Fulfill Your Ministry

Fulfill Your Ministry.  Millennia before the modern, secular mantra existed, which says, you do you, Paul charged his protégé, Timothy, with these words: “Fulfill your ministry” (2 Tim. 4:5). Different in nature and scope from our contemporary, secular creed, which enshrines self-expression as an inalienable human right, Paul seeks to motivate and maintain Timothy on his present course of Christian service.

Paul’s charge to Timothy is remarkably simple without being remotely simplistic. Cause to fill up completely to the point of overflowing, steel yourself toward the intentional satisfaction of your calling, entirely discharge the duty that God has entrusted you to do—this is not at all automatic, because it invokes a command. Saying Yes to this life involves saying No to ten thousand other things in life, which otherwise may be entirely good and wholesome.

A few observations make this verse stick. Notice that it is not, “fulfill ministry,” in a nebulous, all-inclusive, and unmeasurable sense. Similarly, it is not “fulfill my ministry,” in the sense that Paul had unfinished business that he is saddling upon the shoulders of young Timothy to complete. Or even worse, it is not “fulfill Christ’s ministry,” in some Messiah-complex sort of way. No, there is only one Messiah, and he perfectly fulfilled his ministry already; Christ does not need our help. Instead, the command for Timothy is “fulfill your ministry.”

Also notice that, even though it is given to Timothy, it is not necessarily for Timothy—because it is ministry. Ministry, at its very heart, is for others, to others, and with others. Therefore, Timothy’s charge is not the same as saying: “only do what only you can do,” which is incredibly self-focused and self-actualized. Timothy’s charge is not a job, but a ministry. Lastly, Timothy’s charge is contained in the grammar of the second-person singular, aorist, active, imperative—which is to say, it is not directly applicable to any person other than Timothy. Timothy’s mother or grandmother, for instance, cannot obey this for Timothy. We cannot assume Timothy’s mantle in Ephesus or elsewhere and think that his armor will fit our dimensions.

A principle, however, is transferable from Timothy’s commission to our situation. We all have a duty to discharge, a ministry to cultivate that has been entrusted to us by God himself. It may be a class of toddlers, a grandchild, a group of co-workers, or a local church—we all have some flock to tend. Timothy’s calling was explicit, while ours may remain implicit. Nonetheless, we have all been named as “God’s fellow workers” (1 Cor. 3:9).

Yes and Amen

Yes and Amen. It takes more than courage to look at how far one has come, as opposed to how far one still must go—it requires faith. Compared to faith, courage is easy, though courage is never easy. Compared to courage, faith is alien. Courage is the road less taken, so to speak, whereas faith is deconstructing the existing road to build a new one. Courage often opts for Plan B while faith checks None of the Above and puts the pencil down. Courage is important. Faith is essential, for “without faith it is impossible to please God” (Heb. 11:6). Faith both rallies around and finds refuge at the word and work of Christ. “For all the promises of God find their Yes in him. That is why it is through him that we utter our Amen to God for his glory” (2 Cor. 1:20).

With courage, reading the headline news is a terrifying obstacle to overcome. With faith, reading the headline news is a prayer list. This week alone: in addition to a funeral this afternoon locally, there is a submarine lost in the ocean depths quickly losing oxygen, a war of attrition in Ukraine, and several layers of multiple scandals that embroil many world leaders. Yet, far scarier than those examples are the everyday evils that don’t make the headline news: the crimes committed against unprotected sectors of our society, new versions of the Final Solution dreamed up in some prison cell by a warped mind against his perceived enemies, and the lies, corruptions, and predatory behaviors that gleefully ruin families, communities, and generations. Even worse than the 42 children and teachers who, this week, were hacked and/or burned in their sleep at a school in western Uganda were the 8 girls abducted by the cowards who torched the rest.

Courage says, “Something must be done. Someone must pay.” Faith says, “Hallowed be your name, your kingdom come, your will be done” even if the starting place for God’s will to be done “on earth as it is in heaven” begins with me, my sin, my prejudice, my violence imagined, my passivity, and my disbelief. Over a hundred years ago, journalist, humorist, and occasional apologete, G. K. Chesterton, delivered a similar faith-over-courage response when asked in a letter, “What’s wrong with the world?” He replied simply: “Dear Sir, I am. Yours, G. K. Chesterton.” Almost predictably and certainly indicative of our Post-Truth Age, that quote is questioned because the original letter written to The London Times cannot be located (despite two World Wars fought), although Chesterton seems to have written an entire book after the incident (What’s Wrong with the World, 1910). Regardless of provenance, courage never says, “I am the problem,” but faith never forgets it.

