Month: February 2013

A Sermon for the Second Sunday in Lent – February 24, 2013

Eleanor Lee Wellford, Associate Rector

The word of the LORD came to Abram in a vision, “Do not be afraid, Abram, I am your shield; your reward shall be very great.” But Abram said, “O Lord GOD, what will you give me, for I continue childless, and the heir of my house is Eliezer of Damascus?” And Abram said, “You have given me no offspring, and so a slave born in my house is to be my heir.” But the word of the LORD came to him, “This man shall not be your heir; no one but your very own issue shall be your heir.” He brought him outside and said, “Look toward heaven and count the stars, if you are able to count them.” Then he said to him, “So shall your descendants be.” And he believed the LORD; and the LORD reckoned it to him as righteousness.

Then he said to him, “I am the LORD who brought you from Ur of the Chaldeans, to give you this land to possess.” But he said, “O Lord GOD, how am I to know that I shall possess it?” He said to him, “Bring me a heifer three years old, a female goat three years old, a ram three years old, a turtledove, and a young pigeon.” He brought him all these and cut them in two, laying each half over against the other; but he did not cut the birds in two. And when birds of prey came down on the carcasses, Abram drove them away.

As the sun was going down, a deep sleep fell upon Abram, and a deep and terrifying darkness descended upon him.

When the sun had gone down and it was dark, a smoking fire pot and a flaming torch passed between these pieces. On that day the LORD made a covenant with Abram, saying, “To your descendants I give this land, from the river of Egypt to the great river, the river Euphrates.”

                                                                                                           -Genesis 15:1-12,17-18

I’m not sure how old I was, but I remember so well asking my Mother if she thought I’d marry a prince and become a princess one day.  I had just finished reading Cinderella and had visions of a fairy tale wedding in my head.  In answer to my question, my Mother said that it was certainly a possibility – but that wasn’t what I was hoping to hear.  So then I asked: “Will you promise me that I’ll be a princess?”  And of course she told me she couldn’t make a promise like that and I walked away feeling sad and disappointed.

I remember my own daughters asking me such questions when they were young and I couldn’t really give them any more reassurance than my Mother had given me.  Although children are able to trust easily, they seem to need promises to hang onto to make them feel less anxious about their future.  We adults could use promises like that, also, but too many of us have become skeptical of promises – so much so that it’s become our nature to need plenty of proof and reassurance before we are willing to fully trust in anyone or anything.

At first, Abram, later re-named Abraham, was a trusting soul when God called him away from his hometown ofUrand promised him a new land in which to live.  God also promised that he would have many offspring to occupy and possess that new land.  Abram must have felt truly blessed by God as he answered God’s call of him; but as time went on and he saw no evidence that God was making good on those promises, Abram began to doubt if they would ever come true.  His trust was wearing thin. 

 After all, he was tired and worn out from wandering around and was ready to settle down somewhere.  And he and his wife, Sarah, were well into their 90s and had yet to produce a child.  His patience, like his trust, was also wearing thin.  “I continue childless” he reminded God and how will I know that I’ll possess the land that You have promised me?  And God answered him in a vision.  He said: “… your reward shall be very great.  …Look toward heaven and count the stars…so shall your descendants be, and to your descendants I give this land” (Genesis 15:1, 10, 18).  And with those words, Abram’s trust in God was renewed.

 Impatience is certainly something that we can all relate to – even impatience with God.  We only have to look at the Psalms and see the impatience and distrust that flow through our veins: “How long, O Lord…(how long must I wait)…how long shall I have perplexity in my mind?” (Psalm 13:1-2).

 Years ago when I was an intern, I visited a young woman who was dying of a rare blood disease.  She had dedicated her life to helping others in the healthcare field which is why all those who knew and loved her were so saddened by the unfairness of what was happening to her.  Besides that, she had a child who still needed her, and the reality of the fact that she would not be around to celebrate the milestones in her son’s life was devastating to her.  With tears in her eyes, she asked what she had done in her life to cause such pain.  What she really wanted to know was: why was God punishing her?

