To begin, I grew up an elder’s daughter, meaning my dad sat on the board of elders–and often chaired it–for the majority of my childhood. This made ours a well-known family, and one very much under the microscope. I spent Sundays listening to sermons on grace, followed by Mondays through Saturdays experiencing a significant lack of it. Expectations abound toward those in church leadership, and in some cases rightly so. While I believe those who lead the church should be held to a high standard, I don’t think that standard includes prohibiting them from any semblance of humanity, and certainly not their in-progress children who didn’t choose their position but were born right into that church nursery under a blanket of expectations.

On the other side of my childhood years and as a member in multiple churches over the years, I’ve seen the best and worst of elder and deacon boards. There’s no need to get into the bloody details, but my experience with church leadership has often left me perplexed and aching for what God intended in the beginning. Because what I’ve seen certainly can not be the leadership God designed for his bride.

All this leads me to wonder if our leadership lacking and the secret for its remedy sits in that first verse Paul penned in his letter to the Philippine Church:

“Paul and Timothy, servants of Christ Jesus. To all the saints in Christ Jesus at Philippi, together with the overseers and deacons…”

Paul writes to the church and her leaders, but as the leader over both groups he sets the standard with four simple but strong words: servants of Christ Jesus.

Servants. Not masters, or dictators, or indifferent followers, or naysayers, or heavy-handed rebukers. SERVANTS. Servants of Christ, with him as the authority, the source of love, grace, mercy, wisdom and correction.

Regardless of whether you’re an elder, deacon, women’s ministry leader, Bible study facilitator, or mentor, your first step in leading is by serving, and by remembering Who you serve. Tension will still raise his ugly head from time to time, as long as humans lead humans. But serving is the knife that cuts through the tension and allows grace–the grace of Jesus–to abound.

“So many others have tried their hand at putting together a story of the wonderful harvest of Scripture and history that took place among us, using reports handed down by the original eyewitnesses who served this Word with their very lives. Since I have investigated all the reports in close detail, starting from the story’s beginning, I decided to write it all out for you, most honorable Theophilus, so you can know beyond the shadow of a doubt the reliability of what you were taught …” ~ Luke, follower of Jesus and teller of his story (Luke 1:1-4, The Message)

For six months now we’ve read the story of one man whose set out to research, evaluate, and wrestle with all the evidence about the man named Jesus. Overwhelmed by both this evidence and his personal experiences, Luke came to believe the man from Nazareth was so much more than just a man–Jesus was and is the Son of God. He then recorded his conclusion in a letter to “Theophilus” and to us, to make sure the truth of what he discovered continued to find voice.

But what about you? Have you carefully investigated what it is that you believe? Have you wrestled with the truth, examined all the facts, considered the implications for yourself and others? And have you made a determination on the man named Jesus? Is He simply a good man to you, or is He the Son of God?

Your answer to the above determines what you do next. If you’ve examined the evidence and found it lacking, there is nothing left to do but discard it and take your quest for truth elsewhere.

If, however, you’ve scoured Luke’s story, searched the stories of others, examined the evidence in your own life and have discovered Jesus of Nazareth to be everything we’ve ever hoped for and everything God ever promised for the redemption of humanity, then it’s your turn. Your turn to write your own story. Your turn to make your life into a letter on which the redemption of God is written and read by those you meet.

It’s your turn.

“And Jesus sent Peter and John saying, ‘Go and prepare the Passover for us, so that we may eat it.’” (Luke 22:8)

Twelve disciples made up the posse that surrounded Jesus. Ten of those twelve got to party with Him on the Passover, but two were sent away. Singled out for kitchen duty.

I doubt Peter and John high-fived at their banishment to the kitchen. It’s like me asking one of my boys to empty the dishwasher or start a load of whites. “Why do I have to do it? Why not him?” It was a week of celebration and remembrance. Rumor had it Jesus would make himself king soon. I doubt Peter and John wanted to be away from His side for even a minute. But their Savior spoke. A chore needed to be done, and Peter and John complied. My guess, reluctantly.

Years later, after the horror of Jesus’ death, the shock at His resurrection, and the wonder of His ascension, only Peter and John would say these words:

“For you know that it was no with perishable things such as silver or gold that you were redeemed from the empty way of life handed down to you from your forefathers, but with the precious blood of Christ, a lamb without blemish or defect.” ~ 1 Peter 1:18-19

“Worthy is the Lamb, who was slain, to receive power and wealth and wisdom and strength and honor and glory and praise!” ~ Revelation 5:12

Over the past year I’ve endured experiences that I would have rather avoided. Some were simply irritating chores, exercises I could’ve lived without. Others were painful intersections in my life, ones I would’ve done anything to avoid. Honestly, at times it seems God is singling me out, giving me an unfair allotment of circumstances. I’m relegated to kitchen duty while others get to party with the Master. I want to cry and whine and point my finger: “Unfair! Why not her?”

