What you do matters.
You know the drill. It’s Sunday morning. You’ve been up since before the crack of dawn, letting the words of the sermon make their way into your bones. There’s a message for someone today—the pressure is high to minimize distractions and maximize impact.
Then they start to come. The ones who call you “pastor.” The ones with whom you’ve shared laughter and loss, friendship and enmity. It’s a slow trickle at first . . . the ones carrying doughnuts or children’s Sunday school materials. Then the wave. They’re coming to be in the place where meaning can be found. They’re coming to be in community with fellow seekers.
You? You’re the one holding the space for them.
Then it begins. It may be the roar of the pipe organ in a grand cathedral or the strum of a guitar in a rented space. Worship. You’ve been preparing all week for this moment. You’ve been preparing your whole life for this moment.
Your people, God’s people, gathered there. It will never quite be the same gathering again. It’s the right people for that moment. The prayers, the scripture, the music—high or low—there’s energy. Even in what may seem the stalest, coldest room. Everybody wants to meet God there. To be inspired. To remember there’s something deeper and more profound than the daily grind.
You stand to preach. They’re looking at you. Folks who were once strangers are now family. You’ve stood with them to pronounce them husband and wife. You’ve been there when they laid their loved one to rest. And so many moments in between. And now, a word from God. For this moment. From the only one who could deliver it.
It doesn’t matter if today’s sermon was a homerun or a dud. You know you’ve got both in you. What matters is this—you showed up. You did your best to speak truth.
But it’s not all about you. No, you merely hold the space for those who come your way on a Sunday morning. It’s the Holy Spirit’s job to move, inspire, prompt, and guide. The building, the music, the liturgy, and yes, the words of your sermon so carefully considered—merely space holders for the greater work of God.
So pastor, whether you’re on top of the world thinking there’s no better profession or you’re wondering if you might be better suited to sell used cars, remember this: what you do matters. At the end of a long Sunday, your energy spent, you wonder if all of your efforts were in vain—remember that you held the space for Spirit to meet your people. What a gift.
What you do matters.