By Zach Dodd, WEGO Director
Since 7th grade, leading worship has been my ‘When I run, I feel [God’s] pleasure’. It’s a deep mixture of fun and holy fear, nerves and confidence, servant-hearted humility and rockstar arrogance. It’s praying my actual recurring worship leader nightmare of beach balls captivating all of a congregation’s attention only stays in my sleep. It’s pushing past insecurities to see how God sometimes shows up on donkeys. I received a master’s in it and have been able to lead people all over the country and the globe. Ask me sometime about accidentally playing for 5,000 people at a far-left political rally in a foreign country. Even weirder, it’s how I’ve earned almost every penny since my freshman year of college. (Funny side story, the first time I ever got paid was to lead three songs for middle school students. I felt so guilty, I bought a Bible.) I really can’t believe I have been able to pastor people through music as a career and feed my family with a chord chart. Take that, the adult leader who said I shouldn’t sing anymore when I was in high school.
I love leading worship. Well, I loved it. Until I didn’t. And it’s been 8 years since then.
I was probably burnt out. I felt a new direction towards missions. But I was so tired of the stage and serving Jesus solely under lights for all to see. I wanted grit and dirt, poverty and the unreached. I longed to do big things…that nobody knew about.
But something else happened, too. It was like an emotional block. I didn’t just lose my desire. My body pretty much rejected it. I’m not sure if it was the result of a healthy boundary or a weary soul. I just didn’t want to lead music anymore and I’d close up inside when people asked me to. Early on, I had pastor-friends say on a Thursday, “If you can’t fill in this Sunday, we’ll have to play recordings” and I’d recommend a good CD. I probably should have gone to counseling but I was OK moving on and saying ‘no’. My dad and grandpa both transitioned from music to pastoring, so I figured it was just my time. My wife has always missed me leading, even if that meant she would have to get the kids ready for church alone. Friends would ask me about it, too. Outside of a handful of “yes’s”, I just haven’t wanted to lead music anymore.
If I’m real honest, I had some losses along the way I think I never fully grieved and, thus never fully healed. Maybe it was that lady in high school who didn’t like my voice. I mean, I’ve already talked about that comment twice here and, after 20+ years, I still think about it every time I see her around. That should probably tell me something. Maybe it was the two years after getting a Master’s in Worship when I couldn’t get a job. Maybe it was the lone cruel accusatory voice questioning my song selection. Maybe I expected to win a Grammy but never got close to a Dove. Or maybe it was that worst critic of all, my inner voice, that knew deep down I was just a fraud who had to take music theory twice in seminary but still got paid to lead a band.
I really can’t say for certain why my love turned so abruptly to hate and loss. I found a new love in missions that feels even closer to my true heart. All the same beautiful ministry but without all the temptations to think I’m awesome. Maybe that is a big part of this. For me, success in the mission field has absolutely nothing to do with me. It’s easy to point all glory to God when you’re a missionary with a sensitive stomach and horrific linguistic skills.
But I guess I’ve made it all pretty clear here. I can feel pretty incapable as both a missionary and a musician. Both hold love and loss for me. Both are deep places of actual weakness mingled with divine calling.
This brings me all the way back to my bedroom during the summer between my 7th and 8th grade years. I just got back from summer camp and God was stirring a call to ministry in my heart. I prayed, ‘God, show me what you want me to do with my life’. I opened the pages to Psalm 33. I took verses 1-3 as my calling to ministry but I want to show you 16-18:
“No king is saved by the size of his army; no warrior escapes by his great strength. A horse is a vain hope for deliverance; despite all its great strength, it cannot save. But the eyes of the Lord are on those who fear him, on those whose hope is in his unfailing love”
This is a beautiful reality for all of us. Skill and strength are overrated. Horses and heroes aren’t the stars of this show. God is looking for those who trust Him to do the heavy lifting. His power is made perfect in weakness. His grace is sufficient. That is what every story in the Bible reveals – God uses broken and incomplete vessels to bring about His kingdom on earth. So, maybe these losses and insecurities are more than just reasons for me to quit. They are a gift – reminders of God’s power and kindness displayed in my life. They help me from getting all puffed up and thinking I just saved the day.
These weaknesses point me to something truer, something better than 100% success. As Sing Team writes in Satisfied in You (Psalm 42), “Let my losses show me all I truly have is You.”
No job or work can ever be my hope. Certainly, we all have these good works God has prepared in advance for us. I’ve ministered with a guitar and non-profit and as an Uber driver and a waiter at Melting Pot. All of these roles were God’s calling for my life in that season. Not just money-makers, they were places for me to serve Jesus and try to bring even a glimmer of His Light. But, so much better, Psalm 33 tells me I have this unfailing Love rushing my way. That will never fail or change with my titles. His love for me is where all my Hope goes.
I’m learning that calling is deeper than vocation. My truest calling is to be richly loved by Jesus. Whatever overflows out of that will be a good place to be. For me, strangely, it’s back leading music again. This cover photo was from last Sunday. I accepted a spot to lead for a season at one of WEGO’s partner churches, CrossPointe Coast Cape, a church plant in Cape Canaveral pastored by one of my best friends. And much to my surprise, I’m loving it more than ever. No stage or sound system. Just a congregation ready to sing and my ‘ole faithful Taylor with my daughter’s baby blanket wrapped around the headstock. And, the best part, my son on a cajon, shaker, and a little foot tambourine he got for Christmas.
So, I guess I’m an ex-worship leader turned worship leader. One day, I will be an ex-worship leader again. And on that day, just like today, I’m going to be loved more than I could ever imagine by the Giver (and Taker) of my songs.