Love Someone…

I said something to someone today that surprised me a little when I heard myself say it:

I don’t need an invitation or a license to do what I do.

That could sound defiant.

I don’t mean it that way.

I mean that I don’t need to be appointed to a position in a church before I can notice somebody. I don’t need a ministry title before I can listen. I don’t need to be assigned a person before I can care about them. And I don’t need somebody’s authorization before I can ask another human being:

“May I pray for you?”

Years ago, at another church, I did exactly that.

I was standing in the church foyer and encountered someone for whom I wanted to pray. So I asked.

Later, the pastor chided me for it.

I was told I was scaring people.

That stayed with me.

Perhaps there were things I needed to learn. There still are. There is no “arrived” status in following Jesus. Zeal can run ahead of wisdom. Sincerity does not automatically make an approach appropriate. Another person is not obligated to receive what I want to offer merely because I believe my intentions are good.

But neither have I been able to conclude that the answer is to stop noticing people.

More Than Sundays

This morning at River Valley, the message came from Colossians 4:2–6:

“Continue steadfastly in prayer, being watchful in it with thanksgiving.”

Paul then asks for prayer that God would open a door for the word. And a few verses later:

“Walk in wisdom toward outsiders, making the best use of the time.”

Then:

“Let your speech always be gracious, seasoned with salt, so that you may know how you ought to answer each person.”

The message was about sharing the good news of Jesus outside the walls of the church.

But what struck me was the posture.

Pray first.

Pay attention.

Notice the people who are already around you.

Love the person rather than merely looking for an “opportunity.”

Walk with the Spirit.

Know when to speak.

Know when to be quiet.

Be gracious.

Listen.

Don’t force the moment.

The pastor said something that particularly caught me: perhaps instead of continually praying for more opportunities, we should pray for a greater love for people.

That changes something.

The person standing in front of me is no longer an evangelistic opportunity.

They are a person.

Somebody Told Somebody

Paul had never visited the church in Colossae when he wrote to them. The gospel had reached them through Epaphras.

Somebody told somebody.

That somebody told somebody else.

And a church appeared.

There is something wonderfully ordinary about that.

The gospel did not remain safely inside the possession of the person who had received it. It travelled through relationships.

That does not belong exclusively to pastors, evangelists, missionaries or people with official ministry positions.

It belongs to the church.

To us.

And that is where my sentence from earlier comes back:

I don’t need an invitation or a license to do what I do.

But I think I need to add something to it.

I Don’t Need Institutional Permission. I Do Need Relational Permission.

There is an important difference.

I don’t need a title to love someone.

I don’t need a ministry assignment to notice someone.

I don’t need a pastor’s authorization to pray.

But neither do I possess another person.

I don’t have the right to push my way into somebody’s private world because I have decided God wants me there.

“May I pray for you?” contains both things.

There is freedom to offer.

And there is freedom to decline.

Perhaps this is part of what Paul means when he tells us to walk in wisdom and let our speech always be gracious.

There have been times in my life when I have sensed that perhaps I should say something and have spoken.

There have also been times when I have sensed something and remained quiet.

Increasingly, I think obedience can look like either one.

Sometimes love speaks.

Sometimes love listens.

Sometimes love prays without ever informing the other person that their name entered the conversation between me and God.

Planting and Watering

Near the end of the message this morning, another familiar passage surfaced.

Paul writes elsewhere:

“I planted, Apollos watered, but God gave the growth.”
— 1 Corinthians 3:6

That takes an enormous burden away.

I am not responsible for producing another person’s spiritual outcome.

I may plant.

I may water.

Perhaps someone else planted years before I arrived.

Perhaps all I am doing is watering something I cannot see.

And perhaps another person will someday water something planted during a conversation I have already forgotten.

God gives the growth.

That means the person in front of me never needs to become my project.

I can pay attention.

I can listen.

I can pray.

I can speak when it seems right to speak.

I can remain quiet when it seems right to remain quiet.

And I can leave behind the need to make something happen.

I Am Not Alone Here

Maybe that is part of why this season at River Valley has affected me so deeply.

From time to time I hear something being taught publicly that resembles something God has been slowly forming privately in me.

Not identical words.

Not proof that every impression I have is correct.

Just recognition.

Resonance.

There it is again.

And strangely, what I experience most strongly in those moments is not vindication.

It is comfort.

I am not alone here.

I don’t have to persuade everybody to see what I see.

I don’t have to manufacture opportunities.

I don’t have to carry people.

I don’t even have to know whether I am planting or watering.

I can simply learn to be present to the person God has placed in front of me.

Pray.

Pay attention.

Listen.

Love.

And, when the door opens, speak with grace.

Then leave the growth to God.