 Like Abram, this young woman’s trust and patience in a loving God had grown thin.  She had assumed that her life would be full of blessings but it seemed to her that God was taking away all hope of that ever happening.  She felt angry about this and then felt guilty for being angry with God.  She was clearly in need of pastoral care and I was clearly in need of experience in how to give that to her.  My little bit of training told me to be a non-anxious presence and just listen to what she was saying and how she was feeling.  But the longer I sat and listened to her, the more anxious I became to talk to her about God – to venture out on the treacherous limb called my personal theology.

 I asked her if she had read any of the Psalms recently or any passages from the book of Job, because I wanted her to identify with the anger that is expressed there just in case she didn’t think God could take what she had to dish out, or just in case she didn’t feel justified in being angry with God. I then suggested that it’s easy to believe that we are somehow entitled to blessings, especially when we live a good and decent life as she had.  But there are no promises that we’ll get a fairy tale life.  Our parents couldn’t promise us that, and we as parents can’t promise our children that. 

 It was important to me that she knew that God was not punishing her for anything she did or didn’t do because I told her that I believed so strongly in what Paul had written in his letter to the Romans which was that nothing can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus – absolutely nothing (Romans 8:38).  She then told me that she was not feeling God’s love or protection of her or her family right now and I told her that she wasn’t alone in feeling that way.  Although I didn’t say it, it’s exactly how Abram was feeling in what we heard this morning which is why God told him: “Do not be afraid, Abram, I am your shield” (Genesis 15:1). 

 I suggested to her that even though we don’t feel as if God is listening or acting in our best interest or even being our shield against something like devastating diseases, God is in the midst of all that is happening to us and being with us in on our pain and suffering, taking it on and showing us a way through it.  I told her that’s what I thought healing was all about, and that healing could take many forms which we may not be able to see or understand in our lifetimes.  I think the only part of healing she wanted to hear about at that moment was in terms of a cure for her disease.  And I couldn’t blame her for that.  I have no doubt, though, that she found the peace she longed for.

 Abraham had to wait until he was nearly 100 years old before he heard the words he had longed for from his wife, Sarah – the words that confirmed that she was, indeed, with child.  He had finally received the blessing that had been promised him so long ago.  And it was a time when just the thought of having a baby at their age had made Sarah laugh.  And maybe Sarah laughed because she had finally run out of tears of impatience and disappointment. 

 So the questions are: what does God promise us?  And just how much do we trust in God to make good on those promises?

 I believe that what God promises us is love – unearned and unconditional love with the power to heal like nothing else can; but the problem is that based on what our experiences in life have taught us, we are not able to respond with unconditional trust in that love.  Like Abram, we want assurances that God hasn’t forgotten about us and we get impatient enough to want God to act in our time and on our terms.  We also want to know we haven’t done anything to make God change His mind about us and withdraw His love leaving us alone in our misery.

 We may well do that to each other but God doesn’t act that way.  God’s heart doesn’t harden the way ours does.  God answers our acts of blatant distrust with acts of radical love – a love so full of healing that it knows no biases or boundaries.  Abram learned to trust in God’s love and was blessed many times over – even beyond his lifetime.  All we have to do is look to the promise of Easter to trust that those blessings are for us as well.

A Sermon for the First Sunday in Lent

Year C – February17, 2013

David H. Knight, Priest Associate

(Now) through these days of penitence,
and through thy Passiontide,
yea ever-more, in life and death,
Jesus! With us abide.
                                      Hymn 142 –  stanza 3

It is hard to believe Lent is already upon us.  It seems that only recently we had begun Advent.  Both Advent and Lent are seasons of preparation.  In Advent we prepare for the birth of a baby, the Christ Child. Now in Lent, we prepare for Christ’s passion and death on the cross. The absence of Alleluias in our liturgy and music symbolize the penitential nature of this season.  It is a preparation, a journey in which the Church invites us to travel faithfully if we are to experience the power and the joy of the Resurrection at Easter.  This season for you and me is intended to provide a spiritual depth and power for our journey that comes to us as you and I respond in faith to the trials we face, its temptations and the testing that comes our along our path.

