Raphael Mnkandhla

After a roller-coaster week of ministry, a seasoned church member asked how I was doing. Without hesitation, I answered, “Grieving yet always rejoicing.”

I spent the next few minutes explaining to her how God had used this phrase from 2 Corinthians 6:10 to help me gain perspective and reorient my heart concerning the nature of ministry. Like many others, that week was a cornucopia of circumstances that left me sorrowful and joyful.

One day, I’d spent a sweet time in the Word and prayer in the morning. I counseled a brother in Christ whose marriage was in trouble, visited a newborn at the hospital, prayed for a man whose body was being torn down by cancer, ate dinner with my family, and spoke at a youth camp that evening.

As I drove home, it struck me how the day was a mixture of heartache and joy, or, as Paul put it, “grieving yet always rejoicing” (1 Cor. 6:10). He authored this phrase amid ministry hardships. The Corinthian church was under attack from false teachers. They were hostile toward Paul, undermining his message and authority due to his unimpressive appearance and speech.

“Sorrow and weakness will produce joy when they’re platforms for gospel proclamation and building up the church.”

Paul could’ve authenticated his ministry in various ways. But for the Corinthians, he highlighted his sufferings. His commendation comes by great endurance, afflictions, hardships, difficulties, beatings, imprisonments, riots, labors, sleepless nights, and times of hunger” (2 Cor. 6:4–5). All this was done by purity, knowledge, patience, kindness, the Holy Spirit, sincere love, the word of truth, and the power of God (2 Cor. 6:6–7).

Our phrase “as grieving, yet always rejoicing” is found among the paradoxes that Paul argues furnish the Christian ministry in 2 Corinthians 6:8–10:

glory and dishonor
slander and good report
regarded as deceivers yet true
as unknown yet recognized
as dying yet living
as being disciplined yet not killed
as grieving yet always rejoicing
as poor yet enriching many
as having nothing yet possessing everything

Through it all, Paul remained steadfast. He was mindful that heartache and joy are everyday realities.

In ministry, our hearts ache with grief.

Paul’s ministry was often marked by sorrow. He had a sour relationship with the Corinthian church—so painful he chose not to visit them (2 Cor. 2:1–5). He faced charges against him, his converts were going astray, and the credibility of his gospel was questioned. He writes with many tears out of a troubled and anguished heart (2 Cor. 2:4).

Still, Paul was able to distinguish between worldly sorrow and godly sorrow. He experienced grief in his longing for Israel’s salvation (Rom. 9:2). He expressed the deep sorrow he would have experienced if Epaphroditus had died (Phil. 2:27). These show the typical ranges of how a minister can experience grief in his ministry.

Pastor, the frontlines of ministry will expose you to unimaginable depravity and suffering and will plunge your soul into heartache, grief, pain, suffering, sadness, and distress. Pastoral ministry can be one of sorrow. Constant grief emanates from things happening to you and your church. Yet, this is not all there is.

In ministry, joy is always accessible.

Joy can (and does) exist with grief simultaneously. The source of Paul’s joy was God (Rom. 15:13). Joy is a fruit of the Spirit (Gal. 5:22) and a characteristic of the kingdom (Rom. 14:17). Joy is experienced in the corporate gathering (2 Cor. 7:15; Rom. 15:32; 1 Cor. 16:17) and puts the believer in a hopeful, prayerful posture. But Paul’s exhortation to rejoice was not only for the church but for himself. Philippians 4:4 reminds us he “rejoiced in the Lord always.”

For ministry leaders, sorrow and rejoicing are a paradoxical spiritual reality.

Pastor, “rejoicing always” doesn’t ignore reality. It embraces God’s gift of prayer and lament by clinging closely to his promises fulfilled in Christ. Our great assurance is that God turns our “mourning into dancing” (Ps. 30:11). John Bunyan illustrates this well in Pilgrim’s Progress—though it feels like we’re in the dungeon of despair, we have the key of promise. Just as the sun still shines on a cloudy day, joy is accessible in gloomy seasons.

In ministry, joy and sorrow exist paradoxically.

For ministry leaders, sorrow and rejoicing are a paradoxical spiritual reality. Grief and joy are present simultaneously in this life. We shouldn’t lend either excessive attention. Paul reminds us that both joy and weeping have their place according to the situation (Rom. 12:15).

