Pointing to the Light: A Preacher’s Heart and God’s Invitation

Today, someone thanked me for “being a light.” While I deeply appreciated the kind words, they also caught me off guard. It’s a humbling thing to be seen in that way because, much like John the Baptist, I know I’m not the light. My role is to witness to the light, to point others to it, and to facilitate encounters with the true source of light, life, love, and grace—Jesus Christ. 

That’s the heart of my calling as a preacher. Whether it’s through sermons, worship services, or devotionals, my aim is always the same: to help bridge the gap between people and God. To offer pathways, to create spaces where people can meet the Lord who is already reaching out to them. But as fulfilling as that calling is, it’s also fraught with the challenges of human nature—mine included.

The old saying, "You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make him drink," has proven true time and again. Preachers know this well. But unlike the cowboy who brings a horse to a stagnant trough, I have the honor of leading people to living water—life-giving, soul-refreshing, eternity-altering water. The beauty of this water is that it will come to anyone who opens themselves to receive it. Yet the challenge remains: no matter how lovingly or earnestly we lead, some will still walk away thirsty. 

I was grappling with that truth not long ago in a candid conversation with God. Truth be told, I was angry. Anger has always been my default emotion—my armor, my way of staying in control. If I’m angry, I can take action. I can play the piano furiously, drive too fast with the music blaring, or even entertain the destructive thought of hitting someone square in the nose. Anger feels strong and decisive. Hurt, on the other hand, leaves me feeling powerless and exposed. Admitting hurt means admitting someone has the power to wound me, and that’s a vulnerability I don’t easily embrace. So, when I feel hurt, I push it aside and let anger take its place. But in that moment with God, He gently brought me back to the old axiom about the horse and reminded me of something humbling yet freeing: “It’s not about you, Cheryl." When people don’t respond to my efforts to point them toward the light, it’s not about me. When they stay away, make excuses, or even voice criticisms aimed at me, those things ultimately aren’t my burden to bear. What may feel like a personal attack is often, at its core, a rejection of God’s invitation. 

That doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt—of course it does. But God reminded me that even if I design the most beautiful worship service or preach the most heartfelt sermon, I can’t make anyone open their heart to Him. That’s a decision only they can make. And while I feel the ache of that rejection, I know God feels it even more. After all, the rejection isn’t of me regardless of the excuses given; it’s of Him. And that’s far more heartbreaking than anything I could experience. 

As preachers, we do our best to create opportunities for people to encounter the living water. But when Christians—especially those who profess to love God and follow Christ—choose to neglect those opportunities, it’s not a failure on the part of the preacher or God. God is always present, always waiting, always ready to pour out His love and grace. But He won’t force anyone to come and drink. That’s a choice we must all make for ourselves. 

So here’s my plea: If you love God, don’t waste the opportunities you have to experience Him. Don’t let petty grievances, personal dislikes, or pride keep you from drawing closer to the One who loves you more deeply than you can imagine. Worship is not about the preacher, the music, or even the people sitting next to you. It’s about God—giving Him your time, your heart, your attention. Don’t let the imperfections of others—or yourself—become an excuse to stay away from the living water. 

God is waiting. The light is shining. Open your heart, and let Him fill you with life. Don’t miss the chance. It’s too precious to let slip away.