Threadbare to Flourishing
Just recently, I was handed an old yellow St. Mark’s Lutheran Church bag with financial documents inside. My financial secretary had asked me to digitize the files and shred anything we didn’t need to keep anymore. What I found were the financial documents from right before I arrived in Jacksonville.
In 2018, Jacksonville Campus Ministry was hanging on by a thread.
At that time, we had just three board members. Our network of congregational partners had dwindled to almost nothing. We had no individual donors. And in the bank? $30,000. Enough to get through a few more months (maybe). The board was preparing to sign the paperwork to close the ministry altogether. It was a moment heavy with grief, uncertainty, and the ache of a vision that had been vibrant for almost 50 years.
But God wasn’t finished with this ministry.
Just before that fateful meeting, I spoke with one of the board members, Rachel Mumford, and asked if I might be allowed to present a revitalization plan. I was so enthusiastic about the ministry and its rich history that the board graciously agreed to let me share my vision at what was supposed to be the final board meeting.
My proposal was simple but bold: give me three months to rebuild the board and one year to find more funding. I would do the work as a volunteer, so the remaining $30,000 could be used for programming rather than salary.
The board agreed. And that moment of trust changed everything.
What followed wasn’t flashy or fast. It was the slow, faithful work of resurrection. We focused on deep relationships rather than quick fixes. We rekindled old partnerships and forged new ones. We listened closely to students and congregations. We told our story, shared our hopes, and began to imagine a ministry that could meet the real spiritual and social needs of students in Jacksonville today.
And despite the odds being against us, God kept opening doors. One congregation became two. Then three. Then ten. Then thirty. People who once thought campus ministry was something from “another era” began to see how essential it was in this one.
And the students came.
They may have started coming for the food, but then they stayed with their questions, their longing for community, and their desire to find God in the midst of a changing world. From the darkness of what felt like death, a flourishing ministry began to shine through.
Today, our campus ministry has a budget of over $100,000, seven denominational partners, and more than 30 congregational partners. We have five student ministry interns who are being equipped to lead this ministry into its next era. We have housed over a dozen students at Redeemer House, a wild dream in the midst of pandemic fallout. We welcome around 30 students for a meal every week and have an alumni group that meets regularly off campus. Right now, five of our students are actively discerning a call to ordained ministry, something that felt almost unimaginable when we were staring at an empty future just a few years ago.
This is a resurrection story.
It’s about what happens when a community refuses to give up, even when it would have been much easier to close the door. It’s about how God can take what feels like the end and write a new beginning.
Like the story at the heart of our faith, death was not the end. Death is not the end. What we thought was over became the fertile ground where something more beautiful is growing.
Our flourishing campus ministry today isn’t just measured in numbers but in lives changed, students equipped, and communities formed. It’s measured in laughter around shared meals, prayers whispered in quiet corners, and the steady, holy work of building something lasting together.
What was once a dying ministry has become a vibrant, inclusive, and Spirit-led community that is shaping the next generation of Christian leaders.
And for that, we give thanks to the God who brings new life out of death every day. And for you, our faithful partners in ministry who have carried us through.