Last week my wife and I had the opportunity to celebrate my mom’s birthday by taking her and my dad to Playhouse Square to see Suffs. Suffs is a musical about the American women’s suffrage movement and the activists who fought for the right to vote leading up to the 19th Amendment. It was incredible! The music was brilliant, the talent extraordinary, and the technical elements were also very well done.
The final song is called “Keep Marching.” It is sung by the main character, Alice Paul, in her old age. It is her final encouragement to the next generation to take up the torch and continue on in the work that she and so many others started.
The reason I tell this story is because when the first words of the song came out of Maya Keleher’s (the actor portraying Alice Paul) mouth, I got a lump in my throat and a tear followed closely behind. The opening line says, “You won’t live to see the future that you fight for.” Even now, only a few months into this incredible opportunity to be the Lead Pastor of CVC, I feel that reality every single day. We’ve been in a season of strategic planning for our church. I’m excited to share some of this vision with you in the months to come. But even in the excitement of blazing new trails and calling our church to make a bigger impact for the Kingdom, I’m keenly aware that I won’t live to see the future that I’m fighting for—praying for.
You won’t either.
We plant seeds of tress whose shade we will never enjoy. We build foundations we will never stand upon. We pray prayers that will be answered long after our voices fall silent.
The older I get, the more I think about the next generation. What will be leave them at CVC? In Cleveland? So much of what feels urgent in the present will fade. But what is done in faith, obedience, and prayer will ripple far beyond our lifetime.
One of the most incredible ways that we meaningfully participate in a future we will never see is through prayer. Prayer is not just about this moment. It is not merely about today’s anxiety, today’s need, or today’s burden—though God invites us to bring those things. Prayer is also about asking God to shape a future we may never personally experience.
When we pray for the next generation, we may never see the fruit.
When we pray for prodigals, we may not live to witness their return.
When we pray for a church to remain faithful, we may not sit in the worship center decades from now.
But prayer reaches into the future where you and me are a distant afterthought.
Throughout Scripture, we see this pattern. Abraham never saw the nation that would come from his obedience. Moses never entered the Promised Land. David gathered materials for a temple he would never build. They fought, labored, trusted, and prayed for a future they would not inhabit.
Lent is not merely about personal improvement. It is about deep roots. It is about tending the interior life so that what grows after us is healthy. When we fast, when we slow down, when we make room for God, we are not just seeking immediate clarity. We are cultivating faithfulness that will outlast us.
The future of our church will not ultimately be shaped by better programming or sharper strategy. It will be shaped by people who pray. People who ask God to do what they cannot manufacture. People who plead for the Spirit to move in ways that will echo long after we are gone.
You won’t live to see the full future you’re fighting for.
Neither will I.
But we can pray for it.
This Lent, as we enter into this season of making room, I want to invite you into prayer that stretches beyond the present moment. Yes, bring your anxieties. Yes, bring your burdens. But also bring your hopes for a future that belongs to God.
Because while we may not live to see the future we fight for, we serve the God who does.
And He is faithful.
