“How may I serve you?”
The blue-eyed, clear-skinned, perky, perky, perky Chick-fil-A associate beamed with a million-dollar smile as she prepared to provide me with tasty chicken and tangy lemonade.
I love that question.
An older, wiser pastor taught it to me as I tried to figure out what I was doing in my first pastorate. It came in handy one night well after I had gone to bed.
Let me explain.
The phone rang about the time we settled into the deep, delightful sleep of worn-out parents of a newborn. It took a couple of rings to figure out what was happening. It took a couple of more to stop the noise which threatened to awaken our little boy who needed to remain asleep so that my bride could rest.
“Preacher? Viola died. You better go check on the family.”
I was new to the church that I didn’t have any idea who Viola was or where she lived. No conscious memory connected to the name of the deceased came to mind.
“Go down the road toward the lake. Turn right at the intersection. A little ways down you’ll see some trailer houses with some cars out front. That’ll be her house.”
What the aging deacon forgot to mention was which trailer house with the cars out front he meant. I had several to choose from. I chose the one with the light on and the front door open.
Stepping up on the concrete blocks, I recognized another preacher inside. He waved me in and thanked me for coming.
There she was. Viola was laid out on the couch with her mouth open and her soul gone to glory.
No one said a word. No one moved. Except for the other preacher who again shook my hand and exited the premises.
The funeral home arrived and brought in a stretcher and a body bag. The funeral director asked the family and me to go into the other room. There sat a woman in a rocking chair surrounded by people I assumed were family. No one said a word. No one moved.
Walking over, I knelt beside the rocking chair and introduced myself.
“I know who you are.”
She did not look at me. Neither did anyone else.
“How may I serve you?”
It was the only thing I knew to say at a time like that.
“Can’t think of a thing,” was her reply.
We listened to the funeral director and his associate take care of business in the other room. They zipped up the bag and exited the house.
A few uncomfortable moments later, I asked if I could pray.
“That’d be fine,” she said.
After a simple prayer for someone I did not know and with people who showed no interest in getting to know me, I exited the trailer house and returned home to a most-uncomfortable night’s rest.
Servant leadership can be awkward. It can feel uncomfortable. It may not show any immediate results. However, it may well be that we are never more like Jesus than when we kneel before another and ask, “How may I serve you?”
The problem with taking the posture of a servant is what happens when people treat us like one. The first couple of times, it makes us anxious or embarrassed. Pride arises within us. It is more comfortable to stand tall and give orders than it is to sink low and take them. After all, we are leaders!
Jesus said to his handpicked leadership team to whom he was about to entrust the worldwide gospel movement, “The greatest among you will be your servant” (Matthew 23:11 CSB).
The next time you do not know what to do, you know what to say.
“How may I serve you?”
Photo source: istock
![]() | David Bowman, (DMin, PCC) is the Executive Director of Tarrant Baptist Association in Fort Worth, Texas. He also serves as a Multiplying Trainer for Future Church Co. Learn More » |
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