campus ministry

Upon alighting from my car, a stream of amplified sound greeted me immediately. My hike from the parking lot to the campus union gave me time to guess which faces stood behind the keyboard, electric guitar, and bass and which mass of wild curls sat behind the drum set. Batches of students drifted along the campus sidewalks; some looking quite at home (upperclassmen) and others looking falsely confident. I remember being you, I thought. I remember the crisp autumn air, the smell of new textbooks, the industrial carpet in the practice rooms, and the dizzying feeling of my whole life looming ahead of me like a gaping chasm. That was over two dozen years ago and only parts of me are the same person. Here is proof of the transforming work of God: me. The way I think. The person I have become. The very things that motivate me. The mysterious workings of His grace shook me many years ago on these well-worn campus pathways, and the vault from which they sprung is never exhausted. His unending supply of riches are here for each generation, and that is a cool thing to ponder on a college campus.
As I rounded the last corner, my heart leaped at the sight of our church's worship band. Here, on a secular campus, beating out the gospel message. Here, amidst thousands of students with thousands of questions in their heads. Here, lifting up God's name unashamedly and with unbridled joy. After greeting some kindred spirits, I stationed myself on a bench and exuded happiness amidst the blast of music. Oh, I was as content as a bug-in-a-rug. The contentment that comes after a season of heartache is the choicest kind.
Never mind the season of heartache. Things that rumble around in the deep parts don't always show on the surface, and that's okay. Now that the furniture has been moved around and the junk has been carted away, this tent of mine is ready for the next season. His grace and mercy shook me even as I sat there, the throbbing music swelling up into my limbs and lap, filling my lungs with praise that would make rocks cry out, and rousting the last vestige of the dirt and ashes from the dustbin of my soul.