When Your Ministry Seems Fruitless
Let me tell you a story—or rather, several stories like branches growing from the same vine. They are stories about waiting through winter, about barren soil turning fertile, about the careful pruning of the Great Vinedresser who produces life from what once seemed fruitless.
The Ancient Chorus of Empty Cradles
Picture three couples, separated by centuries but united by a common ache. Their stories echo through Scripture like a refrain in a song you can’t quite forget.
First, there’s Sarah and Abraham. God whispers a promise to Abraham under a canopy of stars: descendants as numerous as those pinpricks of light above. But years crawl by, and Sarah’s womb remains closed. Abraham lies awake at night wondering who will inherit everything he’s built. The promise feels like a cruel joke until, impossibly, laughter fills their tent when Isaac arrives—his very name meaning “he laughs.” (Genesis 12:1-4, Genesis 15:2-3, Genesis 21:1-5)
Then there’s Elizabeth and Zechariah, righteous and blameless, yet bearing the quiet shame that their culture heaped upon the childless. Neighbors whispered. Relatives offered unwanted advice. But God was writing a different story, one that would burst into the world with John the Baptist’s wild cry in the wilderness. When Elizabeth finally held her son, she declared what her heart had always known: God sees, God remembers, God restores. (Luke 1:5-25)
And Hannah and Elkanah—oh, Hannah’s story cuts deepest of all. Year after year, she climbed the temple steps with tears streaming down her face. Her rival mocked her. Her husband tried to comfort her but couldn’t understand. One day, broken open by grief, she prayed so desperately that the priest thought she was drunk. But God heard every silent scream, every whispered plea. When Samuel came, she kept her promise and gave him back to the Lord—a mother’s ultimate act of faith. (1 Samuel 1:1-28)
The Shift: From Cradles to Disciples
My heart goes out to those who are struggling with the physical, emotional, and even social challenges associated with not being able to have children. Even now we are praying daily for dear friends in exactly this situation. The ancient accounts of physical barrenness, like those of Sarah or Hannah, certainly have instructions and application for those who are struggling with barrenness today. But these long shadows touch another kind of emptiness: spiritual barrenness, a longing that doesn’t always show up on a family tree or in an empty nursery.
There are those who are crying out for spiritual children. They are laboring to see people who are born again, grow to maturity in Christ, and multiply His gospel to others. The Apostle Paul understood this well. He longed to see the lost reached and he counts those whom he ushers into the kingdom like his spiritual children. He called Timothy and Titus his true sons in the faith—not born from his body, but from the investment of his evangelistic efforts, teaching, and love (1 Timothy 1:2, Titus 1:4). He discipled the Thessalonian church like a father and mother (1 Thessalonians 2:7-12). And he agonized over the Corinthian church like a parent when they were being led astray by false apostles (1 Corinthians 4:14-16).
To be sure, Jesus warns against assuming the controlling and positional leadership of a “father” but He certainly is not telling us not to parent, teach, and lead those we are discipling. He is warning against the vain ambition of positional leadership that interferes with one’s loyalty to the true Father, Teacher, and Master. But He is not forbidding relational leadership that is quick to point to the ultimate authority.
A Personal Wilderness: Walking Through My Own Desert
Now let me tell you about my experience.
As an Army Chaplain, Fort Jackson stretched before Deb and I like an endless wasteland of disappointment. I was in my early forties, watching guys younger than I lead thriving ministries—groups of fifty, sixty, a hundred young believers gathering around them. Meanwhile, I knocked on barrack doors that never opened. I shared the gospel with soldiers who nodded politely and walked away. Week after week, month after month, year after year, nothing.
The fruitlessness was suffocating.
I developed a routine born of desperation. At four-thirty in the morning, before the sun dared show its face, I’d slip out and walk the trails. Not for exercise—for privacy. I needed a place where no one could see this Airborne Ranger cry. Where no one could witness the questions I hurled at heaven: “God, am I in the wrong place? Did I miss Your call? Why is everyone else fruitful while I’m dying in this desert?”
One particular morning stands out like a scar on my memory. I couldn’t even make it down the trail. I collapsed to my knees right there, tears mixing with the dust, and I broke. Every wall I’d built around my disappointment crumbled.
“Help us, Lord,” I begged. “We need Your power. We need Your Spirit. We need Your blessing. Please.”
In that moment—I can’t say I felt any relief like Hannah did. In fact, my wife and I made a commitment. We weren’t going to try to force the ministry into existence. If God didn’t do something, we were just going to watch the grass grow. But God had heard. He was working, even if I couldn’t see it yet.
Shortly after, orders came through: Fort Benning.
