By Walter Clark
She lies in bed. That’s her life. She can move her right hand a little, but not enough to adjust her blankets. Her wispy hair escapes and tickles her cheek and sometimes gets in her eye. She tries to tuck it away. If she is in discomfort, she cannot push the call button. She cannot feed herself. She cannot get up to go to the bathroom so she has to endure being changed like a baby. While we were visiting in September, she asked me several times, “Why am I still here?”
This is really not about my mom. It is about ministry. My mom is old school enough that she would have never applied the word “minister” to herself. Ah, but a minister she was nonetheless. She and my dad worked with the youth group in Southern California. She remembers taking them to the beach and having devotionals around a fire. She and my dad studied with a lot of people, leading them to make a commitment to follow Christ. My dad was a preacher in Montana for a short time. He was an elder in Washington State for a short time. She served alongside of him through the years. And many of those years were hard but blessed years. I wonder if she thought “Why am I still here?” at any point during those years.
Can it sometimes feel as if ministry is a mere lying in bed while we can barely move our arm? Why am I still here? I’ve asked this question of God. It sometimes does not feel like I’m able to do any good at all. Sometimes I hear about other ministries and I want to, I know I should, praise God. And I do. But there is a part of me that sighs in comparative frustration. Why can’t my ministry be more like that? It can feel as if I am doing the same thing day in and day out without any observable results. Here I am again, lying in bed. I’ve seen this program before and I can’t seem to change the channel. Can someone adjust the blankets? Pain medication please!
The worst time for me was during the pandemic. I was kicked out of the state pen where I was leading a Bible study and a worship weekly. At the youth correction center where I was a chaplain, there seemed to be little interest. They could no longer come to the chapel. I could no longer provide snacks and games. The youth were friendly. They talked small talk with me. But it felt like I was barely able to adjust the blanket. I sat in my office and drew a picture of myself. I had blood coming out of my eyes and mouth and I wrote on the top, “I’m okay.” Well clearly, I was not okay. I sent an email to the psychologist who we were told would make himself available to us. I never heard from him. Thankfully, I went home and told my wife. And together we got through it. But it was a moment when I felt like I was stuck in a bed all day long.
Shortly after his great victory at Mount Carmel, Elijah found himself fleeing for his life from Jezebel (1 Kings 19:1-10). He took himself out into the desert and sat under a broom plant. And there, he asked for his soul (nephesh – soul, living being, life, self, person, desire . . . that which breathes [BDB]), that he would die. “It is enough!” he cried out to Yahweh and then asked him to take his life (nephesh). Why? Because he was not better than his fathers. Maybe he is feeling the weight of generational failure to turn the heart of Israel back to Yahweh. This would fit the context. In verse 10 he laments that the sons of Israel had abandoned the covenant, torn about God’s altars and killed his prophets. He alone remained. Day in and day out he zealously served Yahweh, but the result was the same as always. Ahab and Jezebel were still in power. He was still lying in bed barely able to move the blankets.
So, what do we do? How do we move beyond this feeling? It wasn’t until Elijah quieted himself in the sound of a small whisper that he was able to truly hear God’s message. Can we shut out the roar of our fear and insecurities? Maybe Psalm 62:5 is the answer, “My soul, wait in silence for God only, For my hope is from Him.” Why am I still here? The simple answer is to wait and hope in Yahweh. Ministry will find meaning here.
Clark has been the minister of the Bismarck Church of Christ for 18 years. He also serves as Chaplain of the North Dakota Youth Correction Center and Heart River Correction Center. He and his wife, Cindy (York Alum of 1984), have three children and three grandchildren.