The Observant Minister

How Knowing Jesus Impacts Our Personal Service

A few years ago, two of our adult daughters moved back home. Both had stepped away from the church, each for different reasons. This season proved a tender time because it opened the door to many conversations on what a loving family relationship could look like while still allowing everyone their agency. Slowly, we broke down old barriers and learned to connect with each other in a new way. What I wasn’t expecting during this season was to gain an insider’s view into the life of someone who’s left the church.

Once my daughters moved home, it didn’t take long for the YSA ward leaders and ministers to come knocking in search of our girls. I’m sure these members believed their love and concern would be impactful for my daughters. I’ve done the same thing myself countless times. Yet I watched again and again as my daughters’ reactions were anything but positive. Both had left the church for valid reasons, and I quickly realized that ward members showing up on our doorstep felt incredibly awkward. I’d always thought ministering visits would be welcomed as a kind and caring gesture, but I noticed my girls actually felt pestered, even hounded. In short, the members’ attempts to minister were driving my children’s hearts further away. Unexpectedly, I saw these kinds of visits through an entirely different lens, and it left me wondering how many of my past ministering efforts were perceived the very same way.

We talk a lot in the Church about how ministering is supposed to be a higher and holier way that resembles how Christ Himself served others. For this reason—and especially with the new perspective I’d gained from my girls—I noticed I was trying to be more prayerful and Spirit-led in my own ministering assignment. And with two of the names on my list, I was surprised to hear the Lord say, “Don’t contact them right now. Just give them space, and pray for them instead.” Maybe I was more sensitive to their circumstances because of my daughters’ experience. Regardless, that’s exactly what I did. No cookies on the doorstep. No quick drop-by visits or social media messages. I just prayed for them and left the situation in His capable hands.

However, in my ministering interview when I tried to explain my lack of contact, I was admonished for neglecting my duty. Later, this leader told me she’d decided to visit the people that I seemed so unwilling to contact. Neither invited her in, and one asked how they could remove their name from church records so the visits would stop. When she shared this with me, I again tried to explain that I’d felt prompted that the time wasn’t right to reach out. But it became clear that “no contact” wasn’t an acceptable answer when fulfilling a ministering assignment. It troubled me that there was no room for that option when my own children had shown me it’s often exactly what some people need most.

Frustrated, I turned to the scriptures, hoping to find examples of how the Lord handled similar situations. The first illustration came through the parable of the prodigal son. In this well-known story, Jesus spoke of a rebellious son who demanded his inheritance and left home to engage in “riotous living” (Luke 15:13). But how did Christ say the father handled his son’s exodus? Did he run alongside him, checking in every five minutes with, “Are you ready to come home yet?” Did he show up monthly on his doorstep or send people to offer a ride back home when he changed his mind? No, he simply let him go. He recognized that his son would have to decide for himself whether he wanted to be part of the family, and this son appeared to require some time away.

A similar pattern emerged in Jesus’s interaction with the rich young ruler. In Matthew 19, the Lord invited this man to sell all he had and come and follow Him. But when His offer was rejected, did Jesus call after the man and remind him of all the reasons he should turn back? Did He visit him again and again with a plate of cookies, encouraging him to reconsider? No, again, like the father of the prodigal, He let him go. He allowed the young man to choose and then respected his decision. 

Even when Judas made a choice that Jesus knew would be catastrophic, the Lord gave him that same freedom, though He knew doing so would eventually lead to both of their deaths. As difficult as these moments may have been, examples like these show us that our Savior understood—and honored—the principle of agency. When needed, He let people turn their backs on Him and walk away. He didn’t chase after them or keep checking their temperature to see if things had changed. No, Jesus demonstrated an understanding that sometimes people need a little distance and can’t be pushed or rushed into church activity.

Now, am I saying that we should never reach out and invite others back to church? That we should avoid sending texts or showing up on someone’s doorstep just to say hi? Absolutely not. We’ve all heard stories and lessons and conference talks about how powerful those moments can be.

But what if we could widen our lens in our approach to ministering? So often we’re driven by an urgency to let people know we care. We feel compelled, as someone said to me recently, to make sure no one falls through the cracks. While I think we all understand the desire to bless others, looking to Jesus as our model will always provide our path. And as we just saw, the Lord let people “fall through the cracks” all the time. He wasn’t neglecting His duty—He was respecting others’ agency. So, what if the most Christlike thing we could do is show a little patience and restraint? Before knocking on that door, what if we waited on the Lord to show us what would truly help that person?

