At the start of COVID-19, right when we were all becoming aware of the hard things that were being asked of people, I received a call from a megachurch in my city who parted ways unexpectedly with their senior pastor. They were calling to see if I could act as the interim senior pastor, at least while church was being consumed online.
My husband, Todd, and I went for a walk and although lists of pros and cons could be created, at the end of the day, I just wanted to do whatever God asked of me — without counting the cost, or deciding if I had the margin. I let them know I was willing, and the adventure began.
Like all assignments, it has been more than I expected. Most days, when I am challenged by someone, I have the same questions in my head they have in theirs. I am equal parts unqualified and privileged. I am learning that the faith God requires of me isn’t measured in size, but in posture. Do I have my hands open or fisted? Am I on my knees or running in place? Is my head bowed or looking around for approval? I want, even from this position, to have a reckless kind of faith. A faith that says yes, when the simpler choice is no.
How easy it is for me to make my faith look “refined.” Under the guise of good stewardship, I can plan and plot my way toward responsible living — a life under my own control. I’m a mother and I have a savings account, I have insurance, and most days I drive the speed limit. I take vitamins and don’t carry credit card debt.
Responsible living is a good thing, but does it always need to look so refined? Can’t we throw caution to the wind from time to time — not because it makes sense, but simply because God asks us to? A refined faith has charts and programs and plans. It’s full of calculated steps and hand wringing. A refined faith is impressed with the big deals, big buildings, and big numbers. Certainly, God sometimes orchestrates big deals and provides for big buildings, but He is not counting heads. Instead, He counts the hairs on each head.
Could I be in this role for a season, because a church hurting in a global pandemic, needs a spiritual mother who says, “It’s ok, whenever it looks crazy on the outside, it’s about to get real good here inside God’s kingdom.” I stand in a long line of biblical characters who are ill-equipped and underprepared for what God is asking of them. The key isn’t what I have in my hand, it’s whether or not I’m waving it in the air, “pick me!”
A reckless faith builds an ark before there’s even a cloud in the sky. A reckless faith charges into the sea before thinking God may part the water. A reckless faith leaves ninety-nine sheep to go after the lost one. It does not need man’s approval — or man’s money. It honors God in the classroom, even when no one else there reveres Him. A reckless faith doesn’t make moral compromises at the office, even when they’re expected. A reckless faith believes in “til death do us part.”
Reckless faith does not mean immature or unthinking. The truth is, the closer I grow to God, the more experiences and knowledge I accumulate, the more recklessly I desire to live. As a result, I want to ask God to heal my friend without mumbling that even if He doesn’t, I’ll try again later. I want to give away more than 10 percent since I know how to live comfortably with whatever is left over. I want to say yes to projects and relationships even when they sometimes don’t make sense.
I don’t know what hard God has asked of you in this season, but step boldly into it. The Church needs us to be all we’ve been created to be. Pick me, Lord!