When I started this blog about two years ago I had dreams of getting noticed. “All the hip pastors #hasthag their stuff to death,” I thought. “They think of cool hooks and fill their posts with ‘Three Ways To . . .’ and ‘The Secret to Sanity in Ministry . . .'”. I wanted to be cool. I wanted to have one of those voices with gravitas—one that people would listen to. I wanted to be an expert on something. I considered ways to build my platform and obnoxiously self-promote myself, my parenting (non) skills, my cool ideas, and my funny jokes.
I’m no expert. I’m not cool. My mom is my biggest fan (well, Ethan, then my mom). I say dumb things when I preach; and I could write a book on successful ways to shrink your congregation, lose dollars, and create more work for your co-workers because of the stuff you say.
And I’m good with that. I believe that I pastor the greatest group of people in Baton Rouge. They love Jesus, they love each other, they are extremely sacrificial, they deal with my faults, and they don’t put any pressure of my family to be something that they are not. They understand that I don’t knock sermons out of the park week in and week out, and they know that I can’t be available for all things. They get life and ministry.
They have great wisdom. They serve selflessly. They meet the needs of strangers. A friend in North Louisiana called me Friday night and basically said, “Hans, we know a mom in Baton Rouge who almost had an abortion but decided not to. She’s in bad shape. She just had a baby and is now living with someone else because her family won’t help her. I know The Chapel likes to help people out, do you think you could do anything?” Courtney gets the info and passes it off to the leadership of our Mother to Mother ministry at The Chapel. By Saturday night one of the leaders (a mother of four herself) had raised money and delivered a load of baby essentials to this woman she had never met, shared Jesus with her, and went back to her own family.
That’s my church. I recently got back from a trip to Kentucky for school work. A buddy and I were out to dinner and he said, “Man, if your church loves yor and you love them, then you’re in a good spot.”
I wouldn’t trade the people I get to serve for almost anything. And if that means I’m never “known”—it is for the better. I’ll just say something stupid anyways.
PS—I’ve shared this video numerous times. But I think it is capturing more and more of our identity as a church.