Pastor, it’s healthy for grief to come from disappointments and misunderstandings. However, you must show your people how to grieve with hope (1Thess. 4:13). Rejoice in times of great favor and in life’s difficulties. Show that joy is deeply rooted in faith rather than feelings. Sorrow and weakness will produce joy when they’re platforms for gospel proclamation and building up the church (2 Cor. 13:9).

Article originally posted on the Acts29 Website : https://www.acts29.com/the-paradox-of-grief-and-joy-in-ministry/

Church planting tests relationships. This relational stress can result in deeper bonds and meaningful work or heavy betrayal and hurt. Is there a way to recover from the deep cuts when they inevitably come? How do you place your hand on the plow again? How can you fight for healing?

To answer these questions, Athanasius of Alexandria advises his deacon, Marcellinus, to turn to Psalm 55:

“If your enemies who oppress you insult you, and those who seem to be your friends discredit you by making a fool of you, and you get perplexed by their subtlety for a little while, nevertheless you should be comforted by singing to the Lord and reciting the words in Psalm 55.”

Every church planter should keep the song and prayer of Psalm 55 close to their heart. In this psalm, David laments his betrayal by an intimate friend. He’s under siege by troubling thoughts (1–3), and anguish fills his heart with the desire to escape (4–8). Verses 12–13 reveal the source of his agony: David says he could bear the attack if it came from an enemy, but instead, these arrows are piercing him from an unexpected source—it’s his peer, his companion, his good friend who turned against him. They’d shared tears, struggles, joy, and worship. Yet all seemed lost in an instant.

Does this apply to church planting and pastoring? The answer is a resounding “yes.” People with whom you’ve dreamed, prayed, cried, and celebrated can turn around and deeply hurt you. This was clear to me during the pandemic when I faced the dilemma of threats from divided extremes: “Pastor, if you require masks, we will . . ..” Or, “Pastor, if you don’t require masks, we will . . ..” I heard concerns from both camps. But their willingness to throw meaningful relationships and fellowship aside, in a moment, shocked me.

The Psalmist gives us two options here: we can escape to somewhere, something, or someone else, or we can escape to God.

We miss all these summits when we run away, seeking other forms of refuge instead of following the hard path up the mountain.CLICK TO TWEET

The Wrong Escape

Crushing and unbearable times often tempt us to escape to other forms of refuge that give us instant relief. Sometimes we use virtues—we bury ourselves doing good things to medicate the pain. We try vacations and entertainment. Sometimes we use vices like sleeping pills, drinking, and gluttony to block and repress hurt, though we know they’re perilous to our souls. Anything we seek to suppress tends to return in more dangerous forms.

The detriment of fleeing to other sources for refuge is that we miss out on abundant life. Climbing a mountain is gritty, hard work. But reaching the summit rewards us with a soul-satisfying view. Life’s monumental summits evade us as we pursue ease and escapism. Because of this escapism, so much good is left undone. As Dave Griffith-Jones says,

“Truth doesn’t get told, work doesn’t get finished, spouses don’t get cherished, children don’t get parented, injustice doesn’t get challenged, inventions don’t get made, art doesn’t get created, churches don’t get planted, sinners don’t get told the good news, neighbors don’t get loved, Jesus doesn’t get honored.”

We miss all these summits when we run away, seeking other forms of refuge instead of following the hard path up the mountain.

The Right Escape

We need to escape to God. God was David’s hiding place: “Give ear to my prayer, O God, and hide not yourself from my plea for mercy!” (Ps. 55:1). Through prayer, David gained perspective and became settled in knowing that God would execute justice on his behalf (Ps. 55:19–21, 23). His advice, then, is to cast your cares on the Lord. This means we don’t hold it all in but talk to God about our troubles.

Casting our cares on God enables us to remain steadfast, escaping escapism and finding refuge in him.CLICK TO TWEET

Talking to God in this context includes sharing our feelings of anger, shown in the vivid language used in this psalm. The result of taking it to the Lord in prayer is that David emerges confident that God will save him (v. 16), hears his voice (v. 17), will redeem him (v. 18), will sustain him, and that he will never be shaken (v. 22).

Athanasius advises Marcellinus to recite this psalm because it voices what we feel before God. It also shows us that sometimes God won’t take the burden away—but he will surely sustain. In short, casting our cares on God enables us to remain steadfast, escaping escapism and finding refuge in him.

This song should be on the lips of every church planter because deep wounds are inevitable in this meaningful work. To maintain our love for God, his people, and his work, we must bring our deep wounds to him for healing.

Article originally posted on the Acts29 Website : https://www.acts29.com/a-song-for-every-church-planter/