The change wasn’t just geographical; it was spiritual. Suddenly the doors that had been bolted shut swung open. Soldiers began to show interest in spiritual things and started asking questions. Disciples appeared—genuine, hungry believers who wanted to grow. The barren ground began to bloom. Soon we were networking with ministries on every major Army installation sending them the enlisted and officers we had discipled for Jesus.
Looking back, I understand now what I couldn’t see then: that wilderness season wasn’t wasted time. It was preparation. Those tear-soaked trails during my morning walks were my deepest lessons, my training ground for radical dependence on God. The frustration taught me to pray like I’d never prayed before. The apparent failure stripped away my confidence in my own abilities and forced me to cling to God’s promises alone. We would never again experience that kind of barrenness. God gave us spiritual kids, lots and lots of kids!
The Fort Benning Ministry 2009
The Hannah Syndrome: A Prayer for Disciple-Makers
I call it the “Hannah Syndrome” now—that season of deep longing, persistent prayer, and faithful waiting for fruit that hasn’t yet appeared. Every disciple-maker I’ve mentored has faced it. Every church planter knows it. That stretch of time when you’re sowing seeds in what feels like concrete, when you’re speaking truth into what seems like a void.
Young couples come to us now, starting new ministries, planting churches, and they ask with anxious eyes: “How long until we see results? When will people respond? Are we doing something wrong?”
We tell them our story. We tell them about those predawn trails. We remind them that God’s timeline rarely matches our expectations, but His timing is always perfect. Spiritual fruit grows in God’s seasons, not ours. He is doing a work in us as we desire Him to do a work through us. He is molding and shaping that which only comes from enduring the pains that come before childbirth in order to prevail in the arduous work of childrearing.
Even Jesus experienced this in His ministry. There are only two times we read about Jesus crying. Once was right before He raised His dear friend Lazarus from the dead and once was over the lostness of His people.
“When He approached Jerusalem, He saw the city and wept over it, saying, ‘If you had known in this day, even you, the things which make for peace! But now they have been hidden from your eyes…'” (Luke 19:41-42)
Now there are billions of people who have professed Christ as Lord and His Father is their Father.
For most Christians this ache of the heart is very foreign. They are just trying to manage the affairs of everyday life and keep their heads above water. The goal is to be a “good” person and make it into heaven. But for those of us who are gripped by the brokenness we see all around us and Jesus’ heart for the lost, we are compelled by His Great Commission to see scores of people being born again. His heart has become our heart.
The Heart is More Important than the Method
But before we convince ourselves that all we need to do is get up early, walk on a trail, and shed a few tears, then God is obligated to give us a booming ministry. That would be what I like to call “Meth-idolatry.” No, it’s all about aligning our hearts with God and believing that He is willing and able to give us spiritual offspring. The power is in the prayer of a heart seeking the same things Jesus is. He teaches us that we need to be patient and persistent in His parable about the widow demanding justice;
Now He was telling them a parable to show that at all times they ought to pray and not to lose heart, saying, “In a certain city there was a judge who did not fear God and did not respect man. There was a widow in that city, and she kept coming to him, saying, ‘Give me legal protection from my opponent. ‘ For a while he was unwilling; but afterward he said to himself, ‘Even though I do not fear God nor respect man, yet because this widow bothers me, I will give her legal protection, otherwise by continually coming she will wear me out. ‘” And the Lord said, “Hear what the unrighteous judge said; now, will not God bring about justice for His elect who cry to Him day and night, and will He delay long over them? I tell you that He will bring about justice for them quickly. However, when the Son of Man comes, will He find faith on the earth?” (Luke 18:1–8)
It’s not about doing the right thing to see the right results. It’s about becoming the kind of person God can entrust His children to. The right kind of people will do the right things because they have the right heart. This is the pre-birth work the Holy Spirit is doing in us as we develop into trustworthy disciple-makers.
From Tears to Promise
I hope to encourage those of you who are going through a season of barrenness. Your God feels your aching heart. He sees your passionate desire to make a difference. He knows you are trying hard to see the kingdom advance in your little area of responsibility. He is the One who promised;
Those who sow in tears shall reap with joyful shouting. He who goes to and fro weeping, carrying his bag of seed, Shall indeed come again with a shout of joy, bringing his sheaves with him. (Psalm 126:5–6)
But remember He also admonished us with these words;
I am the vine, you are the branches; he who abides in Me and I in him, he bears much fruit, for apart from Me you can do nothing. (John 15:5)
So keep sharing the gospel. Keep making disciples and being the church. Keep loving people the way Jesus loves people. Keep praying. Never quit. We will bear fruit in His season. It may not happen in our sense of timing. It may not look like what we expect. We might not even see it this side of heaven. But for those who abide in Christ, it is a promise from God.
ToBeLikeJesus 