Perhaps, however, there is more going on here than simply kitchen duty. Maybe hidden within some of my distasteful experiences lays a message of extraordinary measure. The eternal often hides in the midst of the mundane.

God is not random or wasteful. Look for his activity in even the most unlikely places. There may be a truth of great significance lurking in the middle of the kitchen.

Zacchaeus was not in the “in” crowd. The religious believed he was heaped in sin. Even the irreligious hated him for who he represented: the oppressive Roman government. Their hate was well founded. After all, Zacchaeus built a career on business practices like swindling and coercion.

But in an instant, he became a new man altogether. How could a lying cheat heaped in sin change so fast? And so completely? By verse 8 Zacchaeus pronounces, “Look, Lord! Here and now I give half of my possessions to the poor, and if I have cheated anybody out of anything, I will pay back four times the amount.”

I have a single note in my Bible next to Luke 19:1-10, written in blue ink and the familiar curve of my handwriting:

“Instant change because of the love of Jesus.”

A lying cheat became a loving philanthropist for one reason: the love of the Christ.

I may not be a crooked tax collector, but I’m heaped in sin just the same. Prison cells like unforgiveness and stubborn pride, spiritual practices like unbelief and worry. The key to my transformation is the love of Jesus, a Savior who said he wanted to be with me. At my house. Today.

And as for other tree-climbing Zacchaeus’ in my life, why would I think anything but the love of Jesus would change them?

Nobody likes a preacher who talks about money. It’s too close to home, too personal. And, frankly, it’s nobody’s business, certainly not a preacher’s. Jesus didn’t care that his words ruffled their fine feathers. He talked about money anyway, saying things like …

“Whoever can be trusted with very little can also be trusted with much, and whoever is dishonest with very little will also be dishonest with much.”

And …

“No servant can serve two masters. Either he will hate the one and love the other, or he will be devoted to the one and despise the other. You cannot serve both God and Money.”

What does he know? the Pharisees scoffed with a roll of their self-righteous eyes. He’s out of touch, outdated, clearly uneducated on what life requires. God wants me to be happy.

It’s easy for me to look at Pharisees from a removed point of view. I’m not like them. I don’t mock the Christ the way they did. I don’t walk with religious airs. I don’t judge lesser Christians like they did. I’m different. I give a tithe. I donate garbage bags full of clothes and toys. I’m not a Pharisee at all. Look how generous I am.

But then I think about the hold money has on my life. The way I’m always worry about bills and my stuff. My compulsiveness to stockpile and hoard, afraid it will never be enough. The ease with which I buy multiple cups of coffee, and yet have difficulty releasing cash for various needs outside my home. My desire to buy a new car, even though the one I have works just fine. I think about the sleep I lose when my own finances seem insecure, and yet how easily I sleep when a friend is struggling financially. And the way I give only within the bounds of my comfort, but never to the point it’s a true sacrifice.

I’m a Pharisee trying to serve two masters. And one of those masters–the greater of the two–is saying, “You’re a master at keeping up a good appearance, but God knows how much you love money, how much you’re depending on it. He sees, and He wants to set you free.”

Jesus was/is far more in touch than anyone gave him credit for. Like my religious predecessors, I’m a person who gives away just enough to make myself look “Christian,” but who secretly finds her safety in the house and car and pile of paper security in the bank.

I need a different master, a less fickle one. And I need to become a better master at stocking up all my future security in an eternal place.

Knowing we’d be gone most of the day, a few people had packed snacks, things like granola bars or dried fruit. One girl pulled out a container of applesauce, peeled back the cover and slurped it out of the cup.

A stray dog approached looking for a scrap. Seeing the dog, the girl bent over and gave her applesauce to the dog. He lapped up every last dribble of the sauce while the villagers looked on. In an instant I became painfully aware of the dozens of hungry children and mothers and fathers surrounding our group. And how insulting her gesture must feel to them. Many of them looked just as gaunt as the stray dog, ribs outlined through their skin and skin and hair showing evidence of malnutrition.

The girl didn’t realize what she’d done. An innocent mistake. She’s just a child after all. But isn’t this the epitome of our American mentality? We’re more generous with our animals than we are with our neighbors.

I wonder if that’s what Jesus wanted us to understand when he healed the woman on the Sabbath (Luke 13:10-17). She’d been a part of their “church” for a while. Each sabbath she arrived sick, crippled, in need of mercy. Each time, she went home without it. Looking to excuse themselves from serving, the religious people hid behind the Sabbath’s “no-work” rule, even though they returned home to care for their animals. Jesus called them out on it. And I believe He’s calling US out on it.

I’m an animal lover. But I need to be a people lover even more.