Mercy Me

March 27, 2018

“You’ll always wonder, ‘Could I have made it?’ if you don’t try.” I spoke those words probably twenty years ago to a talented young man who wanted to move to New York City to see if he could make it in the music world. A gifted keyboardist and songwriter, he had put out a couple cds locally, and was ready to spread his wings except for one thing: his parents thought he should settle down and get a real job. “You’re young; you have no responsibilities; you have the rest of your life to settle down. You don’t want to spend that rest of your life asking, “What if...?” 

His parents probably weren’t too happy with me when he took my advice. When he moved back into the area some years later, I wonder if they wanted to look me up and say, “See? We could have told you so!” They didn’t, so all is well that ends well. Rik is married, has an equally talented son (more so, if you ask Rik), and owns a small music store. I guess he settled down to a real job.

My wife and I just returned from watching the movie, “I Can Only Imagine,” the story behind the song of that name. Bart Millard, who wrote the song, grew up with an abusive father who told him never to follow his dreams because dreams never come true. He and his band were good, but something was lacking. It’s hard to put one’s finger on it, but authenticity is what separates good from great. It wasn’t until he came to terms with his father’s abuse and learned to forgive that he was able to write the song that defines the band. 

It is often the case that it takes great tragedy, deep sorrow, and brokenness before one is able to reach deep enough to attain greatness. And while there is plenty of tragedy in the world, not everyone has gone through the kinds of problems Bart Millard endured. And for every superstar, every success story, there are thousands of also-rans; people who do their best, work their hardest, but lack the talent, and perhaps haven’t suffered enough to connect deeply with those they’re trying to reach. Whether you are a musician, a pastor, a social worker, or a teacher, the likelihood of becoming an Amy Grant, or a Billy Graham is pretty slim. 

Which is why I am grateful that while God has a few bright suns shining in all their glory, he also has far more ordinary stars. They don’t light up the sky, but quietly twinkle and sparkle in the night. I’m no super pastor. I preach passably well, know how to listen, am a terrible administrator, have written a few mediocre songs. I’ve done my job as well as I knew how, made plenty of mistakes, had failure and success. All of it is in God’s hands, where it rightly belongs. The good news is that God doesn’t depend on our ability; he is more interested in our availability, for his purposes are dependent on his power, not ours. St. Paul tells us that God didn’t choose many wise or powerful or wealthy; instead, he prefers to use the foolish, the weak, and the poor, so that it can be evident to all that anything that has any substance is God’s work, not ours. 

So tonight, I am grateful for those who have blessed millions with their gifts. I am grateful for those who have blessed thousands. And I am grateful to have over the course of a lifetime, been able to bless a few. Most of all, I am grateful to have been chosen to be a co-laborer with Christ. He didn’t have to choose me; he could have made a better servant from the stones beneath my feet, but he has given me the privilege of serving him as imperfectly as I do, and blessing it with mercy and grace.