From the Heart

Why I Serve

Today Steve Trainor shares about his somewhat reluctant journey to serving and teaching. Steve and his wife, Susan, have been members at TRBC since 1987. While they have served in many areas over the years, they currently work with our young adults in our college ministry. 

Why do I serve? Well, it’s not for a lack of trying not to.

It started with Billy Cruce, our former pastor at TRBC. He would regularly ask me if I would consider teaching, and I would regularly decline. He would tell me to pray about it. He would mention the church’s lack of teachers and my love of storytelling, and then hint at the obvious marriage of the church’s need to my big mouth. And he wouldn’t let it go. Pastor Billy could be quite serious, but I knew I wasn’t teaching material, not really. Teachers studied and were respected and sat up near the front and nodded their heads and actually listened during the sermon. Not my gift. Not my job.

I think it was Chester, one of Billy’s good friends, who first asked me to substitute teach for him. “Just this one time,” he said. “Help me out.” So, I relented. Just the one time . . . and it went terribly. I had weeks to study and I used every minute, but even so, there just wasn’t enough time to get through all the material, write copious notes, fret, grimace, deal with an upset stomach, and then start all over again. But that was nothing compared to the actual day. The whole teaching process was embarrassing. It certainly couldn’t have been spiritually nourishing, or even palatable. I’m talking four big X’s in any talent show. It was pitiful. Definitely not my gift. Definitely not my job. Glad that’s over with.

The thing is it wasn’t just Chester. Now it was also Roy, then Pat, and later Jeanie actually volunteered Susan and me to teach the high school class with her. That’s not even legal. It says so in the bylaws. It’s there in small print between the part about excessive giving and how and when it’s appropriate to say a loud and animated “amen!” in church. It is just not supposed to happen.

This was getting out of hand. I began to look for seats next to open windows or near a door. You know, for immediate egress.

But then a funny thing happened. As I was all but forced into teaching, it became necessary that I hollow out a space for myself; a time in the schedule to focus on uncovering any buried remains or remnants of truth. It was there that I struck gold.

God began to intrude into my lesson planning. I found Him waiting deep within the excavated literature. My studying became surprisingly personal. It wasn’t that I was surprised to find, after digging out some gem, that God had gotten there first. No, it was that I was startled at how personal He got with me once I unearthed a new jewel He had left on deposit deep in the rich and complex and timeless reality of faith.

Teaching has become more an adventure than a task – more a journey than an act of service. If you take a hike in the mountains, you get to enjoy the view. That is one of the reasons for the outing, but there is also the soft, spongy feel of a thick forest loam underfoot and the pungent aroma of cedar or the fresh, light smell of fragrant evergreen firs. There are the scurrying sounds and the wet damp of the deep growth and the bright crunch and the wind of the rocky face. The up-close and personal part of the hike, the dirt and the gravel, should not be overlooked.

I found myself hearing bits and pieces of my study bounced back in Curtis’s sermons. My days filled up with extensions and illustrations or opportunities straight from the pages I had read while in study that very week. It was as if the larger view of Scripture was at times being eclipsed by the fine print of a real and active relationship. I was free to climb the mountain and hunt for God as a prospector might search for gold.

G.K. Chesterton believed that “All Christianity concentrates on the man at the crossroads” (Chesterton, 2009). That statement stands unassailable once we realize that we never leave the intersection. There is always that moment, that instant of active will, when we decide which road we will take. Every time one path meets another, a decision is made – often with far-reaching consequences. Although at times that can be unnerving to consider, it is also what defines the adventure. God offers an abundant life. Why not hazard a scramble through the high country? Let the crisp wind of God water your eyes and fill your lungs.

Take a hike.

Chesterton, G. K. (2009). Orthodoxy. Chicago: Moody Classics.