What Have I To Offer?

Wrestling with the tension between self-promotion and sacred invitation — for creatives, ministers, and anyone offering unseen work to the world.

“A Prayer Before Taking the Stage” (selected excerpts)
From Every Moment Holy, Vol. 1

What have I to offer here that might sustain the souls of others?

I offer you all that I have: my talents, my training, the years spent honing and crafting and creating, my passions, my personality, my history, the many sacrifices I and others have made to be here. I give you even my brokenness, of which I am also a steward.

Take this tiny heap of my talents and my brokenness alike, this jumble of what is best and worst in me, and meld it to the greater work of your Spirit, using each facet as you will, so that, even as sunlight coursing through a cracked prism, your grace might somehow be revealed upon this stage in whatever gloried and peculiar patterns you have fashioned me to display. Amen.

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Spiritual Director Ann Starrette frames it this way:
“What have I to offer that helps people have a fresh encounter with the Holy?”

That question haunts me, in a good way.
Because even when I question the value of my work, I return to that deeper longing:
Not to impress.
But to invite.

To offer whatever I can, including words, presence, and reflection, as a doorway that leads to a fresh encounter with the Holy.

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In The Wealth of Nations, Adam Smith writes:

The labour of some of the most respectable orders in the society... produces nothing which could afterwards purchase or procure an equal quantity of labour.

These “unproductive” or “immaterial” laborers such as educators, ministers, counselors, writers and artists, among others, are often deeply respected in theory, yet in practice they remain some of the most undervalued, underappreciated and underpaid members of society.

As one who dwells in these in-between spaces, I have often wrestled with the need to justify my own work. Statistical reports and bottom lines cannot capture the true worth of a counselor’s care, a pastor’s prayer, or a poem that softens someone’s grief. And yet, in a world obsessed with measurable output, how do we explain work that is invisible, emotional, or spiritual?

The Tension Between Gift and Ego

Marketing a product or a business is normal, but when artists, ministers, writers, and others share their work, it can often be perceived as self-serving. I confess I have struggled with this for many years. Of all the things I do in ministry, I dislike self-promotion the most. And yet, if I don’t share my work, it’s like preparing a feast and not inviting anyone to the table.

Living in Kentucky for five years, Derby Day became a fun tradition for our family to celebrate, which we have continued here in North Carolina. We love making traditional Kentucky Hot Browns (if you know, you know 😊), and we love sharing the tradition with friends.

But imagine if we made a ton of Hot Browns, told no one, and then felt hurt when nobody came.

It sounds absurd, but that’s often what it’s like for creatives and ministers who hesitate to invite others into their work.

Sharing your work is not boasting, it’s offering hospitality.

And yet... the questions persist. “Am I doing this for attention?” “Is this selfish?” “Is this even worth anything?”

I’ve asked all of them. I’ve been conditioned to view visibility as vanity. But I am slowly learning that sharing my work is not about ego.

It’s about invitation.

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The Value of Immaterial Labor

In college, I studied graphic design. Clients would often ask for free work, offering “exposure” as payment. That kind of mindset runs deep, especially in creative work and in ministry. While many of us wish we could work for free, the bills still arrive. As much as we’d like it to, ‘I work for God’ doesn’t cover the rent.

But the issue isn’t just financial, it’s existential.

When I sell books, I barely make enough for a cup of coffee. When I write here on Substack, I do it for free.

I write for the joy of it. I write as a spiritual practice. I write in hopes that someone, somewhere, might read and feel less alone.

And yet, every time I hit “publish,” the old fears resurface.

No one questions the motives of a car manufacturer or a clothing retailer. But the motives of an artist or a minister? Those are almost always up for debate.

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An Invitation to the Table

Getty Images

In a recent post, I reflected on God’s calling in the form of invitation.

I’m starting to believe that the same language applies here. What if the dreaded self-promotion is actually just setting the table and sending out dinner invites?

We all have different gifts. Some are practical and tangible. Others are quiet, ineffable and unmeasurable.

Without the “immaterial labor” of intellect, imagination, and compassion, life would feel lifeless.

Casting Crowns captured this beautifully in their song City on a Hill:

The poets thought the dancers were shallow
And the soldiers thought the poets were weak
...
But it was the rhythm of the dancers
That gave the poets life
It was the spirit of the poets
That gave the soldiers strength to fight

We need one another. Every gift matters. Every offering is sacred, especially the ones that seem small or unseen.

As Peter writes:

“Each of you should use whatever gift you have received to serve others…”

Or, in The Message:

“Be generous with the different things God gave you, passing them around so all get in on it... That way, God’s bright presence will be evident in everything.” (1 Peter 4:10-11)

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My Coracle

The Celtic Saints practiced a kind of pilgrimage called peregrination. They would set out in small, rudderless boats called coracles, with no map, no oars, and no destination. They trusted the currents of God’s Spirit to lead them to their place of resurrection.

That’s how I’ve come to view this writing space.

The page is my boat.

These words are my offering.

I don’t know where they will land.

But I believe we are called to “be generous with the different things God gave us” and trust that “God’s bright presence will be evident in everything through Jesus.”

And maybe, in its own way, setting the table is just another way of launching the boat.

A friend recently said, “I don’t have time to write.”

What immediately rose in me was:

“What if you don’t have time not to write?”

I think these words were just as much for me, as I have truly come to cherish these few set aside hours each week to do nothing but allow the words to float upon this blank screen, like a boat on the water.

I will always struggle with my own mixed bag of motivations, this “heap of my talents and brokenness alike”.

And yet I am still trying to set the table.

Still trying to invite whoever might be hungry for honest wrestling, sacred imagination and reflections on what it means to be human.

May your offering, however quiet or unseen, find its way to those who need it most.

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Join the Conversation

I’d love to hear from you:

• Are there gifts you’re holding back because they don’t seem “useful” enough?

• What table might you be called to set?

• What boat do you need to launch?

Leave a comment below or share this with someone who needs encouragement to keep creating.

And if this resonated with you, consider subscribing or forwarding this to a friend. It means more than you know.

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Coming Soon: Beyond Sundays

What if being part of a church wasn’t just about showing up on Sunday mornings? In this upcoming three-part series, Beyond Sundays, we’ll wrestle with the quiet struggle of church attendance, the toll of our overloaded lives, and what it means to belong with intention.

Part 1: The Hidden Struggle of Church Attendance drops in two weeks. I’ll offer an honest look at how even the most faithful can feel invisible, and why real community must go deeper than a one hour a week.