Cleaning the Brushes: The Never-Done Work of Ministry

My friend Kory shares some thoughts on the “never done-ness” of ministry. On behalf of pastors everywhere, I say, “amen, brother.”

I helped my neighbor stain his pool deck this weekend. I wish I could tell you I did this Mother Theresa-style, all selfless and void of any agenda. But in all honesty, I had two motivations: (1) he helped me stain my deck last year, and (2) I want to stay in his good graces so my family and I have an all-access pass to use his pool.

It took us about four hours, and when we finished, we were able to step back and admire the “after” picture that was in stark contrast to the “before” one. As we surveyed our handiwork, I felt this weird sensation welling up within me, causing my chest to puff out and my smile to widen. It was a strange feeling. I finally identified it as “accomplishment.”

I don’t get that feeling a lot in my line of work. As a minister, it feels like little ever gets accomplished to the point where you can wash out the paint brushes and label a project complete. Nothing is ever complete in ministry. As soon as you finish a Sunday, another one looms just seven days away. There’s always one more meeting, one more phone call, one more unsolvable situation wanting to make an appointment. It feels like nothing is ever done.

I know I should say something pithy here like, “Well, the destination is in the journey.” Horse hockey. I don’t like not reaching my destination. My first line of work was journalism, in which every question had an answer if you were willing to dig deep and stay silent long enough for the other person to speak first. Every story had a beginning, middle, and ending, and if I worked hard enough, I’d make it all the way through – sometimes even on deadline.

Ministry is like journalism in that there are lots of stories to be told, but that’s where the similarities end. In ministry, every story has a beginning, but some stop right there. Some move on to a middle, but you usually don’t know that has happened until you’re stuck in it. Precious few stories have an end, but that end always feels like – and usually is – death, and sometimes THAT doesn’t even stop the story (for reference, see “Tomb, Empty”). In ministry, nothing gets accomplished.

That’s the impossibility of what we are called to do as followers of Jesus. You see how laughable this faith thing is? We are imperfect beings representing a perfect God to the world. Sometimes I get so far from actually doing this well that all I can do is throw my hands up and laugh. “I’ll do better next Sunday, I promise.” Maybe it’s a good thing those opportunities roll around every seven days. I need the practice.

So rather than getting to some sort of conclusion, some mountain-top moment where I can plant my flag, I’m constantly mired in stories that have no ending. Stories of divorce and addiction. Stories of traitor disciples and conniving younger brothers. Stories of conflicted relationships and overworked parents. And there is no answer that will make it better, that will offer a satisfactory explanation, that will end this thing on deadline. Honestly, it drives me bonkers.

Which is probably exactly where I need to be, because it’s in my weakness that God is made strong. It’s at the moment I surrender my desire to accomplish something that God gets to work. It’s at the moment that I acknowledge the messiness around me that God rolls up God’s sleeves. As long as I think the responsibility of providing solutions is on my shoulders, all I’m doing is standing in God’s way.

So I stain pool decks. And I work crossword puzzles. And I binge-watch TV shows. Because all of those things have endings, at which point I can look back and say, “I did that.” I like that feeling. It feeds my need to be productive, to prove the worth of my existence. But God doesn’t need my gumption or my work ethic or my stick-to-it-iveness. God needs my trust. Or better yet, I need to trust God, without conditions or strings attached. The pride fueled by my accomplishments, as ego-feeding as it can be, sort of misses the point of faith, putting the em-PHA-sis on the wrong syl-LAB-le. We’re not here to accomplish things; we’re here to point to the one who can accomplish things in and through us. Or not. Does it really matter if we reach a tidy, sitcom-like ending to our stories? Nope. Because God is not only there, but also in the birth pangs of the beginnings and the messiness of the middles. And if we get stuck there, not accomplishing anything, that’s OK. After all, the destination is in the journey.

Rev. Kory Wilcoxson is the senior minister of Crestwood Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) in Lexington, Ky. He enjoys baseball, spending time with his family, walking his Goldendoodle Jack, and a good pun. You can read more and follow his sabbatical journey on his blog.