Last night I was sitting in the pew waiting for church to start, watching people file in and try to find a seat. Sunday nights at Henderson are crazy when school’s in session. We sometimes pull out folding chairs for the aisles.
Anyway, tonight I was struck by the gutsiness (or craziness) of what my husband does for a living. I very suddenly realized that all of those people were listening to him talk, that all of those people needed to be fed, that all of those people brought different past experiences, different frames of reference, different expectations, and that he needed to satisfy all of them.
Of course, the Spirit is the one Who does the satisfying—I know that. But still, the preacher has a HUGE job. Just getting up and talking in front of 700 people is frightening. But talking to them about God, being responsible for a healthy diet, making sure that you challenge and stretch without turning people off, making sure you always stay true to God’s truth, never shorting it or adding to it, never intentionally offending but ever convicting.
Yesterday reminded me of the weight he bears, of the sometimes suffocatingly scary burden of guiding people on the path to God.
With all that liability, I hope he sees the immensity of the payoff. I hope he realizes what a service he’s doing for God’s children in Henderson, how ably and elegantly he communicates truth, how often he motivates and inspires life change.
I hope all preachers realize the hugeness of their influence—and not in a debilitating way, in a call-to-greatness kind of way.
God bless you guys. I’m glad I’m a girl.