As we begin this season of Lent, I would invite us for a moment to look ahead some weeks to the Liturgy for Palm Sunday. During the liturgy for Palm Sunday, when the Great Procession halts momentarily, there is read what is called the Station Collect.  It’s also the collect for Monday in Holy week, and it is included in Daily Morning Prayer as A Collect for Fridays.  If you will turn for a moment in your Prayer Books to page 272: at the top of the page is this station collect. I would invite us to read this collect together:

  “Almighty God, whose most dear son went not up to joy but first he suffered pain, and entered not into glory before he was crucified: Mercifully grant that we, walking in the way of the cross, may find it none other than the way of life and peace; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.”

 Almighty God, whose dear son went not up to joy, but first he suffered pain, and entered not into glory before he was crucified…

 Praying this collect reminds us that Jesus was to suffer at the hands of sinful people before he went up to joy.  He was to be killed in an act of cruel violence before he would enter into glory.  As you and I pray these words we ask for the strength that we may walk in the way of the cross with him, and that you and I may ultimately find it to be a source of life and peace in our lives.  I would invite you to keep this collect before you as you travel each day along your journey this Lent.

 We have just heard in this morning’s gospel reading how Jesus, full of the Holy Spirit, returned from his baptism in theJordanand was led by the Spirit in the wilderness where for forty days he was tempted by the devil. As Jesus was in the wilderness in the desert tempted by the devil, so you and I too face those times when we find ourselves in a wilderness of some kind. The wilderness we experience can take many forms as can the temptations that confront us. This season of Lent is a time for us to accept the invitation to the observance of a holy Lent, by self-examination and repentance, by prayer, fasting, and self-denial, and by reading and meditation on God’s holy Word.  By repentance, and by that we mean among other things, making a U-turn, we can find ourselves being led in a new direction that is a better direction for us to follow.  

 The practice and discipline of giving something up can  have a significant impact especially if, at the end of Lent, we discover we no longer need what we have given up.  We come to find that we can best live without it. What strength we seek this Lent might be that which empowers us to give up any number of things.  It could be, for example, a habit or a way of thinking that has not been helpful to us or to those around us.  It could very well be, as one of you so thoughtfully said during a visit the other day, that giving up something that has not been helpful can be a way of turning over a new leaf.  As I left that visit I thought as I was driving away, “I wish I had said that—indeed I shall!”  For you and me, as we observe a holy Lent, by self examination and repentance, by prayer and fasting and self denial, we can come to Easter having turned over a new leaf  and that can have a lasting impact.

 Almighty God, whose dear son went not up to joy, but first he suffered pain, and entered not into glory before he was crucified…

 “But,” you say, “what to give up?”  You and I, no doubt can, upon reflection, come up with what for each of us might be something well worth giving up.  I have a long-time friend and colleague, now retired, who used to speak of what he called “cherished resentments.”  I’d never heard that description before he had spoken of them in this way, yet think about it for a moment:  how often you and I might carry a resentment and find that we take some sort of perverse pleasure in nurturing that resentment. We don’t, and we won’t let it go.  It begins to take on a life of its own.  Sooner or later, we discover that this resentment begins to take its toll on us. 

