Last Sunday we commissioned Ryan and Stacie Macdonald, their children and pre-launch team to plant a church in Portland, Oregon. It was a momentous moment both for them and for us - a dream 8 years in the forming, now became the beginnings of a journey. But after the joy of the moment, I and probably many, have felt the storms of sorrow blow in. I've never known anything other than leading in a multiplying church, so these feelings of loss and vulnerability are not new to me. But they are no less real. and as I talk to some of my friends, they are not uncommon.
I’ve heard few people talk about the emotional storm that can brew after multiplication, both for those who are sent and for those who send.
How do you maintain emotional buoyancy in a post-multiplying storm? I have returned to a chapter I wrote on this in my book, Broken for Blessing, in order to steady my soul. Perhaps it will help steady yours too?
Mark’s Gospel describes the disciples navigating through a storm immediately after the feeding of the 5,000. I’d never noticed any connection between the loaves and the storm, but Mark certainly makes one.
This is the verse that caught my attention: “And they were utterly astounded, for they did not understand about the loaves, for their hearts were hardened.”(Mark 6:32)
They did not understand about the loaves. Sometimes in Scripture, storms are a result of disobedience. When Jonah disobeyed God’s call, the ship he was on went through a terrible storm until Jonah repented. This was not that kind of storm. It was a God-ordained storm of obedience. Some of us have been taught that obedience to Jesus will ensure fair weather and plain sailing. This storm of obedience rips that idea to shreds. Mysteriously, Jesus sent the disciples into the storm to reveal Himself to them. He wanted them to understand about the loaves in the storm. What they learned about Jesus from the high of multiplication was meant to be carried with them into the low of the storm. He was still compassionate. He was still powerful. He was still able to provide for them, this time not with bread to fill their empty stomachs but with bread to nourish their fearful souls. This is true of every storm of obedience.
But I have found it particularly true of post-multiplication storms. No matter how many you send, it seems to me that you make headway painfully for a while after multiplication. You lose some momentum, whichmakes you lose heart. It’s one thing to lose resources in the process of multiplication, but these losses are another thing altogether.
In the storm of obedience one can start to second guess God's calling. Didn’t we do what He told us to do? Mark's gosple is clear that Jesus ent the disciples into this storm of obedience.
Over the past fifteen years at Southlands, we’ve sent over 300 people to plant 9 other churches. Remember, we were a church of around 500 adults and 100 kids when we began sending. Each time we began to recover from the last sending, we felt called to send again. While it’s been a joy to see how the newer churches have experienced growth and life, sometimes it’s felt like we were going backward as the primary sending churches.
Other times it was like we were rowing just to stand still. Most of the time it has felt just like Mark’s Gospel describes it.
"They were making headway painfully with the wind against them."
If you do the math, they had been rowing from the first watch of the night to the fourth. That's about 9 hours. They had gone 3-4 miles, about halfway across the Sea of Galilee. That's about 300 yards an hour! I think it's funny that they were going so slowly Jesus could catch up to them and walk right past them, walking! But it wouldn't have been funny to these disciples, who were terrified and discouraged.
Losing momentum after multiplication can cause a storm of discouragement and fear to brew in the hearts of the church and its leaders. Jesus’ command in the storm to “Take heart” was not just an exhortation to the disciples. It was a description of their inner weather system. They’d lost heart: lost their inner buoyancy, something that esonates with me deeply. I should know better by now, but, every time we send, I experience an inner storm and begin to lose heart.
About 9 of years ago we sent eighteen people to plant a church in Chiang Rai, Thailand. It was a longing fulfilled to plant a church in a region that had barely heard of the name of Jesus. We longed to see Thai people meet Jesus and we longed to hear them worship that beautiful name. Our intrepid friends and fellow leaders, Dan and Marcia, led the planting team. I remember their son Isaiah coming over for his last sleepover with my son Levi before they left. The boys were best friends. Isaiah had led Levi in his decision to be baptized and they loved playing Lego and soccer together. While they fell asleep on our sleeper couch I sat there watching them, my heart breaking. “This is too much, Lord. I can’t bear another goodbye. Not for my son. Not for me.” I felt like I was falling apart.
This passage about the storm has helped me enormously in my inner storms after multiplication. I have come to treasure the first three words of verse “He saw them.” Jesus saw the disciples making headway painfully. The word in the original Greek is deeper than simply viewing them. It means to possess significant vision. In other words, Jesus understood the significance of what they were experiencing. He empathized with them and was able to do something about it. The Matthew account of the same storm says that Jesus prayed while He saw them. The truth that Jesus is a sympathetic Savior who is touched by our weaknesses, and that he lives to pray for us in our storms, is a real comfort in heavy weather. I have also learned to take heart in the post-multiplying storm by trying to understand the loaves. The disciples lost heart in the storm because they did not understand the loaves. They were blind to the connection between Jesus’ bread miracle and the deeper significance. Jesus was crystal clear that the miracle was, in fact, a sign that He is the Bread of Heaven. He Himself would be given to fill the emptiness of the human heart. On the cross, His body would be broken to heal our fragmented souls. At the Last Supper, He took the bread, broke it and said, “This is my body, broken for you.” The prophet Isaiah describes the implications of Jesus’ broken body for our souls.
“Surely he took up our infirmities and carried our sorrows, yet we considered him stricken by God, smitten by him, and afflicted. But he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was upon him, and by his wounds we are healed.” (Isaiah 53:4-6)
Christ’s body was broken to give us peace in our crushing anxieties. His broken body
holds us together when we feel like we are being torn apart in a storm of self-pity, doubt and despair. Because He bowed His head into the ultimate storm on the cross, His broken body is like ballast in the hull of our souls, keeping us afloat when the wind and waves threaten to sink us.
The second verse of Edward Mote’s hymn, “On Christ the Solid Rock” is one of my favorites:
“When darkness seems to hide His face, I rest on
His unchanging grace, in every high and stormy
gale, my anchor holds within the veil.”
What a vivid description of how Christ is an anchor for our souls. But what does that mean? What is the basis of that promise?
It’s taken from Hebrews 6:19 “We have this as a sure and steadfast anchor of the soul, a hope that enters into the inner place behind the curtain, where Jesus has gone as a forerunner on our behalf, having become a high priest forever after the order of Melchizedek.”
Christ is an anchor for our souls because he has weathered his storm of obedience on the cross, and can strengthen us as we weather ours. But don't miss that He is a High Priest in the order of Melchizedek. Melchizedek was the priest who blessed Abraham, confirming God’s oath to bless him and multiply him. "I will surely bless you and multiply you." So, the promise that is an anchor for our souls is not just a personal, priestly promise. Rather, it is a commissioning promise with global implications. It is a promise that God will lead us on a multiplying mission to all nations! The storm of commission includes the pain of sending and leaving people you love, the cost of giving of your best, the insecurity of uncharted waters, the cold wind of stretched resources, the icy fear of possible failure or rejection.
But God’s promise is that as we obey Jesus our Great Commissioner, we experience Jesus our High Priest,
who calms our fears, undergirds our insecurities and strengthens our frailties. Christ has gone before us, completing His mission on earth. He is a wise forerunner who can now help us navigate the same journey. Not only does He help us in the storm of temptation, but Christ also strengthens us in the storm of mission!
This is a sure and steadfast anchor for our souls. We may still have moments of panic or discouragement. However, I have found real comfort in the even-keeled presence of Jesus, which in turn has made me more even-keeled. The One who slept through storms with his head on a pillow in the bow of the boat is able to give us anchored emotional buoyancy, whether we are the sent ones or the sending ones.
