Jack Hewitt, a sophomore biblical languages major, approached my table in Modero promptly at our agreed time to meet. He was dressed neatly, as always, composed in a way that made the conversation feel intentional before it even began. He carried himself with a quiet steadiness — someone who seemed sure of where he was going. I took notice that his characteristic bright orange water bottle was not with him — a small detail, but one that proved his respect for the formality of the interview, even though it was simply with a classmate and friend.
Hewitt aspires “to be in a pastoral role — to teach and to shepherd the flock in the church.” But that calling is not something distant. It is already unfolding — in classrooms, in church pulpits and in the tension between the two.
This tension is all too familiar to junior worship leadership major Makenzie Slauson. She sat across from me, her cool-girl persona amplified by her blue hat pulled low and a brown bag slung over her shoulder. Effortless and unhurried in a different way, she spoke about ministry with the same clarity as Hewitt but from the perspective of leading worship rather than preaching.
“We are truly just instruments,” Slauson said. “An instrument can make sound and can make music but only if it is played by someone that knows how to.”
Between Hewitt’s calling to shepherd and Slauson’s image of an instrument, a shared understanding emerges. Ministry is not about control. It is about being used.
That reality complicates what ministry looks like in a classroom.
On paper, preaching during college can seem like an assignment — a sermon written for a grade, delivered under evaluation. Structure, deadlines, expectations.
But for Hewitt, it does not feel that simple.
“We aren’t required to do a certain amount of preaching,” Hewitt said. “The only time we are tasked with writing a sermon is for a biblical preaching class.”
Though aspiring pastors are encouraged to take every opportunity to preach while in college, doing so is never an expectation. Then, the purpose is not performance.
“You don’t get a higher grade if you take advantage of these opportunities,” Hewitt said. “But it is best for you and the church.”
What exists instead is something closer to invitation than obligation — what Hewitt describes as a “gracious shove in the right direction.”
Slauson echoed another sort of tension between preparation and dependence.
“Preparation is essential,” Slauson said. “But you can’t mess up what the Lord has ordained.”
The structure is there. The work matters. But the outcome does not ultimately belong to them.
For Hewitt, that truth reshapes what preparation actually is.
“I love sermon prep,” Hewitt said. “When you are preparing, it is like you are teaching and convicting yourself through studying the scripture and encouraging yourself to follow in God’s footsteps.”
Before anything is delivered outwardly, it is worked inwardly. From my time spent with Hewitt, I realized something that seems so simple: the sermon reaches the preacher first.
Slauson described a similar process in worship.
“All we have is our brokenness to offer to Him,” she said. “We are showing His people who He is and telling them to look at Him.”
In both cases, preparation is not about creating something impressive. It is about surrendering something honest.
Still, the calling does not erase difficulty. If anything, it exposes it.
“The hardest part is that I am terrified of public speaking,” Hewitt admitted. “Which is extremely ironic, but it is the truth.”
The irony is clear — someone called to preach, yet afraid to speak. But the fear does not negate the calling. It reframes it.
“God is going to use my teaching, my mistakes and my successes to do what He wants to do with them,” Hewitt said. “I just have to submit to His will.”
Slauson returned to the same idea from a different angle.
“The instrument by itself is completely useless,” she said.
Without God, Slauson cannot lead either. Together, their perspectives point to the same conclusion: the effectiveness of ministry does not rest on the person delivering it but on the Savior who uses that vessel.
“The only thing that accomplishes anything in worship is the Spirit,” Slauson said. “We are just vessels through which He does that.”
That dependence becomes even more complex in the classroom, however, where structure is unavoidable.
“It is a hard balance to strike,” Hewitt said. “The way I frame it is that I’m learning these general rules and guidelines … so that the Spirit can lead me through organization.”
Grades, papers, tests and other elements of classroom structure can feel restrictive, but Hewitt sees it as something else entirely.
“God is a God of order,” he said. “God uses us through the structures which we create if they are not an obstruction.”
The distinction is subtle but important.
“[Ministry] is not a product of these structures,” Hewitt said. “But a product of the Holy Spirit using these structures.”
Structure is not the source of ministry. It is a means. Preparation and dependence are not in competition. They work together.
Even without a formal title, Hewitt is already learning what it means to lead while still being led.
“I’m not the one with the staff yet,” he said. “I’m just trying to be a good sheep, pushing the sheep in the right direction with me.”
It is leadership that begins with humility, and Jack Hewitt is undoubtedly heading in the right direction.
In classrooms, on stages and in quiet moments of preparation, students like Hewitt and Slauson are learning that their calling is not something they control.
They study. They prepare. They step forward when given the opportunity. They lay their talents at the feet of Jesus. But the weight they carry is not the weight of performance — it is the weight of participation in something greater than themselves.
They are not simply completing assignments. They are being formed. And in that formation, the distinction between classroom and calling begins to blur — not because the classroom becomes sacred — but because the calling does not turn off when the assignment begins.
What remains is a posture — not of control but of surrender. Not of performance but of faithfulness. Not as the source but as the instrument.