Desperate to touch, the minister reaches out,

With hands full of goodwill,

Helping those in need,

Seeking those … who seek them.

 

At first it seems a willing tug,

Visible to all, like the Pharisee of old,

We remain gilded in Roman robes,

Bathed in the light of ourselves,

Awaiting forthcoming praises from an ever increasing adoring crowd of onlookers.

 

Then comes grace,

Seemingly unrequested, we are showered in consolation,

Further affirmation God is with us,

Beaming, smiling, encouraging we have discerned His will,

And not our selfish ego.

 

Suddenly, but not really so,

We begin only to do work which provides and sustains a growing child within,

Where we will be visible, feel good, receive candy like “Thank Yous”,

And desert the quiet time with God which started the journey,

Or so it seems.

 

Now, my days are filled with distraction,

Ministry has become a fulfilled word … work,

But not for itself, rather myself,

As I feel the hungry wolf,

Perhaps the wrong one.

 

Somewhere I took the road I thought was marked “This way good works”

Which turned out to be a detour,

Designed by others to bring me back to where I started,

A town called self-satisfaction,

Where I was king, and everyone served me. Or so I thought.

 

As I see the town again, I begin to cry.

This is detour give me nothing all those years?

Have I not been distracted all this time?

And other questions pepper my self-centered mind,

Totally missing the point for my soul.

 

Now, it is clear.

I am called, but instead of mounting the nearest ambulance,

I could remain still, calm and listen for the small, still voice who loves me.

Who has always been there as I chased self-proclaimed glory,

In deeds coated in self-reflecting mirrors.

 

For it is Christ who lives in me, not Me who lives in Him.