Stories of Ecclesia: It Starts with Lamenting
Bob Hyatt
August 21, 2013

From Ty Grigg – pastor at Life on the Vine, Long Grove, IL

Angela stood up to the podium and pulled out a piece of paper.  Normally, during our worship liturgy, we watch an “icon,” that is, a short video or projected artwork that reveals something about the way the world is and the ways God reveals his glory in our world.  This Sunday, we would hear a story of lament from Angela:

My cry today, my lament today is for the Church , the bride of Christ to be a voice-a beacon of hope, a light, a refuge in this time. By this time, I mean post Trayvon Martin.

As Angela spoke honestly from her own experience of racism, I felt my heart softening.

This story of Trayvon Martin and George Zimmerman re-opened wounds in America’s racial history that have not fully healed.  It opened wounds of knowing that when my brother was growing up, one of the lessons he quickly learned was DWB, driving while Black. It opened would of hearing my father, who is a highly respected physician, tell me of people who don’t want to see him as their doctor because of the color of his skin. It is the wound of not being shown homes in particular neighborhood because Black people are not supposed to live in certain communities. It opened the wound of a childhood friend asking me if I wished I were white, as if something were wrong with being Black.

In the act of communal lament, the Spirit was drawing me out of apathy and into conviction, calling me to leave the old ways of denial and minimization of racism behind and to follow the Spirit’s call into listening, lamenting, and engaging.

My brothers and sisters, I bring these wounds with me to Church. I don’t leave the sin of racism at the door. I bring it with me and lament over it. And I should not do this alone.

When Angela finished her story, she walked toward the back of the sanctuary.  As a pastor, I knew what was coming next; Juliet would lead us in a prayer of confession.  But suddenly I heard an older man to my left say loudly:  “Excuse me, but normally we pray for people when they share their story.”  He was referring to the practice of praying for a person when she or he shares a “story of wonder” at the beginning of our service.  This was something different.  Honestly, my first reaction was annoyance.  I was thinking, “No, we have a plan.  We are going to confess now.  We know what we’re doing here, don’t mess it up!”

Then I realized that he was right.  We needed to pray for Angela.  I found myself getting up from my chair and slowly walking to the back where Angela was standing.  My pace was deliberate and slow.  I felt the eyes of the room on me.  Reflecting later, it seemed significant that I was going to Angela, not calling her back up to the lectern – a grace.  The whole action seemed directed by God, I was merely caught up in it.

As I got closer, I felt my heart fill with deep love and sadness intermixed.  Angela stood up and walked toward me.  I gave her a hug and the only thing I could say was, “I am so thankful.”  She hugged me back.  I started to pull away after a few seconds but Angela didn’t let go – again, a grace.  I sensed a powerful movement of the Spirit.  It wasn’t just me hugging Angela, but I was hugging Angela as a proxy for the whole church.  A few others came and joined the hug.  When I replay this moment in my mind, the word that comes to me is simply ‘glory.’  God’s glory was breaking through in the midst of Angela’s vulnerable lament and our embrace of her lament.

When Juliet finally began to lead us into a prayer of confession, she began to openly weep.  Angela’s lament opened all of us up to a new depth of reality, a new depth of relationship with one another, and a new sensitivity to what God is inviting us into.  We are just at the beginning, but I hope we can look back on Angela’s story of lament and our response as a watershed moment of conversion for our church.

It is because the love of Christ compels me to speak up. Church, we can do better at standing against racism and fighting for justice.  The change that we desire to see in the world starts with us-it starts with us lamenting with one another, and praying with one another, and praying for one another.  True reconciliation happens between us when we listen to the pain of one another, when we are vulnerable with one another—when we start seeing Christ in one another.  And the walls that divide us will fall down.

It starts with lamenting.

 

