This is a neighbhorhood in the dump.
“The ministry of God really has nothing to do with you.”–wiser people in ministry than I.
As much as I love the “title” of missionary, it's so foreign to me. What is a “missionary” supposed to do? Even though I had been taught that ministry is a lifestyle, not a program, somehow I thought I could offer people something more than Christ. Perhaps I like the “Jesus and…” theology. If you offer someone “Jesus and [something else]” there's more control. Don't get me wrong, there are plenty of programs in the church that do wonderful things for people. However, sometimes I wonder where we are putting our faith: in Christ, or the program and using Christ as a means to an end.
Perhaps that was the cause of my mini-meltdown before church yesterday. Things like, “What are we gonna do?” “Who's doing what?” and “We need to pray…” tumbled out of my mouth for about an hour. In the back of my mind, I thought, “Just worship and pray… that's all we have?”
We worshiped in our usual “unplugged” style, complete with guitars, cajons, coffee can drums and Spanglish praises. The pastor concluded speaking speedily in Spanish saying words like “Missionarios” and “Orar” (pray). Then a group from the congregation came forward with looks of heavy hearts.
I walked up to a woman with her eyes shut. Although she was praying with her eyes closed, I could see the worry lines on her forehead. Her hands had the calluses of a working woman and she seemed to be too stoic for happiness.
I placed my hand on her and prayed. I prayed the most honest prayer I could think: for peace, for justice, for provision, for love, for the character of God to shine. She began to shake as the wrinkles on her forehead became deeper. Silent tears streamed down her face. Burying her face into my chest, she wept, deeply. After a few minutes, I began to ask God, “What did I do?”
Somewhere deep within me I heard, “You aren't doing anything. I AM HERE.”
When she was done, her eyes stared into mine.
They were bloodshot, tired, and relieved of pain.
They were the eyes of my Savior.
