There’s just never been anyone like Miss Connie.
Something about the hot weather always reminds me of Miss Connie. Of all the people I have met in my time as pastor, she always stands as one of my very favorite people. You always knew where you stood with Connie. She had absolutely no fear of speaking her mind, yet most people remember her as one of the most loving, compassionate people you would ever meet. There was a good reason for that.
She was.
Connie manned the children’s ministry at the church for years before I arrived, and carried on after I got there. She loved children. Her heartbeat was to see the kids in our community involved in the local church, to see them transformed by the gospel, and she worked tirelessly to see this happen. But for many years, her work was tiresome and didn’t bear much fruit. There are a bunch of stories I could share, but my very favorite one serves as a helpful reminder of one of the most helpful things a pastor in revitalization could do.
It all started during the first VBS we held at the church after I became pastor. We had 40 kids or so, and everyone was beside themselves excited about what was happening! The building was noisy, there were kids everywhere, and the level of hope and excitement was palpable in the building. We were serving dinner each night, and I had just sat down to dinner with some volunteers. I sat down next to Connie, who was watching the ruckus with great excitement. I looked over at her and smiled. “Isn’t this really great, Connie?” I asked, fully expecting a really excited response.
“I’ll believe it when I see it,” she responded gruffly, maintaining her stoic, emotionless gaze.
“Miss Connie, what do you mean?” I asked innocently. She went on to explain. “I’ve seen this before. You young preachers come in, make a name for yourselves by getting people here. Then the church starts to grow a bit, people start getting there hopes up, and you all take off for the next big thing. I have seen it too many times to get excited anymore. It’s really just a matter of time before you break our hearts.”
The words sliced through me, and reminded me of the sober reality that the folks I was ministering to were wounded sheep, who had trusted one too many pastors in their own estimation (what a sentence, huh? Trusted one too many pastors. If anyone ought to be able to be trusted. . .). Truth is, I really had no idea how to respond to this. So, I asked a simple question. “Miss Connie, how long do you think I will be here?” “I give you less than a year before you are on to something else,” she responded. So, I asked one more question:
“What will you do if I stay here a year?”
“If you stay here a year,” Connie said “then I will stand right out there on that sidewalk in front of the church and dance a jig.”
I nodded, and got out my phone. I looked up the date one year from then, then picked the Sunday after that. I wrote one sentence on that date on my calendar.
“Connie dances a jig.”
And then I didn’t say another word about it for a year.
One year later, on a Sunday morning, I wore my tennis shoes to church, and stood looking out the window, waiting for Connie to arrive. She came every week, faithfully at 9 AM for our community prayer time. I saw her walking down the sidewalk, and caught her on the way. “OK Connie, you ready to dance?” I asked her. She gave me an utterly confused look, and then I explained to her that I put that day down on the calendar. She smiled a bit, and said “well, I guess we need to dance a jig, then.”
I can’t imagine what it must have looked like on the outside, watching the two of us try to figure out what a jig even looked like. But I can tell you what it looked like on the inside. It looked like a lady, learning how to trust a pastor again. A little over a year later, I had the honor of preaching Connie’s funeral. She passed away suddenly, and left a hole that no one will ever fill in our church. To date, one of the greatest achievements of my ministry was convincing Connie that when I said I was going to stick around, I meant it.
Friend, can I encourage you in one thing? If you are considering replanting, revitalization, church planting, or any other ministry, look at it from a long perspective. Stick around. Small churches, and their members, do not exist for the benefit of our ministerial resumes. There are no stepping stone churches. There are only churches, full of precious saints for whom Christ died. If that small church, with its few members, isn’t enough for you, then ministry isn’t the place for you. That little group of people, especially in a dying church, has been hurt so many times that you will have to prove that you aren’t going to hurt them. That won’t be quick. I have been in our place as pastor for five years now, and still there are people that I think are just waiting for me to take the next big thing. But at the end of the day, if God calls a person to a place, He is calling them to stay. Sometimes, that won’t be possible. I understand that. But often we confuse the really hard for the impossible, and we fail to be obedient to the Commission we have received because we stop too early. Stick it out. Love people. Trust is earned in many cases, not freely given.
You may be in work other than full time ministry. You may be a stay at home mom, an employee, or a small business owner. The advice is no different: stick around. Following through on your commitments is so out of fashion that when we choose the long haul over the quick and easy, we almost immediately gain a platform to give a reason for our hope. Stick it out, if you can. It really is worth it, even if no one sees.
Who knows, you may even get to dance a jig on Sunday morning someday.
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