 There is a documented story in a medical journal I read some years ago of what happened to a woman who was a passenger on a TWA flight that was hijacked. (That it was a TWA flight dates it sometime prior to 2001)  I don’t remember what journal it was yet the impact of the story described in the article is etched in my memory.  Apparently, the aircraft was on the tarmac at the airport and the hijackers were making demands. And when the demands were not met, they would kill a passenger and another passenger, and then another.  This woman, seriously injured but still alive, was taken by the hijackers for dead.  She decided to lie in the aisle as if indeed she were dead so that they might not harm her further.  Finally the hijackers were overtaken by the authorities. The remaining hostages on the plane were rescued including this woman who was seriously injured. She would, as a result of her injuries, come to spend a long time in hospitals recovering from her wounds. She underwent numerous surgeries but the chronic pain from her injuries would not leave her.  Treatment at one pain clinic after another had no lasting effect. Several years later, however, something was to occur in her life.  It had so happened that ever since she had been wounded that day on that plane, she had harbored bitter resentment toward the hijackers who had caused her injuries and had killed others.  Her resentment ran deep and for a long time, but then, one day she came to a realization. She began to realize that these hijackers were still holding her hostage even though they had been jailed or possibly executed and were no longer a physical threat to anyone. What they had done to her still had power over her life to the extent that her physical pain had left her virtually immobilized.  She came, by the grace of God, to a decision.  Her decision was that she would forgive her assailants for what they had done. That didn’t mean that she was saying that what they had done was of no consequence, that it was not an evil act of violence which it still was, or that it didn’t matter.  Her forgiveness allowed her to let go of her cherished resentment.  She no longer held her assailants responsible for what her life was like now. After she came to that place in her journey, something began to happen. Within a relatively short period of time, her physical pain began to subside and not long thereafter, she became virtually pain free.  Giving up a cherished resentment would come to give her new life. It could be said that for all that time that she so tenaciously held on to her resentment, this woman lived in a wilderness, but then the time would come when the angels ministered to her in that wilderness. We read in the psalm this morning, “For he shall give his angels charge over you.” Her repentance took the form of turning and letting go of that resentment.

 We think of Jesus in his wilderness in the desert.  The Spirit did not simply drop him off in the wilderness to fend for himself.  The Spirit remained with him, allowing him to grow stronger through his time in that wilderness. God promises to be with each of us when you and I are in the wildernesses in which we find ourselves.  As you and I make our journey through Lent again this year, what might it be for you and for me that by self-examination and repentance, we might seek the strength to let go.  Might it be some cherished resentment?  Might it be something else? This Lent, let us each be ever mindful that as God was with Jesus in the Wilderness, so God is with you, and with me, in ours. As you and I choose to be intentional and open to the grace of God, we will encounter in our journey a faithful God, a God who not only is with you and me as we enter into the wilderness, but also is with us throughout our days in that wilderness.

 “Almighty God, whose most dear son went not up to joy but first he suffered pain, and entered not into glory before he was crucified: Mercifully grant that we, walking in the way of the cross, may find it none other than the way of life and peace; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.”

 A Sermon for the Last Sunday after Epiphany

Year C – 10 February 2013

John Edward Miller, Rector

About eight days after Peter had acknowledged Jesus as the Christ of God, Jesus took with him Peter and John and James, and went up on the mountain to pray. And while he was praying, the appearance of his face changed, and his clothes became dazzling white. Suddenly they saw two men, Moses and Elijah, talking to him. They appeared in glory and were speaking of his departure, which he was about to accomplish at Jerusalem. Now Peter and his companions were weighed down with sleep; but since they had stayed awake, they saw his glory and the two men who stood with him. Just as they were leaving him, Peter said to Jesus, “Master, it is good for us to be here; let us make three dwellings, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah”–not knowing what he said. While he was saying this, a cloud came and overshadowed them; and they were terrified as they entered the cloud. Then from the cloud came a voice that said, “This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him!” When the voice had spoken, Jesus was found alone. And they kept silent and in those days told no one any of the things they had seen.

