “How good of God to lead me to that place, at that time, to meet a young student in need of spiritual encouragement.”
Our conversation moved on as we reflected on God’s tendency to position people in places where they can offer a word of hope to someone else like the Bible-reading stranger on the beach. Many times such encounters seem like chance-meetings. But perhaps they have more to do with something called providence than we realize. Thinking like this makes one become open the possibility that no engagement between two human beings is an accident but just might be a God-designed event. The thought is a bit scary.
Frederick Buechner defines “vocation” as the place where your deep gladness meets the world’s deep need. My friend gets energized by a meeting like the one on the beach. For him, this is vocation in every sense of the word.
Reflecting on that conversation, my mind gravitated to the story of Philip the evangelist who was inwardly prodded to leave Samaria, where he was preaching to crowds, and go to Gaza, where there was no one. That’s kind of like asking a fisherman to leave a trout-stocked brook and head for a polluted pond that even tadpoles shun. For what conceivable reason might one go to Gaza?
I can imagine Philip asking that question and second-guessing (at least for a moment) the validity of his inner sense of leading: away from the opportunities in Samaria and toward the isolation of Gaza.
But then that chariot appears on the horizon—the one carrying a distinguished African man on his way home from Jerusalem. What else is there to do but for Philip to approach it and offer the equivalent of my friend’s “good morning” to the young woman on the beach. In short, like my friend, Philip just shows up. Just shows up.
You know the rest of the story. Now the chariot conveys two men down the Gazan road. Two men one on one in a desert, where there are no distractions, having a dialogue about Scripture. Then a conversion and a baptism. The consequence? As far as we know, the subsequent birth of the Christian movement in Africa which exists until this day.
Between my friend’s story and my instinct to compare it with Philip’s experience, I have been renewed in thoughts about the wonderful idea of the general call of God that permeates every day. The call that says, “Today is one more day of routines. Show up; be faithful to your duties and obligations; treat every person you meet with dignity and respect; do and say the loving thing.” Who knows? In the midst of it all, you may convert a nation or bless a student who will go on a change a bit of the world.
You have to be careful when you start thinking and writing about a God who initiates little surprises along one’s daily walk in life. For example, just a month ago, the most important thing on my mind was preparing for a several-day solo kayaking trip along some lake and rivers in northern Maine.
And then came a surprise conversation with a member of the Board of Trustees of Denver Seminary who had been authorized, he said, to ask if I would consider becoming the school’s interim president. Several days later—after much conversation with other board members and, of course, God—my wife and I made a yes-decision. Today, I am enjoying the wonderful privilege of being associated with one of the very best seminaries in North America that trains men and women for ministry.
A meeting on a beach. A conversation in the desert. A sudden decision to join a seminary rather than paddle a kayak. There seems a common thread between all three stories—a God who enjoys meddling in our daily schedules.
Gordon MacDonald is editor at large for Leadership and lives in New Hampshire.
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