I had a lovely conversation yesterday with a parishioner from one of my former parishes. She said, “I read your recent blog post, and it got me thinking about the incredible fellowship we had back then — there was so much fun and laughter during those years.”
And she was right. Those were good years. Joy-filled, faithful, noisy years. The kind of years where you could almost hear the laughter echoing in the hall long after everyone had gone home.
Her words got me thinking too. I began to reflect on why that time was so rich with community life and grace. And I realized something that may sound strange for a priest to say: the best thing I did back then was get out of the way.
Now, before anyone rushes to assume that means I was lazy, let me assure you, I did my fair share of sermon writing, visiting, and keeping the church boiler from bursting into flame. But I learned early on that ministry isn’t about being the busiest person in the building—it’s about creating the kind of space where others can shine.
In those days, Charlotte organized regular soup lunches to support a feeding program she’d learned about in Africa. The Women’s Guild cooked up potato lunches that could make a dietician weep with joy (or possibly despair). Once a month, we held Bagel Sunday—an event that brought together the 8:00 and 10:00 congregations, reminding everyone that the early birds and the late risers were indeed part of the same flock.
The wardens, not to be outdone, put on an annual dinner and auction that could have given Sotheby’s a run for their money — if Sotheby’s ever featured a slightly used lawnmower and a homemade cheesecake as its top lots. And then there was John, who spent the summer months organizing volunteers to collect donations for ice cream at St. John’s Soup Kitchen. Because, as he rightly said, “Everyone deserves dessert once in a while.”
These weren’t “programs” in the churchy sense. They were living expressions of love, creativity, and faith. People weren’t waiting for permission — they were responding to the Spirit’s nudge and doing it together, with joy.
My greatest contribution? Learning the fine art of holy restraint — what I like to call “getting the heck out of the way.”
That, I’ve come to believe, is the essence of ministry. It’s not a solo act. It’s not about standing in the spotlight or being the one who makes everything happen. True ministry is about creating a space where the people of God can do what they were made to do — love God, love one another, and love the world with abandon.
When that happens, something beautiful takes root. The laughter grows louder, the joy becomes contagious, and even the hard work feels light. I look back on those years not because I did anything remarkable, but because the community did. They became the church in the truest sense — not a building or a hierarchy, but a living, breathing fellowship of faith.
And that, I think, is what the Kingdom of God looks like when it breaks through our potluck dinners and soup luncheons. It looks like God’s people shining in their own ways, working together, and maybe — just maybe — letting their priest step aside so they can show the world what grace looks like with sleeves rolled up and laughter in the air.
Prayer: Learning to Step Aside
Lord Jesus,
You send us out to share your peace and your good news,
not to draw attention to ourselves, but to you.
When our pride gets in the way,
when our plans take centre stage,
help us to step aside —
so that your light can shine through us.
Teach us to trust your Spirit working in others,
to serve with humility,
and to rejoice that your kingdom is near.
In your holy name we pray. Amen.