I just finished 7 days of church camp.
I loved it.
I loved being pulled on as pastor. I loved walking on the razor edge between my exhaustion and God’s strength.
I was poured out. Night after night, I taught. I prayed. I preached. I invited. I laid my hand on students and the power of God flowed into them.
It was such an incredible feeling–almost addictive.
But, now it’s over.
The only invitation being given is God calling me back into the mundanity of my life.
As I sit in the cold metal folding chair pulled up to my third-hand desk in my bare office, lullabied by the hum of the AC, the creak of the metal roof shifting under the heat of the sun startles me back to attention.
With that same hand that I laid upon the heads of the students, imparting life into them, I’m now using to write my todo list.
-Call Tom about the breakfast
-Reply to Don’s email
-Repaint office wall
-Call Gayle and diffuse the situation with Brady
Very quietly, I chuckle to myself when I think of the two extremes of the pastoral vocation. We can’t pick and choose as pastors. We are about the people, the business of the church, and the move of God. They are inseparable.
But, my comfort is found in knowing that God is in this small things, too.
Mountain top experiences call our mundane moments into an alignment—to give meaning and purpose and divinity to the todo lists, the sermon notes, the phone calls, the emails, and the marathon meetings.
The very same power that flowed into the students last week, flows through my pen as I write this. It flows off my tongue as I sip coffee with a parishioner. It flows through my hand as I fill drywall holes in my office. It pervades every unexciting, uneventful, and unremarkable moment of being a pastor–and there are many. And I feel that faithfulness in these times, drives the roots of my mountain a little deeper. It raises its summit a little higher. And I’m sure that in the rhythm of the pastoral life I’ll find myself ascending the heights of that mountain soon enough.