I was fired.

Not recently. I was 23 and fresh out of college and a year into my first ministry job. Hearing those words made famous by Donald Trump–“You’re Fired!”– became a defining moment in this young leader’s life. I spent the next 45 minutes ugly crying in my office—snot and tears and a bit of whimpering. I prayed for God to undo what I had done. Surely if He could resurrect Jesus, a failed ministry attempt would be a breeze. But I was convinced my life was over.

To be fair, I would have fired me too.

I was hired as a youth pastor—not a mantle of authority I was ready for (or one that I should have been given). I was arrogant and brash. I loved God, but I really loved the attention that ministry brought me. I was a quick study of church work and was instantly comfortable with a mic. The business cards had barely come off the printer before I got to work shaping young hearts with the message of the kingdom. I was busy building a program. I was energetic in my approach and confident on the stage. And then it happened. Lots and lots of kids showed up . . . every week. My influence grew and my fan club swooned. And with my success came an ever-increasing sense of self-importance. I was amazing! And yet in spite of this obvious character flaw, God continued to breathe life on what we were doing.

Not long after I was hired I met David Wilson. He was the chairman of the deacons, and was kind of like the pope of our church. He asked me (though it didn’t really sound like a question) if he could disciple me. I reluctantly agreed, and thus began a weekly predawn meeting in which we studied the scriptures, memorized verses, and talked through hard things. David didn’t ask anything of me except that I work hard and be honest. That’s it. Every Friday I’d show up at his house before Jesus got out of bed and we would do the same thing again and again. I didn’t know at the time what he was doing, what he was developing in me. It wasn’t uncommon for David to pick at my arrogance. To scratch at my pride. He assured me that these threads of rebellion would not create a blanket God would use. He never gave me an ultimatum. Just the opposite. He spent more time with me. Somehow he was able to see beyond my current attitude and behavior and perceive something more.

It was grace at work.

Then I cussed at my pastor. For clarity, it wasn’t one of the really bad cuss words, but the word wasn’t the issue. I cussed AT him. I lost my temper. I spoke before my brain engaged. The words sprinted from my mouth before I could catch them. But it wasn’t the word’s fault. My heart was to blame. The overflow of the heart and such, right? My pastor’s office fell still. Both of us knew what was about to happen.

“You’re fired.”

What comes next came to me second hand. I was too busy mourning the loss of my life and career to care about how Baptist churches handled staff transitions. It turns out my pastor called the chairman of the deacons (David Wilson) and informed him that he had terminated the employment of Jon Quitt.

But I never had to clean out my office.

David saved my job.

I like to imagine how that conversation went. “I know Jon is an idiot. And foolish. And shortsighted. And rebellious. And disrespectful. And lacks a truckload of what it takes to endure in kingdom life. But grace is better.” And then I imagine that David launched into a beautiful sermonette waxing how God loves to use the least likely, most frail, sin-stained, and rebellious hearts because He obviously receives the most glory from such broken vessels.

I served at that church two more years and moved on without looking back to remember how God had used this man in my life and shaped my future ministry.

I attended David’s funeral on Saturday. He was 61.  It had been a decade since I’d even seen his face. We entered the sanctuary that was filled with hundreds and hundreds of people parroting the same story. My story. Grace at work. David led me to Christ . . . David saved our marriage . . . David taught me the Bible . . . I am who I am because David poured his life into mine.  Funny stories. Embarrassing stories. But mostly stories of grace.  David could see what most couldn’t. Not in the flesh and blood way of seeing, but seeing what was possible by God’s power.

These days I pastor a church. I’m still a mess. Frankly, most of the people I pastor are a mess in one way or another. Some days I’m impatient and secretly demand these sheep get their acts together. I cry out to heaven and tell God that these people He gave me are arrogant and idiotic and rebellious and shortsighted. If I could fire them I would. Then the wind of grace blows into my heart and I remember . . . God loves to use the least likely, most frail, sin-stained, and rebellious people.  It’s on those days I hear the echo of David’s voice, “Give them grace.”