The Pastor’s Pen

My reflection essay on reading assignment “Serving the People of God’s Presence, A Theology of Ministry by Terry L. Cross, PhD in Theology, Princeton Theological Seminary”

There was a moment when I was a Kids Ministry Director, an early Sunday morning, lights low, sanctuary still, when I paused at the back of the room before service. Everything was set. Curriculum printed. Slides loaded. Volunteers briefed. Kids already starting to trickle in with sleepy smiles and sneakers that lit up with every step. And yet, instead of rushing back into the checklist, I just stood there. Still. Silent. And somehow, that moment felt more sacred than the entire morning’s preparation.

Because the presence of God was already in the room.

That stillness reminded me: ministry isn’t about what we accomplish, it’s about who is present. And I don’t mean us. I mean Him.

We live in a world that rewards outcomes, how many kids showed up, how many parents gave good feedback, how many followers we gained on the church’s Instagram this week. And if we’re honest, most of us in ministry leadership have felt the weight of that scoreboard. We measure, compare, and sometimes, even unintentionally, perform. Not because we’re chasing fame, but because somewhere along the line, we were taught that faithfulness looks like nonstop doing.

But Scripture tells a different story. In Exodus 33, when Moses pleads, “If your Presence does not go with us, do not send us up from here” (v.15), he’s not asking for a better plan. He’s asking for God Himself. Presence over production. Intimacy over outcomes. Obedience over optics.

Ministry leadership isn’t about producing results, it’s about stewarding presence. Not our own presence, but God’s.

That truth humbles me, and re-centers me. I’m not called to impress. I’m called to abide. I’m not expected to manufacture momentum, I’m invited to recognize and respond to what God is already doing.

So in a world that equates leadership with control, charisma, and relentless output, what does it mean to lead like Moses, knees in the dirt, eyes fixed on the cloud?

In this paper I want to explore that question. I’ll discuss listening over leading, waiting over working, presence over platform. Because maybe the kind of leadership the Church needs in this season isn’t louder, faster, or flashier.

Maybe it’s quieter. Maybe it’s slower. Maybe it starts with stillness. Maybe it starts with that sacred moment at the back of the room, when you realize He’s already here.

When Leadership Feels Like a Job Description, Not a Calling

I didn’t always think about ministry in terms of presence. For a long time, I thought leadership was about being the most prepared person in the room. I thought it was about keeping people motivated, holding the team together, and making sure the ministry machine kept running smoothly. Vision, planning, execution, results. That’s what I was taught. That’s what I inherited. And that’s what I did.

But if I’m being honest, something felt hollow.

It wasn’t that I didn’t love the people I served. I did. It wasn’t that I didn’t feel called. It was that somewhere along the line, my calling had been reduced to responsibilities. And those responsibilities slowly became expectations. And the expectations became weight. And the weight became normal.

In many ways, my story is a familiar one. Like many of you, I served in a local church context where excellence is valued and things need to get done. We don’t just get to think, we have to lead. And leading means pulling off Sunday, week after week. It means managing calendars, volunteers, communication, crises, conflict, and curriculum. It means staff meetings and walkie talkies and “Did we change the batteries in the mic again?”

And before you know it, the job description begins to feel more real than the call. Ministry starts to feel like something you execute rather than something you inhabit. And if you’re not careful, the Spirit can get drowned out by spreadsheets. That realization hit me hardest not in the middle of a crisis, but in the middle of a win.

We had just wrapped a huge event for Easter. It had gone better than expected. People were encouraged. Parents were thankful. Kids had fun. And I remember standing alone after it ended, looking around at the empty room, and thinking, Why do I still feel empty?

That moment was a turning point for me. I realized I had become so consumed with doing ministry well that I had forgotten to be with God in it. My gifts were working. My systems were clicking. But my soul felt dry. And I knew something had to change.

That shift didn’t happen overnight. It’s been a slow return to the center. A reorientation. Less noise. More listening. Less performance. More prayer. Less “What’s the plan?” and more “Lord, what are You doing here?”

And that shift has changed how I see. I’ve started to notice leaders around me who were quietly carrying burdens no one acknowledged. I saw faithful team members who were excellent at their tasks but hadn’t been prayed for in months. I’ve noticed how easy it is to build teams that function well but don’t flourish spiritually. And I saw how often we reward production but overlook presence.

I also had to reckon with my own contribution to this culture. Why was I constantly in a rush? Why did I feel guilty for saying no? Why was rest something I had to earn rather than receive? The truth is, I had internalized a version of ministry that looked more like a startup than a sanctuary.

But when I began paying attention to the quieter rhythms—slower, deeper ones—I noticed something else. God was already at work, often in ways I couldn’t measure or manage. The breakthrough conversation in the hallway. The unexpected confession from a volunteer. The moment of stillness before the kids came pouring in. These were the moments that shaped hearts, not the ones planned perfectly. And in that realization, I found freedom.

You see, when ministry becomes about stewarding God’s presence, not just managing outcomes, it allows us to breathe again. It reminds us that our job isn’t to manufacture growth or momentum. It’s to be faithful witnesses to the Spirit’s work in the people we serve.

