Ordinary Means
When contemplating the primary influences in my theological development, I come back time and again not to the books I have read, or the famous speakers I have heard, but to the ministers in my life who have faithfully preached the word in corporate worship week after week. These ordinary ministers will likely never be invited to speak at a big conference or to write a book, but they have been called to the greater task of bringing the ordinary means of grace to ordinary people on ordinary Sundays. In their faithfulness to their calling, they have pointed me to Christ and given me particular tools to seek Christ in scripture for myself.
One Sunday morning, Jonathan and I walked through the doors of a Presbyterian church, confused and questioning. Mitch McGinnis was the minister of Westminister Presbyterian Church in Columbus, GA. Over the next two years, Mitch had a profound influence on how I saw scripture and the promises of God that extend into my life now a decade later. Mitch taught me to see Christ as central to every passage of scripture. While we had professed a gospel-centered faith for several years, Mitch pointed us to the person of Jesus Christ. The Lord used Mitch’s teaching and preaching to help my cage-stage heart see the source of the truth I so militantly defended. Often he would tell us that we needed to love Jesus more—not instead of doctrine—but as the whole point of our doctrine. Mitch would often say that our hope rests in both God’s goodness and his sovereignty. If God is good, but not sovereign, he can do nothing for us. If God is sovereign, but not good, he is terrifying. The person of Jesus Christ shows us that God is both good and sovereign, and Mitch drew that out of scripture every Sunday. Mitch taught me to see and seek after Christ and in faithfully teaching this way, he taught me that scriptural indicatives (statements of truth) power scriptural imperatives (commands to be obeyed).
Arriving in a seminary town, looking for a church, is a daunting task. It took us a while to find a church home in St. Louis, and the Kirk of the Hills wasn’t a natural fit for us—on paper. Yet, the Lord provides in mysterious ways, and our years there were wonderful. For two of the three years, we were members Mark Kuiper (current mission developer at Three Rivers Presbyterian Church in Grove, OK but then minister at Kirk of the Hills in St. Louis, MO) was preaching through the gospel of Matthew. I grew up in Sunday School and Christian school, Christian camp, and youth group. I was pretty certain that I knew the gospels inside and out, but Mark showed me that the gospels are not a collection of short stories. Mark connected the stories I knew so well in ways I had never seen. He tied together the narrative in a way that made Jesus’ earthly ministry make sense. In particular, the way Mark taught Jesus’ parables of the Kingdom within the greater context helped me to understand the doctrine of the visible and invisible church as well as driving home the truth that context is king without ever uttering the words themselves.
In our most recent time of transition, we had the pleasure to spend four months sitting under Henry Bartsch’s preaching (founding minister of Trinity Presbyterian Church in Chatham, ON). As Henry taught from Jeremiah and then Daniel he stressed the points of hope amid great judgment. Both from the pulpit and in private conversation he reminded me of God’s promise in Jeremiah to not bring a full end of His people. The redemptive promises woven through the judgment and discipline of Jeremiah’s prophecy to a rebellious people point us to Christ and our overwhelming need for him.
I have known that intellectually for some years. Yet, it carries new weight listening to the promise that Christ will not bring a full end of his people—especially when one is homeless and unemployed. Henry showed me Christ and His promises amid trial, judgment, and pain. Henry showed me hope in lamentation. He also taught me the importance of historical interpretation. In a sermon on Daniel, Henry reminded us that historically, Daniel, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego would have either directly or indirectly heard Jeremiah’s covenant warnings and promises. While Jeremiah never saw or knew of their faithfulness in this life, his teaching was used to that end. The Lord used Henry’s faithful historical study to both encourage me and to teach me the importance of the time and place in which the words of God were inspired to be written.
Over the last six years, I have also had the privilege of sitting under my own husband, Jonathan’s, preaching. One of the great gifts of being married to a minister is the ongoing nuggets of study and biblical truth that get dropped in conversation throughout the week. It is a regular occurrence for the children to interrupt their schoolwork because their dad has come dashing up a flight of stairs to say, “Listen to this! Isn’t this so cool?”
After reading us the segment of commentary or quote from a sermon he will retreat back to his desk and schoolwork continues. We are all richer for his enthusiasm. I also have the privilege of being his sounding board, to whom he will read portions, or even the entirety, of a sermon to work out the kinks in delivery. All of this combined means that by Sunday morning I have usually heard each sermon at least partially, and sometimes multiple times before I even get to a pew. Yet the Holy Spirit applies that text to my life in a completely different way when I receive it during corporate worship on a Sunday morning than at my kitchen table, in my basement, or sitting beside his desk.
I have cherished this truth for many years, but this past year I have had it once more illuminated. Having been without a call for nine months, Jonathan has been filling pulpits and our family has traveled with him. As circumstances dictate, we have heard him preach six times on Psalm 110. We know his points. We almost know the Psalm by heart. Still, every time we hear it preached, something is different for each congregation, and something is different in me. The truth remains the same. The grace is applied to my heart in unique ways every time.
I don’t remember the primary points from most of these ministers’ sermons. I could not tell you details of particular texts, or how they outlined the books they preached. Their ordinary faithfulness has been more important than that. In each of these cases, I understand the word of God more clearly. I know Jesus better because of the way the Spirit worked in their words. I also have benefitted from the teaching of wider known authors and speakers because of the firm foundation of the regular, ordinary preaching in my life. That has given me the tools and worldview to interact with other theological teachings.
The word of God, preached by an ordinary man, and accompanied by the sacraments, is a conduit of grace to ordinary people. Every protestant denominational confession agrees the Holy Spirit has promised to speak to us and move within us when His word is preached and sacraments are administered to gathered believers (WCF 21.5, Belgic 30, Augsburg 7, LBCF 14.1, Article 19 of Anglican 39 articles, Savoy 22.4). The means of grace are formative precisely because they are ordinary and frequent. The weekly ordinariness of it is both its beauty and its strength. The layers of God’s grace are washed over us, week by week, in a gentle abrasion that both slowly erodes the remains of sin’s corruption, and polishes us into the image of Christ. It is the steady stream of grace that can cut away a hard heart.
As ordinary ministers preach the supernatural word of God and the ordinary congregation receives it, we are all washed clean and built up. We are transformed and conformed. These four (and more) faithful ministers in my life have all been ordinarily used to that purpose. Sola Deo Gloria.