Peace I Leave With You

Peace I Leave With You.  Forewarning does not always prepare us for loss, insulate us from pain, or isolate us from anxiety. Yet we commonly feel that if we had known a major trial were soon arriving then we would be more ready to face it. Eh, maybe/maybe not. For the disciples, ample forewarning did not galvanize them against the reality of Jesus’ departure. Christ had told them at least three times directly that he was going to die and how it would happen (Mark 8:31; 9:31; 10:33). Yet mere hours before it happened, they were still not ready for it (John 13:37). However, which of us is truly ready for death, departure of a loved one, grim diagnosis, or sharp disparity between what we think should happen with what is about to happen? None of us is ever completely ready, but Christ is completely aware of our frailty. Therefore, it was wise and indicative of his entire ministry that Christ, even though he had given his disciples information about his end, at the last breath before the big plunge instead gave them peace. “Peace I leave with you” (John 14:27a). Christ knows that in the crucible of our confusion, even more than an antidote, explanation, or resolution to pain, what we need most is peace.

Ever the teacher, Christ adds a clarifying comment about the peace that he is leaving with them, and with us by extension. It was his peace and, therefore, his gift to give. “My peace I give to you” (John 14:27b). His peace is not one of the many counterfeits of peace that infiltrate the world’s operating system: diversions, distractions, and denials. Christ’s peace does not dilute our pain or trick the brain for half an hour that pain doesn’t matter. Christ’s peace wiggles past our armor, joins us inside our pain, and pays the bitter entrance fee. “Not as the world gives do I give to you. Let not your hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid” (John 14:27c). He does not shame us about our fear but assures us through our fear that a Day awaits that will be far better than any day that ever was. Because on that Day, he will abolish all loss, pain, and anxiety. “I am going away, and I will come to you” (John 14:28), so that “you may believe” (John 14:29). By faith, pain is an opportunity for increased faith when the peace of Christ is present.

For Your Joy

For Your Joy.  Through the gospel of Christ’s grace, it is a privilege to be positioned and enabled to pray for the congregation. Ministry, not to mention ministry leadership, is exactly upside-down in this regard as compared to the other forms of leadership. Shepherds pray for the sheep, whereas wolves prey upon the sheep. 

In the wider world, the stereotypical boss steers the organization and its thralls toward his or her advancement and ease. The phrase that Jesus used of this kind of I-win/you-lose leadership style is ironic: these lords “lord it over them” (Matt. 20:25), which is to say that they leverage their position toward their exaltation. But Jesus, who is the Lord of all lords—who has the right but does not leverage it here—counters conventional leadership practice and thereby redefines it: “But whoever would be great among you must be your servant” (Matt. 20:26). According to our Great God and Savior Jesus Christ (Titus 2:13), greatness is measured not by amassing servants, but by serving others in love (Gal. 5:6). 

Paul applies Jesus’ “upside-down” servant-leadership to the church, particularly in terms of prayer, specifically during a time when the church doubts Paul’s trustworthiness as a shepherd. Obliquely mentioning a trial in Asia that “burdened [us] beyond our strength” (2 Cor. 1:8), Paul writes: “You also must help us by prayer, so that many will give thanks on our behalf for the blessing granted us through the prayers of many” (2 Cor. 1:11). Apparently, Paul had indicated that he would visit Corinth, but when Paul was delayed, the church interpreted his absence as evidence of neglect. Pressed into an uncomfortable position of needing to defend himself, Paul measured his ministry against Jesus’ words and assured Corinth that his love was pure, and his leadership was pastoral. “Not that we lord it over your faith, but we work with you for your joy, for you stand firm in your faith” (2 Cor. 1:24).

Paul was not working against them for his own joy but working with them, even at a distance, for their own joy, even at a cost to himself. Principally, his off-site labor for them was praying for them, writing to them, and sending people to minister to them when he was delayed.