Recently, I wrote about my anxiety over whether my passport would be renewed in time for me to travel to Canada to teach a class for which students are already registered. By the time you read this, it’s all water under the bridge, because one way or another, the class is already over. But as I write this, Memorial Day has just passed, and the situation is still open-ended. I still don’t have my passport, and I’m supposed to be getting on a plane in less than two weeks.

Having just finished a teaching series on Philippians, I’m deeply aware of Paul’s counsel to not be anxious, but to pray and know the peace of God instead. I’ll admit, though, that I’m still a little worried. I know this isn’t a doomsday scenario. I can easily think of others around me who have much bigger problems to worry about. And I know that God is faithful whether I get to Toronto or not.

But Lord, have mercy: there’s enough at stake that I’m having a hard time letting it go.

I’ve tried to get information from the State Department, but that’s been… well, frustrating. It states clearly on their website that you aren’t allowed to call them until 2 weeks before your scheduled departure. So I waited. The first day I was allowed to call this past Saturday. I tried to be one of the first in what I knew would be a long queue. By the time I worked my way through the automated call system, it announced that my wait time would be over two hours. I stayed on hold that whole time, as the same piece of classical music played over and over on an endless loop.

Finally, an actual person picked up the line. He asked my travel date, I told him, and he replied that he couldn’t help me — it was too early to call. “But the website says two weeks,” I protested. “I’m supposed to be on a plane exactly two weeks from now.”

“Yes,” he replied, “but we don’t count weekends and holidays. The earliest you can call is Tuesday.”

“But I double-checked this morning to be sure. The website doesn’t say anything about weekends and holidays.”

“I know,” he said tiredly. “I get that complaint all day, every day.” Naturally, I asked why someone doesn’t fix the website. He basically replied that it wasn’t his job.

So per his advice, I called again Tuesday, this morning, first thing. I got up at 4:30 AM, again trying to queue up early. When I called at 5, the automated voice started walking me through the instructions. Then it went silent for a few seconds, before saying (and I quote), “Thank you for calling. Goodbye.” I called again. This time, I got a different message. Essentially, I was told that they couldn’t take my call because too many people were calling. Mornings aren’t good; could you call another time?

As Charlie Brown would say when Lucy yanked away the football: AAUGH!

Why am I telling you this? Because I’m reminded of something else Paul said in Philippians: “Conduct yourselves in a manner worthy of the gospel of Christ” (1:27, NIV). When the agent told me he couldn’t help me, I was angry. I wanted to scream. I wanted to take my frustration out on the hapless person with the unenviable job of delivering the bad news. I was frustrated with the bureaucracy and incredulous that someone couldn’t make a simple edit to the website to save a whole bunch of people a whole lot of wasted time and effort — on both ends of the call.

But part of me whispered, “Don’t shoot the messenger.” Despite my anger, I knew that this was not who I wanted to be, not who God is still making me to be. I decided to lean into compassion instead. How frustrating for him — indeed, for everyone else in his position! — to have to listen to complaints all day long while feeling powerless to do anything to change the situation. “I get it,” I told him. “I know it’s not your fault.”

Living in a way that is worthy of the gospel doesn’t necessarily mean selling all our possessions or trekking through the jungle as a missionary. As Philippians teaches, it can be as mundane a thing as striving to remain humble in the face of conflict, of having compassion for the other person’s need. And if we look for them, we’ll probably discover that simple opportunities to embody such humility and compassion abound.

So how would the gospel have you live today, right now? What would the gospel ask you to change in one specific instance, in one relationship?

Let’s start there, and see where else God will take us.