Staying Soft

When I was a teenager, I heard someone say something that stayed with me: that he was lucky because he got paid to do what he would gladly do for nothing. He was a minister—an evangelist, to be precise—and his job was to tell people what he knew about God. And people paid him to do that.

At the time, it sounded remarkable. But years later, I found myself walking away from a stable, well-paying job in IT to train for ministry. Because somehow, I understood what he meant. I loved God and people more than I loved technology. And I didn’t want to spend my working life doing something I wasn’t passionate about.

Ministry has been both deeply rewarding and incredibly costly. It’s been great because you get close to people—closer than most. You share in moments of joy and sorrow that many reserve even from their closest friends. You pray with people. You hold their hopes and griefs before God. You open the Scriptures with them, and sometimes—miraculously—you get to witness the lights come on. I remember one unchurched friend, reading Mark’s Gospel with me, who looked up and said, “Everyone should know about this.” And he was right.

But ministry is also hard. You walk through tragedy with people; you don’t get to stand at a distance. The hours are long. The emotional and spiritual weight can press hard on your own soul, and it’s not without cost to your family. And the financial strain is real. But honestly? I’d do it for nothing and many do.

What’s mattered most isn’t status or influence or platform—those are distractions. What’s mattered is staying soft: soft toward God, soft toward others. Not naïve, but tender. It’s so easy to become disappointed—by yourself, by others, even by the church. But over and over I’ve come back to joy in God, love for people, and the small, faithful ways our actions can make a difference in someone else’s life.

I spent twenty years in parish ministry, and I thought I’d do it forever. But during my doctoral research, I was invited to join the faculty of a college. I started teaching others how to serve in ministry, and I loved that too. But as the years went on, the role became more administrative—more compliance, more policy, more committees. Important work, yes, but I missed the people. I missed being in the thick of their lives.

Now, I serve as the head of a residential college at a secular university. It might sound like a departure from ministry, but it isn’t. One of my predecessors was once asked why he had “left ministry”—his reply was that these were the most fruitful years of his life. It’s been the same for me. I get to walk alongside university students from all over the world, from every major religion and none. I get to listen, support, share, and encourage. I still pray for them. I still point to hope. And it has been an absolute joy.

Now, as I approach the later chapters of my working life, I don’t believe in retirement the way the world often defines it. To me, it’s simply a new freedom—to decide how best to use your energy to serve God and love others without the constraints of a salary or a title.

So what’s the job I’d do for free? It’s the same job I’ve been doing all along: being with people, loving them well, speaking truth, pointing to Jesus, staying soft-hearted, and serving where I can. And I find deep joy in that.

And so, a reflection:

Staying Soft

Stay soft—
not naïve, but willing.

Not untouched by pain,
just not shaped by it.

Let others chase titles,
you chase moments—
a kind word,
a prayer,
the light flickering on
in someone’s eyes.

Not everything is sacrifice.
Some things are just lost.
Know the difference.

Hold your time lightly.
Celebrate the small—
a good sentence,
a true connection.

Walk.
Let joy escape your lips.

Love the work,
but don’t become it.

Keep space
for what doesn’t need to perform.

Stay soft.
Not waiting—
just being.