After months of attempting to clearly articulate my sense of ministry for a handful of graduate school applications, I have arrived at a few running definitions that satisfy me- for the moment. They are all purposefully abstract, intimating that the underlying gospel dynamic is one of liberation that leads to abundant, joyful self-giving. But if the refrain is that simple, that adaptable, how could I begin to put parameters on when and where “ministry” takes place?
Throughout my life I have encountered exquisitely refined ministry from the people you would expect- keen professors, embracing campus ministers, and doting Jesuit priests who have made the title “father” more fitting than a pair of worn-in jeans.
But I’ve also seen a different variety of ministry flourish outside of the Catholic mileau. For instance, ministry was unwaveringly honest and direct for the alcohol and drug counselors I worked beside at Friendship House. There, they had different names for God (a power greater than ourselves), confession (an AA meeting), and prayer (smudging off), but the same dynamics of compassion, healing and invigorating freedom prevailed.
I recently received a phone call from Kelly, a JVC housemate and friend. During the course of our conversation Kelly shared with me a theme that had been persisting strongly in her prayers and spiritual life. The message was powerfully clear for her: “Love.”
“I know this may sound a little simple, and kind of like, duh, but really, Mags, if I can do nothing else but love people, I mean really care for them and love them as they come, then that’s all I need to be doing right now.”
As Kelly spoke, I vividly recalled our last date together and how very present and exuberant and thoughtful she was. Now, of course, none of these adjectives are atypical for Kelly- she is a force of love by nature. Yet, Kelly’s simple revelation and invocation to love stirred up a similar response in me. I was so easily persuaded by her conviction that I hung up the phone feeling equally charged to be a force of love myself. It was as if, on this day, I had heard God’s voice.
This conversation, and many others like it, have put a whole new spin on the concept of real ministry for me. When a friend is honest about something she is experiencing, I feel closer to reality and challenged to be more honest in my engagement with it. When a friend expresses a desire to be more loving, or to practice better self-care, or to pray not out of obligation, but because he knows it will literally save his life, I listen. And I am changed.
I honor the candid things my friends say, and more than any other homily, these conversations function as conversion moments for me. And for that reason I’ve come to believe that friendship is the most natural, desirable form of ministry there is. It does not ask us to study, perform, or do anything in particular. It is stripped clean of all pretenses and polished agendas, and there in the intimacy of being with each other, in the trusted space of one’s friendship, ministry handles itself. I am so grateful for my friends, and the ongoing revelations I receive as they reflect out loud, and with beautiful transparency, the movements of their heart.
that was beautiful. Still is, I suppose.
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