The world tells us leadership is about being in control. But the Kingdom teaches us that leadership is about trust. Trusting God to move. Trusting the Spirit to lead. Trusting that our presence, anchored in His presence, is enough.

I’ve been married for 15 years now. I’ve got three kids who are growing up fast and a fourth on the way. I’m pursuing a master’s in theological studies while serving alongside my wife who serves as the Kids Director. I know what it means to feel stretched. I know what it means to feel the pressure of producing every week. But I also know what it means to be surprised by grace.

And if I could encourage fellow leaders in anything, it’s this: the most transformative moments in ministry don’t usually come from what you accomplish. They come from where you abide.

Presence over performance. Stillness over striving. Faithfulness over flash.

That’s the journey I’m on. And I’m learning, day by day, to let go of the myth that I have to have it all together. Instead, I’m learning to show up, with open hands, open heart, and open ears, trusting that God is already there, already working, already enough.

Theological and Biblical Foundations: Leading from God’s Presence

One of the most freeing truths I’ve come to embrace is this: ministry doesn’t begin with my effort. It begins with God’s presence. Leadership, at its core, is not about direction first, it’s about dwelling. And if that sounds strange or soft in our results-driven culture, it’s only because we’ve lost touch with the way God has always led His people.

From the beginning, God’s leadership was always about presence. Think back to the garden in Genesis. Before there were assignments or titles, there was communion. Adam and Eve didn’t earn God’s nearness, it was their starting point. They were created not just for function, but for fellowship. Before they had a job to do, they had a God to walk with (Gen. 3:8). And when that fellowship was broken, the rest of Scripture tells the story of a God who keeps pursuing presence with His people.

Moses knew this well. In Exodus 33, after the golden calf incident, God told Moses He would still give Israel the Promised Land, but He wouldn’t go with them. And Moses said no deal. “If your presence does not go with us, do not send us up from here” (Exod. 33:15). That one line is a theology of leadership all by itself. Moses didn’t want success, victory, or legacy if it meant going alone. He would rather stay in the wilderness with God than reach the mountaintop without Him.

That same heartbeat shows up in David’s leadership. In Psalm 27:4, David writes, “One thing I ask from the Lord… that I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life.” David wasn’t chasing power, he was chasing presence. His leadership wasn’t perfect, but it was grounded in a hunger for God.

Fast forward to the New Testament, and we see the same model in Jesus. In John 5:19, He says, “The Son can do nothing by Himself; He can only do what He sees His Father doing.” If Jesus, God in the flesh, lived and led in constant dependence on the Father’s presence, how much more should we?

This is the thread that ties the story of Scripture together. Presence precedes mission. Intimacy comes before impact. That’s not just a poetic idea, it’s a deeply theological reality. The church doesn’t exist to perform for God; it exists to participate in what He’s already doing.

Theologically, this idea is anchored in the doctrine of the Trinity. God is not a solitary CEO handing out assignments. He is Father, Son, and Spirit, eternal communion, eternal love. And our leadership should reflect that relational nature. We aren’t called to lead from isolation or individual brilliance. We’re called to lead from shared life, mutual dependence, and humble presence.

I’ve come across some incredible voices that have helped me understand this more clearly. Miroslav Volf, for example, writes that the church’s mission is rooted in the life of the triune God, and that we must always return to “God’s gracious presence” as our center.¹ In other words, we don’t bring God to our ministries. He’s already there, we just need to pay attention.

James K.A. Smith also challenges the assumption that formation happens through information alone. He reminds us that we are shaped by what we love, not just what we know.² Our habits, our liturgies, both corporate and personal, are forming us every day. So if our ministries are built around performance, efficiency, and applause, we’re unintentionally training our leaders to love the wrong things. But if our ministries are built around presence, prayer, hospitality, and worship, then we’re training people to love the presence of God more than the platform.

This is why silence matters. This is why sabbath matters. This is why prayer in the planning meeting isn’t just a formality, it’s formation. We’re not just managing people and programs; we’re stewarding souls.

Leadership that flows from presence is slower, yes, but it’s also more sustainable. It doesn’t chase momentum; it follows the Spirit. It doesn’t start with strategy; it starts with surrender. And ironically, it often bears more fruit in the long run because it’s rooted in the life of God, not just the energy of people.

There’s nothing wrong with being strategic. Plans, goals, metrics, they all have their place. But they can’t be our foundation. When they are, we become slaves to outcomes. But when God’s presence is our starting point, we lead from a place of peace, not pressure.

So here’s the question that keeps shaping my own heart: Am I leading for God or with God?

There’s a big difference. Leading for God sounds noble, but it can easily drift into self-reliance. Leading with God demands dependency, attentiveness, and humility. It requires me to stop asking, “How do I impress people?” and start asking, “Where is the Spirit already moving, and how can I join Him?”

Because in the end, that’s what leadership really is. Not building something impressive. Not climbing the ladder. But pointing people to the One who is already near. It’s being the kind of leader who, like Moses, says, “I won’t take another step unless You go with me.”

