There's a moment that happens in every church before the first note plays or the first word is spoken—a sacred, quiet instant where preparation meets purpose. It's a moment known intimately by those who work behind the scenes: the production team. Sound engineers, camera operators, video directors, and lighting technicians—those who translate spiritual moments into visual and auditory experiences.
This letter is dedicated to you, the one who arrives before sunrise and stays long after everyone else has gone home, who sees ministry through cables, soundboards, camera lenses, and lighting consoles. I like to think of it as a love letter—a love letter from our Heavenly Father. You've heard it whispered, sometimes even spoken loudly, sometimes implied in frustrated tones: "We only notice production when something goes wrong." Let me tell you something powerful: You are noticed. You are valuable always—not just in moments of perfection, not just when everything runs smoothly, but in every moment. Your worth is not determined by the absence of mistakes, but by the presence of love. You are seen. You are cherished.
You are essential, not because of what you do perfectly, but because of who you are and whose you are. I want to submit to you that you do not have to perform to be loved. You do not have to impress anyone. Whether you're framing the perfect shot, cutting between camera angles, managing complex video systems, balancing audio levels, or shaping light, you are already loved, completely known, and infinitely valued by God exactly as you are right now in this moment. Your worth is not determined by a perfect sound mix, flawless lighting, seamless video transitions, creative camera angles, or how many technical challenges you can overcome.
The complexity of your video directing does not define your worth. Your value is determined by one immutable, unshakeable truth: You are a beloved child of God.
Many of you have spent years behind cameras, sound consoles, lighting boards, and video switchers, feeling invisible. You've heard the unspoken—and sometimes spoken—message: "Just make sure nothing goes wrong." You've internalized the lie that your value lies in preventing errors rather than creating experiences. But God sees you differently. He sees beyond the technical. He sees your heart. He sees the worship in your hands as you push a fader, dim the lights at just the right time, frame a meaningful shot, or direct a broadcast that connects people to His love. He sees the love in your spirit as you create environments where people can encounter Him.
He sees you not as a technician who might make a mistake, but as His treasured son or daughter. Camera operators, your creative eye is a reflection of God's creativity. Video directors, your ability to weave visual stories is a gift from the ultimate Storyteller. Sound engineers, your gift for creating a great mix reflects the voice of the very God who spoke creation into being. Lighting directors, your mastery of illumination mirrors the One who first said, "Let there be light." You paint with light and shadow to help others see His glory.
So today, I extend an invitation—an invitation to discover your true identity. Understand the depth of God's love for you. Recognize your inherent worth. Embrace grace over performance. Know that you are noticed and valued always. My prayer is that you would know deeply and personally how much the Father loves you, not for what you do, but simply because you are His. You matter. You are seen. You are loved—not because of your skills, not because of your productivity, not because you avoid mistakes, but because you are His. This isn't just another Production 101 talk; it's a declaration of your divine worth.
As a pastor, leader, and father, I want to say that I am deeply sorry. I recognize the weight of this responsibility and acknowledge where we may have fallen short. I'm sorry for the times you felt unworthy because you thought you had to perform for acceptance. I'm sorry for every moment you believed your value was measured by technical perfection, for the sleepless nights, the anxiety, and the constant pressure to be flawless. I'm sorry for the times you were overlooked during your work, for the moments when you poured your heart into a project, fine-tuning every detail, only to have your contribution fade into the background.
I'm sorry for the promotion you thought you were going to get—the one you had prepared for, prayed about, and earned through countless extra hours—only to see it go to someone else. For every time your name wasn't mentioned in the credits or announcements, even though you were the one who stayed up late troubleshooting the system. For those Sundays when your hard work went unnoticed because everything worked perfectly, as that’s exactly what everyone expected. For every time you worked tirelessly behind the scenes, adjusting lights, balancing audio, and managing transitions, while others took the spotlight and received the praise. For the times you solved crisis after crisis during services, and no one knew because you handled it so smoothly.
I'm deeply sorry for the cost to your family—for the bedtime stories you couldn't read to your children, the dance recitals you couldn't attend, for watching your children's faces fall when you had to leave for another church event. For the strain on your marriages when your ministry demanded more and more, for every time your spouse had to explain your absence again, for the family traditions that gradually shifted to accommodate service times, and the celebrations that became abbreviated or delayed. For asking your loved ones to understand, over and over, that ministry called. I'm sorry for the times that this dedication went unappreciated.
For every service where you arrived before sunrise and left long after dark, for the countless weekend sacrifices, the personal plans rearranged, and every moment you put the mission above your own comfort. For when being there for others meant you couldn't always be there for yourself.
Thank you for your hidden sacrifices and the prayers whispered over equipment. Thank you for the technical miracles you perform daily, creating spaces where people can encounter God. Thank you for your dedication that goes far beyond a job. Thank you for being the unseen architects of spiritual moments, for translating technology into testimony. Thank you for your creativity, your passion, your love. Your sacrifices have not gone unnoticed by Heaven.
Your work matters more than you could ever imagine. My prayer is that today you would recognize, receive, and know the unconditional love that our Father has for you, starting from this moment. And that today, you would walk in that love and become the leader He is calling you to be.
— Chad Vegas