The Gospel of Availability

I attend a lot of church services in my socks. That’s especially true on days like today, where I start serving in waterproof winter boots but finish my shift in my low-top hiking shoes. After the service today, as I was pulling my Merrills onto my feet, I noticed a young man in a royal blue jacket two chairs to my right. I hadn’t noticed him on the front row before today. I would learn later that this was only his third service at my church and only his second on the front row.

You know when you can tell someone wants to talk to someone—anyone—but just needs an invitation? I sensed that. So, I let him off the hook for initiating a conversation. I told him it was good to have him join us today. He replied with a similar pleasantry that revealed that English was his second language. Then he said that both last Sunday and today, he’d noticed that I had worshipped without my shoes. I told him that sometimes I do that to cool off when my feet get sweaty and other times I do it because sometimes I feel like I’m standing on holy ground—and that I’ve done that in outdoor locations too.

We exchanged names, and Solomon told me he wasn’t from here. I asked him what brought him to our church, and he told me a friend had recommended that he should try it while he was studying at a university in our town. Then without any transition, he blurted that he was a skeptic. “I have many questions,” he added. I smiled and told him that he was in the right place, that our pastor loved joining skeptics on their journey of discovery—that our church was designed to appeal to an engineer’s mind and for decades has been hosting an environment for people with doubts, questions, and hang ups with church. I offered some of the enigmas and paradoxes people often struggle to comprehend on their faith journey. He affirmed that those were some of the questions he had. We exchanged some small talk about him changing his major to mathematics, while I tried to stall for help from someone better able to navigate a conversation about his doubts.

Our founding pastor finished talking with the couple who’d sought him out after his sermon. I beckoned Woody over, introduced him to Solomon, and set up their conversation. “I’m not an answer man,” Woody warned but took a seat where I had been. I walked out to our church’s atrium and then back to the closet where I keep all of my parking lot gear. On my way to a meeting on the other side of the building, I stepped back into the now-empty auditorium.

Woody had his hand on Solomon’s shoulder, while the 75-year-old shepherd prayed over the young mathematician. As I quietly maneuvered through the rows of chairs, I heard the senior saint punctuate his prayer with a two-word offer. “I’m available.”

I assume Woody meant that he was available for more conversations, another meeting, something one-on-one offsite. I assumed that, because Woody does a lot of that. I hope Solomon takes him up on his offer.

Woody’s two-word invitation made me ponder a four-word promise Jesus made before he headed back to heaven. As he told his first-century followers to go and make disciples, he assured them, “I am with you.” That promise goes well with his command not to be afraid and his foretelling of the Holy Spirit’s omnipresence. But this morning, I heard something different in that claim: an invitation to access him.

“I’m available.”

The Father, Son, and Holy Spirit don’t comprise an aloof deity. They aren’t angry, Greek gods annoyed by the human race. The trinity isn’t a Deist clock winder that set things in motion and then left the world to figure out its guiding principles. My God isn’t far off. He doesn’t need to be appeased to be approached. He’s already with us—in us, next to us, before and behind us.

“I’m available.”

The longer I’ve followed the way of Jesus, the more that reality has settled on my soul. He’s right there, easily accessible—always ready for the words of my mouth or the unformed words of my heart. He’s Immanuel: God with me.

And the longer I’ve followed in the footsteps of Jesus, the more I’ve realized that availability is the key to moving people closer to the heart of God. Evangelism that results in lasting life change doesn’t use high-pressure sales pitches but radical availability instead. People who know we’re with them in their struggles find it easier to believe that our Jesus is available too. Discipleship that transforms lives works the same way. The vulnerability required in true growth comes more easily when people know we’re a safe receptacle for their trust. That eventuates in a belief that Jesus is a safe counselor too.

My closest friends are those who’ve said, “I’m with you” or “I’m available” at just the right times. They’ve sat in a creek with me, while I’ve processed trauma or challenges. I’ve sat around fires with them, as they uncovered their pain and struggles. We’ve invited each other on walks in the woods and on trips that require rafts, motorcycles, or airplanes. As we’ve learned another man is for us, it’s become easier to accept that our Creator is too.

When we know someone’s heart and catch a glimpse of God’s heart, the big questions of life don’t go away. They just get filtered through a trust in Someone who claims not just to have love but who inherently is love. I hope everyone reading this knows someone or will soon meet someone who reveals that aspect of Heaven’s character.

In the meantime, I am challenged to leverage Jesus’ promise of “I’m with you” to give me courage to tell others, “I’m available.”