There weren’t many bugs in Greece. I didn’t notice right away, but after we remained unpestered during the fourth meal we ate outside, I realized that at home, I would have been swatting away gnats or flies. That’s why it was so surprising when we were coming down the mountain at Delphi to see a little girl squatting on the ground, blocking the narrow path, trying to corral a ladybug.
Her mom was being so patient. We were surrounded by ancient history - the Temple of Apollo, the seat of the Delphic Oracle, the stadium where the Pythian Games were held, the Athenian Treasury, a theatre that accommodated 5,000 spectators, and countless other relics - and this five-year-old child was blind to everything but the bug taking its time getting across the stepping stones. I would have been beside myself trying to get this child to look up from her beetle obsession to see the ancient history around her. But then what?
If mom had dragged her away from the ladybug without any sort of conversation or transition, what the girl would have remembered was her disappointment, and maybe a meltdown. The rest of the visit might have been lost to her. All she would remember about visiting Delphi was that it wasn’t any fun and she wasn’t allowed to see what she wanted.
We see this "ladybug logic" in our churches every Sunday. People walk through our doors carrying their own versions of that beetle. Maybe they are hyper-focused on a minor grievance, a specific social program, or even just the comfort of a familiar seat. From a "big picture" perspective, we might want to shout, "Don’t you see? The Creator of the Universe is here! Why are you worried about the carpet color or the length of the announcements?"
But if we force their heads up before they are ready, we risk losing them entirely. Like the patient mother at Delphi, we have to meet people where they are. If someone is fixated on a "ladybug," it’s often because that is the only thing they feel they can control in a world that feels as massive and overwhelming as those Grecian ruins. To help them see the Temple of Apollo, we first have to acknowledge the beauty of the bug they’re watching.
This patience shouldn't stop at the church foyer. When we interact with the world around us, it’s easy to get frustrated by people who seem "blind" to the spiritual significance of life. We see neighbors and coworkers consumed by temporary stressors—the "bugs" of politics, career ladders, or material gain—while the eternal landscape remains ignored.
Our instinct is often to lecture or pull them toward "what really matters." But true ministry looks a lot like squatting down on a dusty path. It’s about building a bridge of empathy. When we show interest in what they care about—no matter how small it seems to us—we earn the right to eventually say, "Hey, when you're ready, take a look at the view from here. It’s incredible."
In the end, the goal isn't just to get people to see the ruins; it's to make sure they enjoy the journey enough to want to stay. What are your ladybugs? How do you think you might get others to look up from their ladybugs to see God’s love around them?
On the journey with you,
John Johns, Music Director