And when we live like that, when we lead like that, we find that ministry becomes more than work. It becomes worship.

The Practice of Stewarding Presence

If leadership in ministry is about stewarding God’s presence rather than producing results, then it has to be practiced. It has to be embodied. It can’t just stay in our theology books or our mission statements. We have to actually live it.

So what does that look like?

For me, it must start in the quiet moments, the ones no one else sees. Before the email rush. Before the meetings, the budgets, the planning, the everything. If I’m not anchored in God’s presence there, I start leading from pressure. I start performing. I start defaulting to the part of me that believes I need to prove myself again this week.

But when I stop and make room, when I read slowly, when I pray not to get through a list but just to listen, something shifts. I’m not just working for God. I’m with Him.

And that’s the posture I want to bring into the spaces I will lead.

In Exodus 40, after the tabernacle is completed, God’s glory fills the space so thickly that Moses can’t even enter (Exod. 40:34–35). That moment wasn’t produced by perfect planning. It wasn’t driven by productivity. It was the result of a people who had obeyed in detail and made room for the Lord to dwell.

That’s what I want in ministry spaces today: not just events or environments that run smoothly, but places where God’s presence is felt so clearly that people leave changed, not because of how good we are, but because of how near He is.

That’s what it means to steward presence.

It’s about preparing the soil more than controlling the outcome. It’s about paying attention to what the Spirit is already doing and joining Him there.

Sometimes that looks like cutting something from the schedule, not because it’s wrong, but because it’s crowding out space for stillness. Sometimes it looks like refusing to rush through prayer before a big ministry moment. Sometimes it means having the courage to stop and let the room sit in silence, even when it feels awkward.

We often underestimate how countercultural that kind of leadership is. In a world that equates busyness with importance, silence feels like wasted time. But the psalmist reminds us: “Be still, and know that I am God” (Ps. 46:10). The knowledge of God often comes in stillness, not speed.

In his work on spiritual leadership, Henri Nouwen wrote that “the central question is not how we can make a difference, but how we can be the presence of Christ in the world.” That hits me hard every time I read it. Because if I’m honest, I default to wanting to make a difference. That’s the achiever in me. But being the presence of Christ? That calls for a different rhythm. A different way of measuring success.

James K.A. Smith would say this calls for a liturgical reorientation.³ That our daily habits shape our longings, and if our ministry habits are all about pace, output, and efficiency, we’ll become people who love those things more than we love the presence of God. But when our practices, sabbath, confession, listening prayer, center us on communion with Christ, we become leaders who serve out of fullness, not fear.

And that’s what people need.

They don’t need more ministry machines. They need shepherds. People who are present. People who can sit with them in pain and not rush to fix it. People who point to Jesus not only with their words, but with their peace.

Stewarding presence also means creating environments where others can encounter God, not just environments where they encounter us. And that’s a challenge in a church culture that often leans heavy on personalities and platforms. But the goal is never to wow people with our leadership, it’s to lead them toward His.

That means we may need to train differently. Teach our teams differently. Lead our volunteers differently. What if we talked less about systems and more about sacredness? What if we spent time in prayer with our leaders before planning meetings? What if we built margin into every event, not just for logistical breathing room, but for spiritual attentiveness?

This isn’t about being less strategic. It’s about making sure our strategy serves our spirituality, not the other way around.

So the question becomes: what are we practicing?

Because whatever we practice regularly, we eventually become.

I want to practice presence. I want to lead from a posture that trusts God is at work, even when I can’t see the results. I want to slow down long enough to notice the burning bushes around me, the ordinary moments where the extraordinary God wants to meet with me and speak (Exod. 3:2–4).

This kind of leadership may not trend on social media. It may not get the spotlight. But it’s deeply faithful. And over time, it creates ministry cultures where God is not just talked about, He’s truly known.

And that’s the kind of space I want to give my life to creating.

Conclusion: The Invitation to Lead Differently

If you’re anything like me, you didn’t get into ministry to manage spreadsheets or chase growth metrics. You stepped into this because somewhere along the way, God met you, and you wanted to spend your life helping others meet Him too. But somewhere in the process, the noise got louder. The systems got heavier. And the quiet presence that once called you into ministry started to feel out of reach.

But here’s the good news: it’s not out of reach. It never was.

The Spirit of God still meets us in quiet places. Still leads us with a whisper. Still honors the slow, faithful work of presence over the shiny, fast work of production. And He’s still calling us, not just to lead, but to be led.

This is your invitation: Lead differently.

Lead with your ears tuned to the Spirit more than to trends. Lead from a heart at rest, not a soul constantly striving. Lead from the sacred ground of God’s presence, not from the pressure to perform.

You don’t have to prove anything. You don’t have to outrun burnout. You don’t have to have all the answers. You just need to show up, present, attentive, surrendered, and let the presence of God do what only He can.

Because at the end of the day, ministry isn’t something we build for God. It’s something we live with Him.

Let that be enough.

Grace and grit,
Felix