Ministry Is a Firepit

The first time it happened, I didn’t think much about it. A pickup truck slowly passed the house. And when I say slowly…I mean slowly. Walking speed. The driver looked toward the house, looked at us, and kept going. A little while later…another vehicle. Then another. Sometimes it was a golf cart. Sometimes someone walking their dog suddenly became very interested in what we were doing. Once… it was even a tractor. This post is about how, if possible, ministry is a firepit.

As folks rolled by throughout the day, finally, I looked at Carmen. “I think we’re being watched.” She smiled. “I would be watching too.”

Turns out…they weren’t really watching the house. They were watching us.

Who Are These People?

Long before we officially moved into Chateau Mariposa, Carmen and I spent nearly every weekend there.

Friday afternoon after work, we’d leave our little apartment in Palm Harbor and make the hour-and-a-half drive north to Weeki Wachee. Saturday morning we’d unload the tools, turn on some music, and get to work.

• Demolition.
• Painting.
• Cleaning.
• Hauling debris.
• Sweating.
• Occasionally questioning our life choices.
• And apparently…providing weekend entertainment for the neighborhood.

What we didn’t fully understand at the time was what our neighbors had experienced before we arrived. The house had been vacant.

• There had been squatters.
• Drug activity.
• Police cars.
• People coming and going.

For the people living nearby, this wasn’t simply an ugly house that needed renovation. It had become the house everyone worried about.

Then suddenly…two strangers started showing up every weekend.

No wonder they were watching. They weren’t being nosy. Okay…maybe they were being a little nosy. But underneath their curiosity was a legitimate question:

“Who are these people?”

And probably an even bigger one:

“What are they going to bring into our neighborhood?”

Then the Windows Started Rolling Down

Little by little, something changed. The slow drive-bys became slower. Then windows started rolling down.

“Hey…how’s it going?”

A quick hello became a five-minute conversation. Eventually, instead of driving past, someone pulled into the driveway.

“Thought I’d come introduce myself.”

Then another neighbor stopped. Then another. Before long, those conversations became part of our weekends.

Initially, everyone wanted to know about us.

• “Where are you folks from?”
• “What made you buy this place?”
• And, of course…“What in the world are you planning to do with it?”

But eventually something interesting happened.

They stopped talking about the house.

And started talking about themselves. Their families. Their children. And their grandchildren. Fishing. Hurricanes. Life in the neighborhood. And, oddly enough…

Pigeons.

We discovered that several of our neighbors raced pigeons. I didn’t even know pigeoneer was something you could be. Apparently we’d moved into the epicenter of it.

But something much more important was happening. We were learning their stories.

I Was Talking About Plans. Carmen Was Learning Names.

This is one of those things I didn’t recognize until much later. When neighbors stopped by…

I talked about the renovation. I’d explain what we were doing with the house. What we were fixing. What we planned to build. And what the property might eventually become.

Carmen?

She learned names. She asked about children. Grandchildren. Birthdays. Families. She listened to stories.

That’s Carmen.

She’s never met a stranger. She has this remarkable ability to make people feel like they’re the most important person in the conversation.

No agenda. No strategy. She simply loves people.

Looking back, I’m pretty sure the neighbors trusted Carmen…and trusted me by default. But watching her taught me something.

Community rarely begins with a program. It begins when someone decides to pay attention.

What If We Invited Everyone?

Romans 12:13

Share with the Lord’s people who are in need. Practice hospitality.

A few weeks after we finally moved in, Carmen looked at me one evening.

“What if we invited the neighbors over?” “Sure,” I said.

Then came the clarification.

Carmen, “All of them.” Me, “All of them?” Carmen, “Why not?”

If you’ve been following these stories for any length of time, you already know…

When Carmen says “Why not?”…I’m probably about to move furniture.

So we invited everybody.

• Nothing elaborate.
• No catered meal.
• No program.
• No agenda.
• Just a firepit.
• Some chairs.
• A few snacks.
• And an invitation, “Come over.“

I figured a few people might show up.

Apparently, one of our neighbors, Frank, wasn’t quite ready to commit. So he sent Dave, another neighbor. At least that’s how I choose to remember it.

Dave was the scout. Neighborhood reconnaissance. His mission:

Go see if these people are normal.

Dave came. We talked. We laughed. Apparently…we passed inspection. Because before long, here came Frank. Then his family. Then another family. And another.

Pull Up a Chair

At some point that evening, I stopped and looked around the fire.

Something had changed.

The people sitting around that fire were the same people who, only months earlier, had slowly driven past our house wondering who we were.

Now…they were laughing. Talking. Telling stories. Pulling chairs closer to the fire.

I don’t think anyone we invited stayed home. And what struck me most was something our neighbors expressed:

They were thankful – they actually told us exactly that – “Thanks for giving us our neighborhood back.”

They felt like they had their neighborhood back.

Think about that. We hadn’t organized a neighborhood revitalization program. We hadn’t created a committee. Nor had we developed a community engagement strategy.

