Quiet fell upon the lawn. The fallen leaves rustled in the breeze making the hush of those gathered all the more poignant. One voice, and one voice alone, would break the silence. That voice would be mine. They wept for the man in the casket–the father, the friend, the brother. They wept for the emptiness that he left behind. And one voice was called upon to give meaning to the moment and to give meaning to a lifetime. Ministry. That’s real.

It’s like stepping into the water on Easter morning. A friend is by my side. We have talked and prayed for weeks together. Something about the Spirit has moved him to devote his life to the very faith that I have. That faith, they say, can move mountains. I am quite aware of the changes in his life–the joy and the purpose. The congregation that has loved him to the point of his devotion gathers around. One person speaks on behalf of all of them. But, how can I possibly say, "I baptize you in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit" with all of these emotions stuck in my throat? There is now one more in the flock. The tears run down my cheeks as the water rushes over his head. That’s ministry.

The weekly stroll from my chair to the pulpit. The eyes of the congregation are fixed upon me. I could use this time to be funny, make an impression. I could use this time to make a spectacle of myself. But, I open the Bible, read the selection and pray for God’s voice to be heard instead. I have studied and prepared all week for this fifteen minutes. Yet, I have no idea what is going to happen. I’ve written the words, but I haven’t yet heard them for myself. Preaching. Somehow, a voice emerges that the congregation hangs upon. What I am saying is important. I have listened to these people, lived with these people, prayed for these people. Now, I am addressing these people and through that, God is working upon their lives.

These are some of the realities of ministry. It is tangible. You can touch, taste and smell the work. It is people. It is life. I don’t have office hours, although you can find me in my office. Wherever I go, I am "the preacher," or "the minister." I used to be David and I had a job. But, now, words like "job" and "career" are indistinguishable from words like "life." Whatever you do, I hope that you have the joy of losing the distinction between what you do and who you are. In ministry, that is a real possibility.