Ministry Often Feels Like a Cooking Competition

Every now and then, a metaphor pops into my brain that’s just too good to ignore. I love cooking and baking competitions. Lately I’ve been watching a lot of Chopped and The Great British Bake off. Chopped is a frantic Food Network show where chefs are handed a mystery basket of ingredients.

As I was watching Chopped the other day,  I thought: Oh my goodness… this is also pastoring. To be honest, for a fleeting moment, I thought this metaphor applied during COVID pastoring too. And then the floor is lava competition was produced, and that was far mor apt during those years.

Ministry, thankfully is not a competition and no one necesarily “wins.” But this metaphor resonates because pastoring often feels like showing up each day, opening a basket full of unexpected ingredients—grief, joy, conflict, surprise, hope, and the occasional curveball—and being asked to create something nourishing and holy out of it.

The Mystery Basket: What People Bring With Them

On Chopped, chefs never know what’s coming. Sardines and watermelon? Gummy worms and portobello mushrooms? Anything goes.

Pastoral ministry is exactly like that. Every conversation, every meeting, every Sunday morning brings a new “basket.” Someone arrives carrying deep heartbreak. Another comes with a question that challenges everything. Someone else brings enthusiasm, or laughter, or a story that shakes me in the best way.

I never know the ingredients. My calling is simply to honor them—whatever shows up—and do what I can to help transform them into connection, healing, compassion, or clarity.

Time Pressure: The Clock Is Always Ticking

Chefs on the show get 20 or 30 minutes. The clock counts down loudly. There’s no time to overthink.

Pastoral ministry has its own clocks.

• A renter calls and says the roof is leaking.

• A family calls with sudden news.

• A crisis unfolds.

• A sermon needs finishing.

• A denominational office needs paperwork.

• A community member needs prayer right now.

Even with the internal voice whispering, “I need more time,” the work calls us forward. Ministry doesn’t come with a pause button, so we breathe deep, trust the Spirit, and move.

The Shared Pantry: Faith Resources We Draw From

Chefs have access to a common pantry to fill in what’s missing.

In the church, our pantry includes scripture, prayer, community, sacraments, music, justice-seeking compassion, and all the wisdom gathered from those who came before us. Everyone—absolutely everyone—gets to draw from that pantry.

But like chefs crafting their own dishes, every person needs something different:

• A word of encouragement.

• A moment of stillness.

• A challenge toward growth.

• A reminder that they are beloved.

• A sense of belonging at God’s wide-open table.

Same pantry. Unique dishes.

The Judging: But Not How You Think

On Chopped, chefs stand before the judges, waiting to hear whether their dish will succeed or whether they’ll be asked to pack their knives. The pressure is real, and the fear of being “chopped” hovers over every round.

In ministry, the “judging” isn’t quite the same—but the vulnerability often is. I stand before God and congregation with a sermon, a plan, a conversation, or a pastoral decision that I hope will nourish, comfort, or challenge in the right way. But there are times when a person—or a relationship—just doesn’t “make it.” People leave. Trust breaks. Miscommunication hurts. Plans fall apart. Grief and conflict interrupt the best intentions.

And sometimes I feel like I’m holding a covered dish before the great judges of life—grief, conflict, heartbreak, death, misunderstanding—wondering if I will be tossed aside.

The reality is, sometimes this does happen.

But because I believe in a God of grace, I also believe in perseverance, redemption, and restoration. Even when we feel “chopped,” resurrection is still possible. Broken relationships can heal. Wounds can close. New beginnings can rise from ashes. No one is beyond the reach of grace.

A Better Ending: From Getting “Chopped” to Sharing a Feast

And this is where I start to think that ministry might not actually be most like Chopped after all. Perhaps ministry is more like The Great British Bake Off. On Bake Off, there is technically a competition—but the heart of the show is kindness. Contestants help each other when bakes collapse or timers fail. They celebrate one another’s successes, mourn each other’s disappointments, and cheer loudly for the person who needs it most.

No one gets chopped. People do leave – there is typically a clear winner to celebrate each week and a clear person whose bake didn’t live up to the standards. But no one is humiliated. Everyone grows. There are hugs all around.

And at the end of the season, what happens?

They gather for one giant picnic—a feast where everyone brings what they’ve made, and everyone’s family is invited.

That feels like the Beloved Community to me.

Ministry is not about elimination. It’s not about fear or perfection or avoiding mistakes. It’s about creating a table wide enough for all of us—each with our mismatched ingredients, our half-baked moments, our cracked edges, and our surprising flavors—and discovering that when we bring them together in love, there is always a feast.

A feast.

A family.

A community where no one gets chopped...

And everyone gets fed.