[On the next day, when they had come down from the mountain, a great crowd met him. Just then a man from the crowd shouted, “Teacher, I beg you to look at my son; he is my only child. Suddenly a spirit seizes him, and all at once he shrieks. It convulses him until he foams at the mouth; it mauls him and will scarcely leave him. I begged your disciples to cast it out, but they could not.” Jesus answered, “You faithless and perverse generation, how much longer must I be with you and bear with you? Bring your son here.” While he was coming, the demon dashed him to the ground in convulsions. But Jesus rebuked the unclean spirit, healed the boy, and gave him back to his father. And all were astounded at the greatness of God.]

       – Luke 9:28-36, [37-43a]

____________

The Collect

O God, who before the passion of your only-begotten Son revealed his glory upon the holy mountain: Grant to us that we, beholding by faith the light of his countenance, may be strengthened to bear our cross, and be changed into his likeness from glory to glory; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

Last summer, my son and I spent two weeks together on a cross-country journey in a rugged little SUV. Because John had done this drive several times he was my guide from start-to-finish. My input was limited to a few choice destinations and encouragement as he went online each night to find a suitable hotel in the next locale. He was an excellent guide – so good in fact that Lewis and Clark would have been envious. Even though we moved steadily toward the northwest before taking the plunge down the west coast to Los Angeles, our route did take a southwesterly dip for a bit. John wanted me to seeUtah’sMonumentValley. And I am so grateful that he led me there. We rode quietly into that ancient place, awed by the color, the rock formations and the panoramic vistas. By late afternoon on that first day among the monuments, we arrived at Arches National Park. John and I studied the maps and selected a hike to one of the red sandstone arches formed eons ago when powerful seas carved out canyons and left towers of red sedimentary rock.

The one we chose to visit is called Delicate Arch, a large stone arc that rests upon a flattened spot at the peak of a long, steep incline. Once we accomplished our ascent, we realized why this was stone formation was so named. It was delicate-looking, despite its mass and size. The impression it made was visually majestic and literally breathtaking (or at it was for me – John hardly broke a sweat). The arch crowned a mountaintop, making it a place of transcendent beauty. People arrived after a demanding climb, and then sat quietly. For all of us it served as a natural sanctuary, a holy place framing a life-changing moment on high. I loved my time there; it was tempting to want to stay, but we didn’t. There were miles to go before we could sleep.

In the fall, I composed a poem about our mountaintop sojourn while on retreat at Shrine Mont.It is a reflection piece, depicting for me the magnitude of the event, and its lasting effect on John and me. When I wrote it, I was in the Shenandoah Valley at the foot of a mountain in Virginia. I had come down from the Utah summit, and I was engaged in the work that lies at the base of all mountaintops. This is the poem:

 A delicate arch of stone
stood against an azure sky
red rock formed by sea and sand
reached heavenward from the earth
then curved, descending toward the same ground
completing a circle’s half, however improbable
we climbed together, son and father
waterless, with Utah sun pounding our bodies,
two miles above the trailhead it beckoned
up an inclined plane of granite, always upward
walkers in tandem breathing thin air
youth wearied but unfazed, the aged ached
panted for breath, felt heart pounding, pouring out sweat
only to have it evaporate quickly, leaving skin cooler
The arch was worth the walk
reminding the pair of primeval power
of tides and erosion, gravel and boulder
washed as in a gully, carved out by wind and water
Its magnificence inspired awe
gorgeous color, shape, and sweep
God’s arch, a universal symbol seeking completion
Our desire brought commitment, perseverance, hope
We became one in mind and heart
Closer than before – ever before[1]

 Today is the last Sunday after Epiphany. In past weeks we have been peering through lenses that reveal the meaning of Jesus’ life and ministry. Now we pause to sum up these sightings with a spectacular moment of truth. Luke’s gospel invites us to follow Jesus’ lead, joining his inner circle of disciples – Peter, James, and John – on a trek to the top of a holy mountain. At the summit, we witness a dazzling scene that will set the course for Christian life. We see the manifestation of God’s real presence in the life of Jesus Christ. On the mountain Jesus is transfigured – his garments became radiant white. In this light we also see two other figures standing with Jesus. Even though our eyes are weary from the walk upward, the two others come into sharp focus. They are Moses and Elijah, and they are talking with Jesus about his departure – the drama that will unfold in a week of passion in Jerusalem. 

