A Picture of Ministry

Today, in a meeting, I saw again the “Team Hoyt” video . You may not recognize that name, but many of you have probably seen the video of the man with the handicapped adult son competing together in a triathlon (if you haven't, here is one version ). For the running part, the father is pushing a special wheelchair with the son strapped in, for the swimming part, the father is swimming and pulling the son along in a rubber raft, and they have a specially made bike with the son strapped in above the front wheel and the father pedaling behind.

It’s pretty hard to watch this without some tears appearing in your eyes. The father is so committed to the son, and so obviously loves the son. He certainly has had to work on it and train well, and is in the kind of shape that I wish I could be in (well, sort of, since if I wished for that enough, I’d probably put out a little more effort to that end). But, what also strikes me is that, even though the son is not pedaling, not swimming, not running, he seems to be just as excited or more than the father. Even though he is just sitting there while his father does all the work, the look on his face and the uplifted arms seem to be an expression of victory.

It hit me that this is a good picture of ministry, but I’m probably not going in the direction you think I’m going in. I’m not talking about the servant attitude of the father, even though that is a beautiful picture of a heart of service and ministry to others. I’m talking about the son.

The longer I minister, the more I’m convinced that the only way that ministry is effective is as the spirit works in people’s hearts. It’s not because of my great skills or a great process, or a great plan. It’s because God is at work. The picture I am trying to draw is of God who works and lets us be along for the ride. He gives us the joy and satisfaction of being able to participate in his vision for the world. We get some of the honor when we have actually done almost nothing, but the Spirit has been at work and used us.

What a wonderful thing and what freedom that gives. That’s how much God loves me. He gives me the privilege of service, even when I can do nothing, and even when I think I’ve accomplished something special, in reality it was Him, and I get just to enjoy accomplishment. We need not fear failure, inadequacy, lack of talent, etc. He’s back there pedaling, doing all the work.

Isn't that a true picture of what it means to serve as a Christian?

This Could Be the Last Time

Last week I preached at a small church in Hualien on Taiwan's east coast. During the musical part of the worship service, the man controlling the PowerPoint for the songs stood at the side with his daughter in his arms (as you can see in the picture). He held this position throughout the entire musical part of the service, using the remote in his hand to control the slides but continuing to hold his daughter. I remember wishing that I could do that again with my own children.

I kept thinking about how tiring this must be. It's one thing to hold an infant, but this little girl is long past the "infant" stage. She must have been at least 5 years old and pretty heavy to hold for such a long time, but she also stayed still, content in his arms. I wondered if he could hold her for the whole worship service, and from there began to wonder how much longer before she got so big he couldn't do it anymore. It couldn't be much longer, as fast as kids grow. In fact, could this be the last time.

I remember holding my own children and how enjoyable that was, but I can't do that any more. They're as big as I am or bigger. I wondered when was the last time I held mine that way. There was certainly a "last time." However I don't remember when that happened. What would have changed if I had known then that it would be the last time to hold my son or daughter? If I had known, would I have held them tighter? Would I have determined that I could surely do it again? Would I have looked at them differently? Would I have cried?


But, I didn't know. It just ended at some point and neither of us knew that something had happened which was final and would never be repeated. It just ended. Maybe I didn't even think about it. Maybe they didn't want it anymore as they wanted to express their "grownup status." I don't know.


That is life. Sometimes we can realize that it might be the last time. When I was with my dad last fall, I knew that it could well be the last time I saw him alive. I hoped that I would be wrong, and we made plans to live with him when we returned this summer, but I knew that there was at least a great chance that he would not live that long. I did try to savor the moment, but yet afraid to do so fully because I didn't want it to be the last time.

But, more often, we just don't think in terms of last times or only times. We don't have any real idea except for some kind of theoretical possibility way back in the far recesses of our mind. So many things happen that are precious, but we never realize that they are unique, that they will not happen again, and that they should be savored and cherished. We just live and go on oblivious to the wonder around us. Life is common and routine when it should not be. It is a wonder and it is fragile.


I know that I will never hold my daughter like that again. She's grown far to big. My two sons are even further from that possibility. I can still enjoy the wonder of their presence again every time I see them. They are wonderful creations of God and I'm honored and blessed to be their father. I must cherish them and any time I can have with them.


And yet, the same is true for everyone I meet. We have been commissioned by Christ to make disciples. That commission was not given just to a few who would be preachers, pastors, or missionaries. It was given to all who are disciples--believers of Christ. We think there will always be that chance to be a witness. There is no rush is there? So, we go on with life and leave behind the urgency that there should be.

What if this is the only time we'll meet? If I meet someone on the train or bus, I probably know that this will be my only chance to at least give them a good testimony of what God can do and to tell them about the gospel of grace. But, of those that I do know--family or friends--I seldom think that way. I don't wonder when that "last time" might be. They could be hit by a gravel truck tomorrow, but it doesn't have to be that macabre. It could just be that they will move away, or that our relationship will grow further apart.


Can I recognize the urgency of the gospel--to tell people that there is hope in life after all, that there is a God out there (and right here as well) who is all-powerful and yet knows us intimately, who is thoroughly and fully righteous and yet is gracious to us. There is a God who saves people--not just from hell, but to give them life more abundantly in the here and now. There is a God who wants us to walk with him and how will always be with us until the end of this world. I have to admit, I don't think of that as urgent.


Maybe I should be thinking more like that. Could this be the only time. Could this be the last time? If it were, and if I knew that it would be, what would or should I do differently?