By Bob Hyatt • October 7, 2026
“When God works in us nothing is useless, and nothing is spared.” - Jeannine Brown, Carla Dahl and Wendy Corbin Reuschling, Becoming Whole and Holy “There is no circumstance, no trouble, no testing, that can ever touch me until, first of all, it has gone past God and past Christ, right through to me. If it has come that far, it has come with great purpose, which I may not understand at the moment.” - Alan Redpath Here's something I've noticed about people as they get older: they tend to go one of two ways. They either get sweeter with age or they get crankier. They grow wiser and more like Jesus, or they grow bitter and more like the worst version of themselves. That's because life is formation. Everything we do and everything we go through shapes us one way or the other, mostly depending on how we respond to what happens to us, whether it's extraordinary or completely ordinary. Ministry works the same way. I've watched leaders come out of nearly identical trials in completely different shape. Some come out stronger. Others come out deeply wounded, discouraged, and ready to quit. The difference usually comes down to where they see God in the middle of the struggle, absent or present, and what questions they ask about it. Some ask, "God, why is this happening to me?" Others ask, "God, what could you want to form in me through this?" Both views of God will shape us, and so will both questions. They just shape us in very different directions. In my experience, the most common sin in church leadership is an obsession with numbers and results, paired with neglect of our own souls. On top of that, we rarely stop to notice how those numbers and results, and how ministry itself, are shaping us. So here's my suggestion: stop working so hard to develop your ministry and start noticing that your ministry is developing you. How you handle the realities of church leadership will determine not only what your church becomes but what you become. Leadership and ministry will form you. The only question is: into what? One tool God uses: the fishbowl Some people hesitate to become a pastor because it opens them up to scrutiny, and now and then to outright criticism. When I was a young leader, I hated the "fishbowl effect" of ministry. Everyone was watching me, and my mistakes seemed to count for a lot more than anyone else's. It felt deeply unfair that flaws that wouldn't even register at most people's jobs could cost me my job, my reputation, and my community. Never mind that maybe it bothered me so much because I had such a generous supply of those flaws. After years of living under the steady gaze of critics and cranks, I see the fishbowl differently. These days I actually welcome it. Richard Baxter, a Puritan pastor in the 1600s, put it this way: “While you are as lights set upon a hill, think not to lie hid... do your work as those that remember that the world looks on them... ready to make the worst of all... and to make faults where they cannot find them.”[1] Baxter understood that anyone who calls others to live like Jesus is going to get called out when they don't. His advice? Live like the world is watching, because it is. Some people in your life are ready to yell "Hypocrite!" at the first opportunity, to point out failings they share themselves, and, as Baxter says, even to invent faults when they can't find real ones. And Baxter's fishbowl had a few neighbors peering over the fence. Ours has a livestream, a comment section, and someone screenshotting the announcements. But Baxter goes further. He says we should be glad about it: “As you take yourselves for the lights of the churches, you may expect that men's eyes will be upon you. If other men may sin without observation, so cannot you. And you should thankfully consider how great a mercy this is, that you have so many eyes to watch over you, and so many ready to tell you of your faults; and thus have greater helps than others, at least for restraining you from sin. Though they may do it with a malicious mind, yet you have the advantage of it.” As a Pastor, you have more eyes on you and more people paying attention to how you live. That means you have more help than most in living well and avoiding sin. What some people mean for evil, God means for your good (Genesis 50:20). What looks like a downside of ministry turns out to be a path to maturity, to formation. In practical terms, living your life in front of others pushes you to do what you already know you should do. And it often keeps you out of things you might slide into if nobody were watching. One important caveat: embracing accountability isn't the same as tolerating abuse. Healthy scrutiny sharpens you. A congregant who attacks your spouse or treats your kids like church property is a different problem, and it calls for boundaries, not gratitude. Let's be clear, though: the fishbowl isn't enough on its own. What we're really after is internal: character, a changed heart. But knowing we're living out loud in front of a watching church and a watching world gives us structure, and that structure can help us build the habits and rhythms of holiness we want. As we try to let the heart and character of Christ take deeper root in us, we have the advantage of lots of eyes around us "encouraging" us to stay on the straight and narrow. My sense is that people who embrace this find that, over time, what starts on the outside moves more and more to the inside. Slowly, the choices we make because others are watching become, through habit, real character. Because I know people are watching, I think twice about what I say in public, what I scroll past on my phone, and how I talk to my kids at church or out on the sidewalk in front of the neighbors. More and more, those choices, first made because of an audience, become part of who I am. That's especially true when I treat those moments as kairos [2] moments: times when God breaks in and uses my awareness of a watching world to show me the character He wants to form in me and the choices He'd like me to make. But what if we don't embrace it? What about those who get shipwrecked by moral failure, character flaws, and private sins gone public? People who resent the fishbowl of ministry and the Christian life often end up living one way in public and another in private. It's as if their anger at being scrutinized pushes them into a divided life: they'll play by the rules in public but insist on their own rules in private. Frustrated with the audience around them, so eager to find fault, they forget the true Audience they live before. And as we've all seen from too many spectacular crash-and-burns, the fallout is often devastating. Families, churches, and the reputation of the whole Church take serious damage. Pastors, recognize that your formation is happening, one way or another… and make peace with the fishbowl. It's going to be there whether you like it or not. If you embrace it, you may find it spurring you on toward love and good deeds (Hebrews 10:24) and keeping you clear of the sins that have taken down so many in ministry before you. “You should thankfully consider how great a mercy this is, that you have so many eyes to watch over you.” Let the Holy Spirit use your public life, and every eye watching it, to shape and form you. The fishbowl and the formation of a life in ministry are coming either way. Let them help answer the question: into what? To further explore your own formation through ministry, join us at the Multiply Summit with special guest Rich Villodas this coming February in the Washington, D.C. area! Adapted from Eldership and the Mission of God by Bob Hyatt and J.R. Briggs. [1] Richard Baxter, The Reformed Pastor, London, 1657, p. 21. [2] Kairos is one of the Greek words for time, but it's different from chronos. Chronos is linear, calendar time. Kairos refers to significant moments full of possibility. Here, it means those times when God steps into chronos.
By Bob Hyatt • April 13, 2026
Here's a message from Ecclesia Pastor Aaron Graham