The Ride

August 27, 2018

As I rode up the hill, the air was heavy with the leftover humidity from the night’s rain, but the road was dry. Breaking out of the valley to the ridge above, I could see beyond the hayfields dotted with round bales, over the valley still swathed in mist, to the forested hills to the west and the old seminary transformed years ago into the Job Corps settlement where at-risk young adults are learning skills for life. It was going to be a pleasant ride.

It needed to be. My stomach was churning as I thought about what lay ahead of me. I suppose in the greater scheme of things it’s pretty minor, but to me, presenting God’s Word to his people is a daunting task. No, it’s not dangerous; once when John Wesley was scouting out a place to preach to the miners who gathered to hear him, he rejected an otherwise perfect setting because it had too many rocks that could become projectiles. I have no such fears; it’s just the responsibility that goes with the job. James said that not many should aspire to be teachers of the Word, because they will be held to a greater accountability. Some day I will stand before the Supreme Majesty of the Universe who will examine me with inscrutable and inescapable piercing knowledge. I expect he will ask but one question: “Did you do your best?” There will be no escape and no excuse. I won’t be able to duck or dodge the issue. 

All that is running through my mind as I drive. The beauty that surrounds me is comforting—the One who will examine me is the same God who lavished beauty and intricacy upon the hills and valleys, fields and forests; the same God whose love offered his own Son on the Cross for my sins. Grace is my only hope, and this beauty reminds me of it, calming my soul as I close in upon my destination—a pulpit—with gratitude for the ride, the beauty, and the grace.