100 or more

This past weekend, I got the nod. It was up to me to kick off our summer series in “big church” called “Blockbuster Summer” (dealing with the questions raised in movies and attempting to deal with them biblically).

I’m certain we’re all supposed to treat that big audience (the one with all the critical parents and naysayers, the one with our biggest fans, our harshest critics, and family members) the same as any other audience. We’re supposed to think of them no differently than the students and volunteers who know us and love us.

But, I don’t.

I wish I did. When I get on the stage, I look out into the crowd and feel lonely. I feel like I have to do great — not just as a sub for the “real pastor” in our church — but because I want the church to love our youth ministry, because I want my critics to be silenced for an afternoon (though I’d settle for 5 minutes), because I want the people who were bold enough to bring a friend to church to feel like it was worth it, and because (if I’m really honest with myself) I want them to like me.

I know it’s not that spiritual or Jesus-y, but it’s the truth. I think deep down, I feel the weight of all those people because I want them to think I’m great – Jesus too… but me. So, I wear myself out before, during, and after the “big church” weekend. I wear myself out for Jesus and me. And in the end, with all prayer that is somehow supposed to mitigate the pride and the panic with which I live during that week, I wake up Monday morning in a coma of complete exhaustion.

But then, somehow, with my family on my day off, I get a little grace, a little rest, that feeling that comes after completing something difficult…
…and then I secretly wonder if people liked it (read “me”).

But, I really don’t want to know what they thought, do I?