The Ministry of Presence

Comfort with clothes on

The poetry above is an offering.

A tribute in typeface to the ones who have stepped into the emptiness, illuminated my shadowy spaces, and lifted these weary arms. When others made for the exit—they extended the compassion of Christ.

Not in order to eliminate my grief through profound insight, (those things that already had been said too often) but instead bearing uncomplicated witness to my frustration and fears. 

Perhaps you are a self-proclaimed optimist, the lucky owner of a life that comes with sunshine sewn into the pockets. Or maybe you feel closer connection to Eeyore—a dripping cloud your constant accessory.  Spend enough days walking this earth, and eventually we all run smack into something we never saw coming that leaves us gasping for air. No matter how desperately we try, none of us can claim infinite self-sufficiency. We all require the comforting nearness of another human at some point in our little passage of time. 

It then follows, that on another section of road we will be the one called upon to provide proximity. Offering up our living, breathing presence—an instrument of love in the hands of the supreme Comforter:

But God, who comforts the downcast, comforted us by the coming of Titus

(2 Corinthians 7:6)

The assumption is that God could have given Paul another nifty vision. Audible words from on high—spiritual encouragement poured out in perfectly holy turn-of-phrase.  But he chose instead to send Titus (a Gentile convert) who provided divine comfort in bodily form. 

I’m a novice to this calling, and my insecurities are the shouty sort.  They arrive armed with excuses, running mile-a-minute with reasons aplenty. “I won’t know what to say. How long will I have to stay? What do I do with my eyes? Surely this is for Someone Else.” As this voice inevitably mounts its soapbox, I remind myself how others have modeled this ministry for me:

Words were optional, often unnecessary. "I'm here" is carried not on sound waves, but in quietness of their heartbeat and breath.  In a world that champions all things virtual, instant, and on-demand—they chose instead to pull up a chair. Uncross their arms. Lean in with a gaze that held room for my messy emotions, demanding nothing in return

We need not possess charm, charisma, or stellar social skills. Every believer is qualified and called to this sacred work. Like the coming of Titus to Paul, Mary keeping vigil at the cross, or the sympathetic stranger walking “with” on Emmaus road, we too can embody the love of God on the ground. Time offered up, skin in the game, our limbs supporting the limping—the ministry of presence. 

For further reflection:
2 Corinthians 1:3-5
2 Corinthians 7:5-7
Phillippians 2:1-9