Last night’s walk through the neighborhood turned into an unexpected little pilgrimage. There is something about churches at night. The stained glass glowing against the darkness. The old stone and brick standing quietly after the streets empty out. Steeples reaching upward while everything else settles down for the evening.

As I walked, I could not help but think about how these churches and schools have watched generations come and go. Somewhere inside these walls, decades ago, there was a newly ordained deacon reporting to his first parish. A young priest beginning ministry with nervous excitement and big dreams. A newly vowed religious sister or brother stepping into a life they could scarcely yet understand.

Now their first days are generations past. Many of them served faithfully, retired, and entered into the nearer presence of God long ago. Yet these churches remain. The prayers continue. The bells ring. The Gospel is still proclaimed. The sacraments are still celebrated.

As I prepare to report to my own first parish, that reality humbles me. I am excited for this new chapter of ministry, yet I am also deeply aware that the Church of God transcends me on every account. The Church was here before me, and by God’s grace it will continue long after me.

That is both sobering and comforting. The church to whom I have been called to serve is so much bigger than me. She is bigger than our present moment, and bigger than the anxieties and debates of our age. We belong to something ancient, living, and enduring. Standing beneath these windows and steeples last night reminded me that ministry is not about making ourselves the center of the story. It is about receiving the faith, serving faithfully for our little stretch of the road, and handing it on to those who come after us.

Reprinted from a Facebook post with permission by The Rev. Deacon James Wesley Holcomb

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