"You mean I'm not the next Billy Graham?"

As I look back at my seminary days and my conversations with my fellow classmates, I’m sure that each one of us had the quiet expectation that God had a big ministry in store for us after graduation.  After all, why would God have called me to seminary if there wasn’t a grand-scale ministry down the road?  If I’m being completely honest (don’t think worse of me for this), I believe there were actually a few moments that I dreamed about being the next Billy Graham. 
 
Before I tell you whether or not I actually became the next Billy Graham, there were pivotal moments in my church experiences that groomed my expectations for future ministry.  Many times we base our future assumptions off of past realities.  My church experiences only fueled the fires of expecting God to do something BIG.

When I was a toddler living in Denver, my family drove way out west to Bear Creek Presbyterian Church every Sunday.  I didn’t care for the 45 minute drive each way but my parents never asked my opinion.  The attraction at Bear Creek was John Coad.  Here was a man who was an ex-Marine and was the nearest thing to the Apostle Peter since Peter himself.  John was a passionate preacher of God’s Word, much like Peter must have been, but also had the interpersonal skills of Peter as well.  My favorite story was when he strongly disagreed with an elder at a Session meeting and challenged the elder to step out to the parking lot!  Sure, he had a few flaws but that man could PREACH!!  The result of his preaching was that Bear Creek grew from a church of a few hundred to a church of a few thousand.

Some years later during my sophomore year of high school, my dad took our family to the first service of a start-up church.  The name of the church was Cherry Hills Community Church.  When Dr. Jim Dixon took the pulpit that first Sunday, I thought, “Here’s a tall, skinny guy who actually holds my attention during the sermon.”  As the months passed, a phenomenon started to occur: my high school friends were actually attending church and loving it.  Then another phenomenon occurred: a dad of one of my friends started attending church who hadn’t darkened the doors of a church in years . . . nor would he have ever desired it.  Within a few months, this dad was an usher.  I’m not sure he missed a single Sunday for years.  By the way, the church grew from hundreds of attendees to thousands of attendees because they were all seeing what I saw that first Sunday: this tall man can PREACH!

Some years later, my brother began attending a church-plant from Faith Presbyterian Church called Faith-Cherry Creek Presbyterian Church.  The name was eventually shortened to Cherry Creek Presbyterian Church.  The church was pastored by a short guy named Mark Brewer.  My brother told my family about the church so we visited a few times.  The first time I heard Mark preach I thought, “Here’s a guy who has an amazing ability to make me feel the Bible story in a way I hadn’t experienced before.  Yet, right when I was completely enthralled with the story, he broke my line of concentration with the funniest one-liner I had ever heard.”  By the way, this church grew from a church of hundreds to a church of thousands because this man could PREACH!

Some years later, after I had graduated from seminary, I received a call to be the Senior Pastor of Valley Community Church in San Jacinto, California.  (The title is somewhat of a misnomer because I’m a solo pastor).  As I anticipated my first year of ministry, I called upon my experience to be my guide.  I would simply do what I had been mentored to do by John Coad, Jim Dixon and Mark Brewer.  All I had to do is PREACH and the crowds would start rolling in.

The first few years the attendance rose impressively from a statistical standpoint- attendance was up 48%.  But the real numbers told the real story . . . we had gone from an average Sunday attendance of 64 to an average of 95.  The truth was brutally apparent to me: I was no John Coad, Jim Dixon, or Mark Brewer.  The harder I tried to be like them the more desperate and miserable I became.

I realized that I was lying to myself back in seminary.  God didn’t have a grand ministry in store for me.  The fact that I was one of the finalists for the Seminary Preaching Award was no indicator that I would possess the abilities of a Coad, Dixon or Brewer.  I was crushed.

 In the midst of my brokenness and misery, the Lord began ministering to me.  He took me through a Peter-like moment when He impressed upon my heart, “Guy, if I want their ministry to minister to thousands and yours to a hundred, what is that to you?  You must follow Me!”  When I allowed the fullness of these words to resonate in my heart, the great spiritual truth sprang forth . . .  If I am following the Lord and doing what He has called me to do, then it is every bit as important to Him as any other ministry!

The truth is . . . I was not lying to myself in seminary when I assumed the Lord had a grand ministry in store for me.  The only difference is that now I see things more clearly from the Lord’s perspective.  The greatest ministry is being in the place God has called us and doing the things He has called us to do.

 
So, I guess I’m not the next Billy Graham . . . thank God!