The Ministry of Disappointment
by Michael Crowe

I sit alone, having refused once more to accede to my wife's expectations in a small matter of daily activity together. As a redeemed and growing person and a pastor, I find a disturbing trend; I am emerging as a dispenser of disappointment throughout my circle of acquaintance and influence. It's not so much that I'm sinning against others, but that I play into their preferences and comfort zones less often than before. I disappoint my wife, my children, the people in my church, my extended family members, and myself. The only person I think I'm disappointing less often is God.

How can this be? A presupposition of contemporary religious culture is that if one walks closer to God, popularity will come. It will be observed, if not in numbers of followers or in growing income, at least in increasing levels of warm regard proffered by family and friends.

Success with God, it is supposed, must surely translate into visible success with people. Might we ask, "Who says?" Wasn't Jesus the biggest Disappointment ever to come down the pike? Wasn't He born in a barn and raised in the outback? Didn't He fail to live up to the expectations of family and followers that He would be a monumental religious, social, political, and military deliverer who would reestablish the throne of David?

In the gospels the only people He did not continually disappoint were those who came to Him with deep and desperate personal need and, often, even His healing and deliverance of these was not without a trace of disappointment.

He gives strict orders to the synagogue ruler not to tell anyone how his daughter was raised from death-the man has to give up the joy of narrating her restoration to others.

He calls Peter "blessed" by heaven, but on the heels of the declaration calls him "Satan"-what mentoring technique is this? And just when the crowds are largest He insults them as to their motives for following Him and draws a line in the sand with "eat my flesh and drink my blood," effectively killing all enthusiasm.

The whole of Matthew eleven presents Jesus chiding His listeners for their disappointment with Him. John the Baptist asks from Herod's prison by messenger, "Are you the one who was to come, or should we expect someone else?" Jesus' facetious answer is that of course He is the Messiah because He is ministering to the sick and the poor (not close to what the Baptist expected from the Lion of Judah).

He then reminds the crowd that John himself wasn't exactly what they'd pictured as the return of Elijah-he was a misunderstood curiosity, if not a national embarrassment. He had failed to dance or mourn on the culture's cues.

The chapter closes with Jesus pointing out that only two societal segments are not deeply disillusioned with Him; the children, and those adults needy and humble enough radically to seek His lighter burden and better-fitting yoke. Can we fail to see that everyone who knew Jesus considered these groups pathetic components for a Messianic power base?

If Jesus disappointed at nearly every turn, where do I get off supposing that I'll be a big hit? Isn't it a necessary corollary that, in Christ, day by day, the frequency with which I righteously disappoint and disillusion my circle of influence will be increasing?

Eugene Peterson has written extensively on the subversive nature of Biblical Christian ministry; Spirit-led ministers will be doing something different than what others want and expect. Though we enjoy patting him on the back, none of us will take Peterson up on his challenge to minister in a subversive, Christ-like manner until we have begun to square off with and face down our terror of disappointing those around us.

Once we've begun to do so, we may find a mysterious reality dawning, a new firmness pervading our souls. We might discover that the return of integrity hasn't killed us, after all-that our friends, families, parishioners, and fellow ministers, though regarding us with newly arched brows, are watching and listening in a livelier way. And ultimately we may even find that God, all by Himself, can do remarkable things through us when our voracious appetite for applause has been pushed a little to the side.

© 1999, Michael Crowe