Yesterday I hiked Beehive Basin in Big Sky, Montana. The fact that I just typed that sentence blows my mind, but here I am!
My two brothers and I hiked the first half of the 6.6 mile trip in movie-set conditions, the October Montana snow providing a beautiful coat of fresh powder everywhere. The views from every angle were breathtaking, and with an elevation gain of 1,500 feet along the way, the views got better and better with every step.
Google-worthy Lone Peak makes appearances nearly the entire hike, providing a North Star effect, which proved to be somewhat helpful for me, as I was admittedly nervous about the hike.
With encouragement from my brothers, several breaks along the way, and the reminder of the payoff the basin would bring, I slogged forward. I reached for my scripture journal frequently; I prayed; I stopped a lot; and then we made it. And it was awesome.
But ministry is not the basin, people. And I’m not talking about paid church staff ministry. I’m talking about the loving-your-neighbor ministry we are called to live out every day.
Ministry is the hike back to the car.
My focus on the hike yesterday was squarely on the basin and the basin alone. I just wanted to make it; I wanted to see it, to feel it. And I’m guilty of this in my own Christian walk, both personally and in my outreach. There is a tendency to focus on the conversion, the experience, the thing! But what then?
Because like the snow that gets hit by sun, life can get pretty messy. And that was our experience on the hike back. The beautiful powder and picturesque trail was replaced with a muddy and wet path. The last mile was like hiking through brownie mix.
The longer I’m in ministry, the more I realize that so many people feel like they are left on the hike back to the car--but all by themselves.
We are not created to do life alone. Our final mile felt like forever, but once I realized that it wasn’t just my shoes that weren’t doing the job, it became fun taking turns slipping and sliding everywhere. At one point, mostly out of exhaustion, I gave up on traditional methods and decided to shoe-ski my way down a decline. I didn’t plan it; it just sort of happened. Luckily I didn’t fall, but if I did, I knew I would have help--or at the very least someone to take my picture and laugh at me and with me.
The basin is beautiful. But how much of a hike is spent at the basin? Not much, my friends.
What I pray for you, and what I pray for myself, is that I can continue to die to myself and grow in my love for neighbors and friends. As it says in Galatians 6:9-10,
“Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up. Therefore, as we have opportunity, let us do good to all people, especially to those who belong to the family of believers.”
Amen!