Reflections from the Frontline of Ministry
By ASR David Jamieson, Scripture Reader at Kinloss and Fort George
When I started as a full-time Scripture Reader with SASRA in September 2024, I had a strong sense of calling, but also more than a few uncertainties. I came in with prayerful goals, hopes and a rough sketch of what I thought the work would look like.
What I’ve found is that ministry here rarely sticks to a plan. It asks for something simpler and harder: faithfulness. As Paul wrote in 2 Corinthians 5:7, ‘For we walk by faith, not by sight.’
Nearly a year on, I’ve been looking back, not because everything has gone as expected, but because so much of what’s happened has been unexpected and quietly significant.
The Long Game of Trust
This is not work you can rush. Real conversations about faith rarely happen on day one. Most begin in the small, ordinary moments, a chat in the mess, a joke in passing, a wave across the car park. If you keep showing up, people start to notice. They realise you’re not just visiting. You’re there.
If you keep showing up, people start to notice.
A Christian writer once said, ‘Ministry is more about showing up than speaking up.’ That’s proven true over and over again. Soldiers don’t need someone with all the answers. More often, they just need someone who’s willing to listen without judgement.
Paul captured it well when he wrote to the Thessalonians:
‘So, being affectionately desirous of you, we were ready to share with you not only the gospel of God but also our own selves...’
That sums it up. These young soldiers don’t need a sermon. They need someone who’ll sit with them in the messiness of life and stay.
Gospel Conversations in Unexpected Places
Some of the most meaningful conversations I’ve had about faith have started in the most unlikely moments: during a quick smoke break, after someone has been chewed out, or sitting in a corridor while waiting to speak to someone else. Sometimes it’s pressure, sometimes it’s boredom, but those are often the open doors.
When they open, Scripture can speak with surprising clarity. One verse I’ve come back to again and again is:
‘God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.’
Most of these conversations are private, brief and far from dramatic. But they matter. A small seed gets planted. A light flickers on, even just for a second.
I’ve also found working with Chaplains and officers to be a blessing. We may approach things differently, but there’s often a shared desire to care for the whole person. That mutual respect opens the way for more good conversations.
Tim Keller once said, ‘The Christian life is not about self-fulfilment but self-denial. We follow a crucified Saviour.’ That keeps things in perspective. This isn’t about results you can measure. It’s about being obedient in the moment, quietly, faithfully.
There’s no church building here. No congregation. No pulpit. Ministry in this setting is informal, unplanned and nearly always personal.
Ministry in this setting is informal, unplanned and nearly always personal.
It happens over coffee. During a walk between buildings. In the middle of a break. It’s woven into the daily rhythm of life on an Army camp. You don’t need a microphone; you just need to be there.
You don’t need a microphone; you just need to be there.
Sometimes that means sitting beside someone who’s had a rough day, saying nothing, just being present. Hebrews 13:16 comes to mind:
‘Do not neglect to do good and to share what you have, for such sacrifices are pleasing to God.’
Often, what I have to offer isn’t advice or insight, but time, patience and a willingness to show up again tomorrow.
Meeting People Where They Are
You don’t have to be extraordinary. You just have to be available.
Many of the people I speak with haven’t had much exposure to Christianity. Some are indifferent. Some are curious. Others carry deep questions or past wounds related to ‘religion’.
You can’t make assumptions. You learn to listen first. You ask questions. You sit with uncertainty.
James 1:19 has been good advice in this role:
‘Let every person be quick to hear, slow to speak, slow to anger.’
Henri Nouwen once wrote, ‘Presence is the greatest gift you can give to another human being.’ I’ve found that to be true in countless ways. You don’t have to be extraordinary. You just have to be available.
Image: Scripture Readers see the importance of sitting down together to talk, to listen, to invest in the lives of service personnel. ©SASRA
Learning Army Life
Coming from an RAF background, I thought I had a fair handle on military structure. But the Army? That’s a different beast. Getting to grips with pips and crowns, I still remember the time I saluted a driver, mistaking him for a senior officer. It was awkward, but it broke the ice, that driver still rags me each time we encounter each other.
I’m not here to impress. I’m here to serve.
Moments like that remind people I’m still learning. They also remind me that I’m not here to impress. I’m here to serve. And that kind of humility, honest, unforced, goes further than you’d think.
Even now, I’m still getting used to the different rhythms of Army life, understanding the Chain of Command, the tempo of training, the way things work behind the scenes. It’s a steep learning curve, but it’s also part of earning trust.
Quiet Fruitfulness
Over time, trust grows. A soldier who used to keep their distance might ask for a Bible. Another might confide a personal struggle. These aren’t headline moments. But they are real glimpses of God at work.
Paul urged Timothy:
‘Preach the word; be ready in season and out of season... with complete patience and teaching.’
That’s what this role asks for: patience, consistency and readiness, for whenever the moment comes.
The fruit is rarely fast and often invisible to others. But in the quiet, in the long game of trust, something lasting begins to grow.
The Cost and the Joy
This role takes you straight into the thick of real life.
This ministry is not easy. It’s emotionally demanding. It asks you to be present even when you’re tired or uncertain. You can’t rely on words alone; you have to live what you say.
Often, the most powerful witness comes in silence. In staying when it would be easier to leave.
Henri Nouwen put it like this:
The spiritual life does not remove us from the world but leads us deeper into it.
This role takes you straight into the thick of real life. It’s not polished. It’s not controlled. But it’s exactly where the gospel belongs, right in the mess with the people who need it most.
Being a Scripture Reader isn’t about being a flashy TV evangelist. It’s about being faithful in the ordinary. About pointing to Jesus quietly, consistently and trusting that God is doing more than you can see.
A Word of Thanks
Image: ASR David and Laiyee Jamieson.
None of this would be possible without support, and I couldn’t write this reflection honestly without mentioning how much the encouragement and love of my wife, Laiyee, has meant through this journey.
This kind of ministry isn’t a solo effort. It affects your rhythms, your home life, your energy. Laiyee has stood with me from day one, with wisdom, patience, prayer and plenty of grace.
This kind of ministry isn’t a solo effort.
She’s helped me process hard days. She’s reminded me why I started when things have felt slow or uncertain. She’s made our home a place of rest, reflection and support.
Behind every conversation I’ve had on base, every decision made in prayer and every quiet act of service, there’s been a wife who’s quietly been serving too, and for that I’m deeply thankful.
Grateful for the Journey
This first year has been full of lessons, challenges and encouragements. I’m thankful for the conversations, for the trust and for the small, surprising moments of grace that keep me going.
Please continue to pray, for open hearts, for courage, for wisdom. Pray that those I meet wouldn’t just hear about Jesus but come to know Him for themselves. And thank you for your continued prayer support. It genuinely makes this work possible.
And to Laiyee, thank you. I know this role hasn’t always been easy to carry second-hand, but you’ve carried it with me in love, in prayer and with strength that I’ve leaned on more than you know.
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