This was the epiphany of epiphanies. It was clear, at least for a moment, that Jesus is the fulfillment of the Law and the prophets. All who witnessed this vision were awed; no one wanted it to end. Peter spoke for his companions, naming their shared desire. “Master,” he gasped, “it is good for us to be here! Let us build three booths – one for you, one for Moses, an one for Elijah!” Luke tells us that Peter didn’t know what he was saying when he blurted out this wish. My sense of that comment is not that Peter was childish or impetuous in speaking his mind. I’ll wager that all of us would have wanted that kind of clarity to last. Everything had come together; all of life made sense for a brief, shining moment. Who wouldn’t want to hold on to that perfect picture? I think that Luke was telling us something else, namely that there was more to be revealed about Jesus. And that would involve suffering, death, and resurrection – events that have the power transform the world, including people like you and me, if we will take up our cross and follow him – back down the mountain to the flatlands where compassion and service are crucial.

While Peter was speaking, a cloud (that is, God’s glory) enveloped the band of disciples. Realizing suddenly that they were on holy ground, they were terrified. A voice from the midst of the cloud addressed their fear, saying, “This is my Son, myChosen; listen to him!” Like a sonic boom, the voice shook them to attention. The quaking disciples blinked, looked around, and saw no one there with them but Jesus. They remembered those words and that voice. It was the voice of the Lord God, the Holy One of Israel, who had pronounced those same words at the beginning, when Jesus was baptized in the River Jordan. “Listen to him!” said the voice. “Take him seriously. Honor and respect what he says and does, for he is my beloved Son, myChosen.”

Luke’s account declares that the disciples’ reaction to this epiphany was to keep silent about these things. Matthew’s version says that, “when the disciples heard this, they fell to the ground and were overcome by fear.” For me that simply spells out the reason for their silence. The disciples were stunned. Ministry is costly; serving others involves personal risk and sacrifice. Jesus understood, but he did not want his followers to be ruled by fear. So he beckoned them to come forward and join him for the hike down the mountain – back to reality. He had an appointment in Jerusalem; there was much to tell them and to show them along the way. Jesus had work for them to do – the many tasks of ministry.

Jabari Craddock (a.k.a. “J. B.”) was the Boys and Girls Club of Metro Richmond Youth of the Year in 1993. Last Thursday evening he returned toRichmondto emcee the 2013 distinguished youth awards program. I had the privilege of attending this inspiring event, and found J. B. to be a radiant personality, exuding warmth, humor, style, charm, wit, and wisdom. He kept the program going and kept the couple of thousand attendees seamlessly entertained and informed. J. B.’s return was for me the highlight of the evening – it eclipsed even the thrill of listening to young people articulate the hopes and values. And that is saying a lot, because the six finalists for the $30, 000 in scholarships were spectacular. Everyone was a winner, even though one would emerge as the final honoree. Still, J. B. is the one who fascinated me.

He hailed from the South Richmond Club, and he cheered every time he made a mention of his old home base. J. B.’s beginnings at that branch of the club were as modest and humble as his surroundings. When he arrived the club was housed in a garage, with little or no accoutrements. But that didn’t matter. What counted, he said, were the relationships. He met people who cared about him and his life. These relationships with compassionate adults and older youths who had gotten their future into focus deeply affected him. He bore down and began to care about himself and others. After graduating with honors from George Wythe High School, J. B. entered the Virginia Military Institute, where he learned more about himself, about discipline and honor, and about the world that would open up to him. After graduating from VMI, he enlisted as an officer the U. S. Army, serving two deployments in Iraq, and earning the Bronze Star in 2010 for meritorious service in combat operations. J. B. continued his military commitment with the Army National Guard. Last May, he graduated from the North Carolina Central University School of Law inDurham, North Carolina. Currently he is successfully pursuing a career as a junior executive in the insurance business with USAA, based in San Antonio,Texas.

