As I continue to reflect on the life of ministry, I find that God has a way of sending perfect examples straight into my daily life — sometimes with the subtlety of a whisper, and sometimes with the force of a nurse wielding a blood-pressure cuff.
Yesterday, as many of you already know, I spent the better part of the day in the hospital. It was a day of spectacularly long waits punctuated by brief bursts of medical efficiency: a nurse for three minutes, followed by an hour on an uncomfortable hallway chair; a doctor breezing in and out like he was auditioning for a cameo in a medical drama; another hour on the chair; and so forth. It was like being in an airport, only without the possibility of a duty-free Toblerone to soften the blow.
Now, frustration is always an option in these circumstances. But frustration, I’ve discovered, never makes the line move faster, the chair feel softer, or the antibiotics taste better. What it can do, however, is rob me of the opportunity to be who I am called to be: a priest, yes — but also simply a baptized Christian, living out the promises we’ve all made.
And so, when a nurse came to take blood, apologizing profusely for the delays as if she were personally responsible for the global shortage of chairs with adequate padding, I decided this situation was in need of grace. Instead of snapping or sighing, I simply told her, “I know you’re all doing the very best you can. You’re doing a fantastic job.” Her dour expression cracked into a radiant smile, and I realized just how little effort it takes to transform a moment.
It became a bit of a theme for the day. Another nurse, visibly carrying the weight of the entire ER on her face, relaxed into a smile after a few words of thanks. A third, who despite exhaustion managed to be kind and cheerful, received in return my gratitude for being a bright spot in an otherwise weary day. Each exchange cost me nothing. But it was ministry — small, ordinary acts of blessing in a place where patience and kindness can be in short supply.
By the time I was finally released — antibiotics in my system, stomach protesting, body tired — I thought the day’s lessons in patience and gratitude were complete. Owen and I were halfway to the exit when God interrupted yet again. A woman came running down the hall, spotted my collar, and asked, “Are you a priest?”
Now, when someone asks you that in a hospital, it is never because they want your opinion on the coffee machine. Her mother-in-law had just been brought in, in very bad shape, and was near the end. Would I come and pray?
I was tired. I was hungry. I wanted to go home. But ordination, you see, is not something one clocks in and out of. I was taught that Ordination leaves an indelible mark on the soul, with responsibility to be available in those unexpected encounters. So of course, I went. I prayed with the woman, anointed her, and stood with the family. When they discovered I was not hospital staff but a fellow patient, they apologized profusely for troubling me. But there was no apology needed. God had placed me in that hallway at that moment, collar and all, not for my own purposes but for theirs.
And that, I think, is the very heart of ministry. Not the grand plans or the scheduled meetings, but the interruptions. The hallway prayers. The moments when our own agendas collapse, and God’s agenda quietly unfolds.
So, if you find yourself today waiting — whether on a hard chair, in a slow line, or in some season of life that seems to drag — remember this: the waiting may not be wasted. God may have someone for you to bless. And all it might take is a simple word of thanks, a smile, or the willingness to pause when someone calls out, “Are you a Christian?”
Because ministry, more often than not, looks less like a pulpit and more like a hallway.
Prayer
Gracious God,
you meet us not only in the sanctuary,
but in the waiting rooms, the hallways, and the interruptions of life.
Teach us to offer kindness where there is weariness,
gratitude where there is strain,
and prayer where there is need.
May we be ready, in every unexpected encounter,
to share your love with patience and joy.
Through Christ our Lord. Amen.