We lit a fire. Put out some chairs. And said…

“Come join us.”

Sometimes the distance between suspicion and belonging…is simply an invitation.

Then Came Coffee

Not long afterward, Carmen had another idea.

“What if we hosted coffee one Saturday morning?”

Sure. Coffee. Simple. Except…Carmen doesn’t just make coffee.

She creates an experience.

There were different coffees. Dunkin’ Donuts. Fresh Crumbl Cookies. Tables arranged in the courtyard. Plants. Flowers. Comfortable places to sit.

• There was no schedule.
• No speech.
• No presentation.
• No expectation.

Just…

“Come if you can.”

And they came.

Some stayed twenty minutes. Others stayed two hours. People wandered in wearing shorts and flip-flops, coffee mugs in hand. The courtyard filled with conversation and laughter. And something beautiful happened.

Neighbors who had lived near each other for years finally learned each other’s names.

Nobody had been asking us to organize a neighborhood gathering. But apparently…a lot of people had been hoping for one.

Maybe We’ve Made Hospitality Too Complicated

That morning taught me something I’ve never forgotten. We tend to think hospitality means entertaining.

• The house needs to be spotless.
• The food needs to be impressive.
• The backyard needs to be finished.
• We need matching chairs.
• The landscaping needs to look good.
• Everything needs to be…ready.

But maybe hospitality isn’t primarily about impressing people.

Maybe it’s about seeing people.

Learning a name. Hearing a story. Remembering a grandchild. Pouring another cup of coffee. Pulling up another chair. Because I’ve come to believe something:

People are rarely starving for entertainment – They’re starving for belonging.

• They want to be seen.
• They want to be heard.
• They want to know…

“Is there a place for me here?”

God Gave Us Neighbors Before He Gave Us Guests

Looking back now, I see something I couldn’t see then. God didn’t give Carmen and me that neighborhood simply because we needed somewhere to live.

He gave us neighbors before He gave us guests.

Before people would eventually come to Chateau Mariposa looking for rest…God gave us people right outside our front door.

Maybe He was letting us practice. Not by building a business. Not by creating events. And not through a church program. But by opening our home.

• Lighting a fire.
• Brewing coffee.
• Learning names.
• Listening to stories.
• Making room.

I’ve spent a good portion of my life around ministry, and I’ve learned that some of the most meaningful ministry I’ve ever experienced didn’t happen behind a pulpit.

Sometimes ministry looks like a sermon. Sometimes it looks like a Bible study. And sometimes…

Maybe ministry looks more like a firepit.

Your Everyday Life

Who’s slowly driving past your life? Not literally. Who is close enough for you to notice…but you’ve never really taken the time to know?

• The neighbor across the street.
• The coworker down the hall.
• The person you see every Sunday at church.
• The parent standing beside you at your kid’s game.
• The person who always seems to be standing alone.

We sometimes pray,

“God, give me opportunities to make a difference.”

Meanwhile, God may be saying…

“I’ve already put them right outside your door.”

You don’t need a ministry title. You don’t need a program. And you don’t need a perfect house. You may simply need…one more chair.

Challenge of the Week

Set One More Chair – Don’t organize an event this week. Invite someone. A neighbor. A coworker. Someone from church you don’t know very well. Someone who could simply use a place to belong.

• Make some coffee.
• Sit on the porch.
• Light the firepit.
• Share dessert.

It doesn’t need to be impressive. And when they come…ask questions. Listen. Learn their story. Remember their name. Make them feel seen. Because maybe changing someone’s everyday life doesn’t begin with doing something extraordinary. Maybe…it begins with simply saying hello. So be it.

Sometimes changing a community begins with learning a name, brewing some coffee, and making room for one more chair.

What is your journey like?

My journey started like a parallel journey to the Prodigal Son – Luke 15. This, as you can see, is becoming quite the journey. Jump into my journey with me, now 15 weeks along, and see what your journey looks like as we walk life together. Here are the links where you can go back and jump into the journey with me:

• When Love Found Me – This is the introduction to it all.
• Before Love Found Me – God was pursuing me before I knew it.
• God at a Distance – I was looking in the wrong places.
• When God Broke In – God met me in my brokenness.
• After the Tears – Following Jesus became a shared journey.
• Packing Up Faith – Obedience required leaving the familiar.
• Making Room – God transformed our home into a place where others could encounter His love.
• Trusting God’s Hand – Even when it doesn’t make sense.
• When You Think You Need One More Miracle – and no matter what, God does it again!
• From Waiting to Wonder – Sometimes God does His greatest work in places we can’t wait to get out of.
• When God Colors Outside Of The Lines – Creating our own boundaries and limiting God.
• This Is The Way – God is whispering to you, “This is the way, follow Me.”
• Seeing What Others Can’t – When God shows you something that others can’t see…yet.
• Redeeming The Ruins – Where we see ruins, God sees redemption. Discover how He transforms broken places into something beautifully new.
• A Story That Started Before You – Sometimes what we think we’re starting is actually a story God has been writing long before we arrived.