Harder on the Hills

I cycled to south Craven last week, across the hills from Earby and through Lothersdale. The views at 5pm were wonderful, but by the time I had left my hosts after a hearty dinner, it was dark and wet. As I left one valley and traversed another before coming to west Craven, the rain on the top of the hills was so intensive that it was stinging my eyes and I could scarcely see where my lights pointed. My helmet is peaked, but still I had to keep rubbing my face on account of the discomfort. As soon as I descended into Earby, the air was damp but calm. Upon that top road, passing cars must have wondered that only mad dogs and Englishmen would be out on a bike that night. Down at the bottom, a cyclist was unworthy of attention.

We all know that on a hill, the winds blows more strongly and the rain is heavier; in the valley, the shelter is better and the winds gentler. As I pondered this (there is little else to do cycling ten miles in the dark), it struck me that Christian leadership is like this. As an ordinary church member, or someone who just attends a church, the spiritual affairs of our own hearts and families are enough to occupy us. Those who become deacons, elders and pastors, however, have a whole host of other difficulties to manage. The more prominent and exposed one becomes, the more violent the winds, the more stinging the rain, the darker the lanes. In churches, the easier a target one becomes for the devil's fiery darts and flaming arrows. Yet the great God who calls people to such positions gives them the strength and -increasingly- the skills to manage. The journey home that night was hard, but I got there.