But as I have continued in my call and have dealt with all of the expectations of ministry--most of which are self-inflicted--I have struggled with this term. As a colleague once asked, "How do we actually know if we are doing our jobs?" That's a damn good question. And in the end, we don't have any barometer for figuring that out, not like crunching quarterly numbers or having a review from a superior.
And so the first time I heard the term Ministry of Presence, I thought it was just something that we throw around when we've run out of other options; after all, as the minister, aren't I expected to have the right answer? Aren't I expected to fix people of their emotional and spiritual problems? If someone asks me how well I'm doing my job, shouldn't I be able to quote them all the people whose lives I have very clearly impacted?
That, it seems, is not how ministry works. Worrying about whether or not I am making a difference is like my own version of Luther's Terrified Conscience. Luther worried over and over again about whether or not he was saved, concluding that we are ultimately saved only by the grace of God. If we worried about how we might save ourselves, Luther said, we would never be satisfied. And the same, I've discovered, holds true for my constant worry about whether or not I'm actually being an effective minister. But do you know who really taught me that?
This little girl. Casey has been with me through most of my journey in ministry. She accompanied me to seminary in New York--and boy, does she have stories?!--and she goes with me to my current church each day. One day, after we came home from what was a really tough day, I sat on the edge of my bed, feeling defeated and beaten up and worrying about whether or not I was really doing my job.
And then she walked in. She sat about five feet away from me, neither wagging her tail, nor pawing at me. She didn't make a sound, simply sitting there, looking at me. After about 30 seconds of just looking into each other's eyes, I finally figured it out. THIS is what Ministry of Presence is about. It's not about being able to fix someone's problems, nor is it about having all the right answers. It's about just being right there, letting the Other know that they are loved. Casey sat there, looking at me, and while she didn't say anything, I knew what she was trying to convey: it's ok, brother, I love you.
Sometimes that's all it takes. Being Christ to someone else often means simply giving them a shoulder or a hand. Often it means not even having a word to say. Often that's all God asks of us, to just be there for someone, and not necessarily to do something for them.
Too many times I see church leaders who are so concerned with DOING, rather than BEING. When we focus on doing we get overwhelmed, we start to worry about whether we're doing enough, and we get stressed and burn out. When we focus on being we are more attentive to the needs of the Other, and we can create a space where the Other feels cared for and loved. Casey doesn't bother with doing, and that's why she's such a great pastor. As one of my seminary professors once said, "Your dog is the most centered being on this campus." Can't argue with that!
Casey knows who she is and is content with just being who she is. What would happen if we were like that? What would happen if we were more focused on being, rather than doing? Not only would we be less stressed, but we would be more authentic, with ourselves and with the Other.
So I hope you have the opportunity, especially in this quiet season of Advent, to exercise Ministry of Presence. I hope that you have the chance to remind someone that they are loved, not by some quantitative measure, but just by being there and being who you are. In the meantime, I will continue to hold up my dog as my greatest inspiration for what ministry really looks like, hoping I can be the kind of pastor that Casey is.
Casey exercising her Ministry of Presence to a UK student during Finals Week.
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