This approach has definitely been needed for my daughters. What they’ve needed most is space, some time away from church interaction. In their current mindset, ministering contacts haven’t made them feel loved; they’ve evoked stress and anxiety, not warm feelings of belonging or inclusion.

Another reason we may need restraint is to give us time to double-check the motivation behind our ministering. Could it be we’re reaching out, not because we’ve been prompted to, but because we feel obligated out of guilt? When we serve this way, we’re actually making ourselves the focus of ministering rather than the person we’re called to serve. We know we need to get it done, so we make a quick contact and check them off our list, perhaps not thinking to ask the Lord what would be best for that person. 

I’ve been guilty of this so many times over the years. As an active member, I wanted to be seen as obedient and responsible in my ministering. I also battled some codependent, people-pleasing tendencies. Driven by these compulsions, for a long time I wasn’t really praying about what kind of connection—if any—my sisters needed most. I wasn’t thinking about their personal concerns or any trauma they’d experienced or why they may have stepped away from the church. They were just a name on a list. Something I needed to “get done.” Until I saw firsthand the complexity of ministering through my children, I never asked the Lord about it because I assumed He approved of any efforts to reach out.

Then I came across an eye-opening passage in the Sermon on the Mount where Jesus reacted to this kind of personal service. I think it’s the biggest scriptural exclamation point we could find when seeking additional insight on this topic.

In Matthew 7:21–23, the Lord describes a group of busy church people who say they’ve been prophesying and casting out devils and doing many wonderful works in His name. At first glance, this group appears to be doing all they can to build up Christ’s kingdom and draw others closer to Him. Yet, when they presented Him with their lengthy checklist of works, His reply wasn’t at all what we may be expecting. Rather than thanking them for their efforts or giving them credit for all their faithful service, His words were not only blunt but unbelievably shocking: He said, “I never knew you: depart from me, ye that work iniquity.”

As a church member with my own list of “wonderful works,” it almost hurts to hear Jesus say that. Why in the world would He reject those who are trying to do good? Why would He call their works—the very service they said was being done in His name—iniquity? The reason He provided is simple: “I never knew you.” Or as Joseph Smith translated it, “Ye never knew me” (Matthew 7:23, footnote a). 

As I pondered His words, it hit me that this is a major tipping point when it comes to all our gospel service. Notice that Jesus’s measuring line isn’t those who do church works versus those who don’t, but those in a relationship with Him versus those who aren’t. It’s a dramatic flip that turns much of our church culture completely upside down. After all, if what we usually see as righteous works can be called iniquity if they’re done apart from Him, perhaps it’s time to view our busy religious checklist in a whole new light.

According to this passage, either I seek the Lord’s direction in all my service and respond to those situations as prompted, or I’m not His servant at all. Though I’d spent countless years pursuing what I believed was important church work, this scripture showed me that I can’t safely assume He approves of all my intentions. No, I need to know Him, to hear Him, to receive direct, daily guidance straight from Him. What a tragedy if I spend my life working “in His name,” only to end up like these people—sure I’m doing His will, but ultimately being cast out of His presence!

So how do I apply this to my ministering? First and foremost, I remember that the Lord alone knows each person’s situation, and so I have to let Him teach me how and when to reach out and how to exercise restraint if the best way to serve is “no contact.” In short, He gets to teach me how to honor others’ agency. I must surrender my own agenda and focus instead on a personal relationship of communication with Him. What follows is something I can’t program or checklist because His guidance will look radically different depending on the circumstances, and also my own personal needs and boundaries. The process is messy and imperfect, and I’m better at it some days than others, but the point is learning to filter all my service through the all-seeing eyes of Jesus.

I’ll admit that ministering this way feels much more peaceful and authentic. I’m finally learning to treat people as people and not as a problem to be solved or an item on a checklist to finish. Now when I feel prompted to give someone space, it truly feels like the most faithful thing I could possibly do.

Jaci Wightman is a writer, life coach, and content creator. She enjoys being a mother to seven and a grandma of thirteen.

Art by Megan Trueblood.