The Scars of Ministry - Charlie Kirk and A Communion Kit

For those who don’t know, this is a communion kit. It’s exactly what it sounds like—a small box used to carry the elements of communion. I use it in my work to offer the sacrament to people who cannot attend church and receive it with their congregation. In my line of work, I meet many in that situation, and they deeply value the opportunity to share communion during my visits.

This kit is nothing special. Honestly, it’s rather cheap. It’s made of brittle plastic, covered with a thin, fake leather veneer that has worn away in several places. The hinges are failing, and the lid no longer closes squarely. Over the years, I’ve been tempted to replace it with something sturdier, “a little more professional,” but each time I come close to ordering a new one, I hesitate.

You see, this old communion kit and I have been through a lot together over more than 20 years of ministry. We’ve traveled to many places and met many people. It was with me in my first ministries in the mountains of western North Carolina and northeast Tennessee. It came back with Erin and me to Pittsburgh, where it’s helped me serve communion to hundreds—perhaps thousands—of congregants and hospice patients across southwestern Pennsylvania. It accompanied me during my time in the Air Force, ministering to airmen, soldiers, sailors, and marines in Alaska, Iraq, and Kuwait. It even made an appearance at Mission Control inside the Kennedy Space Center in Florida.

This kit has seen countless moments of ministry, and despite its age and scars, it continues to do its job faithfully as I visit the terminally ill and members of my little church.

As I loaded it for a visit this afternoon, I found myself pausing to reflect on its condition. It’s a humble kit of little earthly value—no fine craftsmanship, no engraved message. Nothing about it would catch a stranger’s eye if it were lost. Yet to me, it’s sacred. Other than God and my family, this kit is the one tangible thing that has remained with me through most of my ministry. Its scars mirror my own.

Our nation—and especially my brothers and sisters in Christ—are reeling from the assassination and martyrdom of Charlie Kirk. He was shot and killed for the “crime” of engaging in open dialogue and debate on culture, politics, and faith. His influence reached millions, especially among the younger generation. With the breadth of his ministry, it’s certain that even before that fatal shot, Charlie carried many scars.

Compared to Charlie’s work, mine is quiet. I don’t stand before thousands. I don’t have a massive social media platform. Yet, like countless pastors and Christian leaders, I step out each day in faith, serving as God called me, knowing it will leave scars. And the scars are inevitable. Some are obvious—harsh criticism, insults, direct attacks. Others are subtle but no less real—low pay, tight budgets, overwhelming expectations, long hours, and time stolen from family. I never imagined I would live to see a Christian brother so brutally and publicly martyred here in the “Land of the Free.” Yet here we are. And that reality itself is a fresh wound which will leave a most indelible scar among all who serve and lead.

So today, as I look at this scarred little communion kit—my longtime “partner in ministry”—I can’t help but see the parallel. The scars it carries so plain for all to see, I carry within my heart and upon my soul. Pray for your pastors and Christian leaders this week. We’re all carrying long time scars and fresh wounds as we prepare for our services this weekend. You might not see them, but I promise you they are there.

Even still, the work carries on because the One who called us is faithful and worthy of all praise and service; come what may.

—Tom