Eyes Closed Shut

I’m a bit embarrassed to admit that I was surprised when God showed up this Sunday. His strong presence came precisely where I expected it least and overwhelmed me to the point of tears while trying to transition our service from our worship set to the announcements.

I hate crying while public speaking. It’s awkward for everyone. But I couldn’t help it because I opened my eyes and was reminded again of a love so great, and a faithfulness so true. The immensity of my Father’s goodness could not be fought with.

You see, up until that precise moment that the tears started welling up and the fight for composure started, I had my eyes closed shut...tight. The week prior I found myself in a position of having to make an immediate critical decision for the church. The kind of big decision that has deep reprecussions, massive implications, and the very real potential to set back a lot of gains made over the last nine months.

Some call these moments sink-or-swim or make-it-or-break-it. It certainly felt like this.

The situation required someone to simply make abundantly clear that the status quo would no longer be an option. That even if the next step required great risk, that it would be worth taking if for no other reason than to make clear that our righteous cause would not be sidetracked by church politics, traditions, or dead-set attitudes.

It was sometime during the week that my eyes started to fade and shut. I began to withdraw into myself searching for a hope that I had enough… relational capital, leadership savy, moral high ground, persuasive skills, strategic reflex, sparkling smile, or whatever was needed to pull it off. It became about me. And the more I looked the less I found myself adequate. The more I took my eyes off the One calling the shots, the more I feared and the more I squeezed my eyes shut.

The ironic thing is we’re church planters. God has already steered my wife and I through some of the most harrowing situations, personally and ministerially. Our life story is ripe with unorthodox moves. We’ve already experienced the moments where we felt we were to steer our life ship straight into what seemed to be a wall…and then asked to pick up speed. And the closer we’d get to that obstacle the more we’d squint and hold our breath in anticipation. And a million questions and potential outcomes and images of eject buttons and irrational fears and freak outs would flash right in our mind’s eye….only to be silenced by the still small voice that would utter a simple question somewhere in our gut and heard in every corner of our spirits…

“Do you trust me?”

It’s the question our very faith is founded on. Can Jesus be trusted? Is he who he says he is? Can he be trusted with my salvation? Can he be trusted with my future? Do we trust Jesus? And we’ve come through storm and fiery furnace by his love, strength, faithfulness, and grace alone with the simplest response of faith on our lips…

“Yes, yes we do.”

But this Sunday was different. I kept saying the right things. I kept cheering. But I hadn’t yet uttered the simple response. I was somehow convinced it was the beginning of the end. I really thought the wall was real this time and that impact would be heard far and wide. So when I closed my physical eyes in worship on Sunday, the eyes of my spirit opened, and there he was…patient and kind, determined and strong.

This weekend with my eyes closed shut, my God, Jesus, made a way where there seemed to be none. Grace made a way of it’s own. And love prevailed.

“If we are unfaithful, he remains faithful, for he cannot deny who he is.” - 2 Timothy 2:13