J. B. Craddock is a shining star for the Boys and Girls Clubs. He has overcome many obstacles in his life journey, and has climbed a very steep slope toward a rare summit. He has pursued and experienced success after success. Hard work and determination have paid off, adding finishing touches to an already attractive young man.

He could have let all of this go to his head. He could have decided that all of this was owed to him, or that it was his for the taking. But that is not his style, and it is not what a person of his character and conscience can do. Heady success can be precarious; pride often goes before a fall. J. B. knows that, I think. And he knows where he belongs. Those relationships, you see, the ones that cared for him in the beginning, are his real models of maturity. He came back down off the mountaintop, choosing to care for the youth of the Boys and Girls Clubs, so that they could benefit from support and guidance as he had.  J.B. has always said that his mother gave birth to him, but it was the Club that raised him. To me that’s grounding in what matters most.

J. B. serves because he was served. He received the gift of love, and he is busily giving back, loving his neighbor as himself. His commitment to the boys and girls may cost him. His coming back to serve and to beckon others in their upward climb may involve a loss of career momentum, or even a return to the locale, or the club, that raised him up. But he knows that the path he is taking leads to what is good and honorable and true, come what may. That much is sure.  

The moment of transfiguration sheds light on the meaning of Jesus. On the mountain we know who he is – for us and for the world that he loves. The cost of that love is stunning, and it gives us pause, for we know who we are called to be. We are heirs of our baptismal covenant, keepers of our brothers and sisters, respecters of the dignity of every human being. That is a tall order – one that none of us is sufficient to fill. But God is sufficient; his grace makes love the impossible possibility.[2] His voice transcends our fear, and grounds us, saying, “Listen to him.” That is enough to make disciples out of the likes of us. Amen.

A Sermon for the Fourth Sunday after the Epiphany

February 3, 2013

Eleanor Lee Wellford,  Associate Rector

Jeremiah 1:4-10

The word of the LORD came to me saying,
“Before I formed you in the womb I knew you,
and before you were born I consecrated you;
I appointed you a prophet to the nations.”
Then I said, “Ah, Lord GOD! Truly I do not know how to speak, for I am only a boy.” But the LORD said to me,
“Do not say, ‘I am only a boy’;
for you shall go to all to whom I send you,
and you shall speak whatever I command you,
Do not be afraid of them,
for I am with you to deliver you,
says the LORD.”
Then the LORD put out his hand and touched my mouth; and the LORD said to me,
“Now I have put my words in your mouth.
See, today I appoint you over nations and over kingdoms,
to pluck up and to pull down,
to destroy and to overthrow,
to build and to plant.”

 Once I began to study the prophet Jeremiah in seminary, it didn’t take me long to like him.  In fact, it only took me 6 verses, and we just heard them.  We heard Jeremiah respond to God’s call to him to be a prophet and his response was as human as it gets.  He said: “No way!”

 Well, he didn’t exactly say “No way!” but I think that’s what he meant.  What he said was: “Ah, Lord God, truly I do not know how to speak, for I am only a boy” (1:6).        Jeremiah needed an excuse for turning God down; and he basically used the same excuse Moses used when God called him to be a prophet. 

Although Moses didn’t plead youth and inexperience, he did plead slowness of speech and tongue (Exodus 4:10) which was his version of saying “No way!” to God.   We humans are really good at coming up with excuses for getting out of doing things we don’t want to do.  We learned to do that way back in grade school when we didn’t want to do our homework and then didn’t have anything to hand in the next day. 

I’m sure teachers have heard just about everything when it comes to excuses such as: the electricity went out in our house last night; or my parents punished me and I wasn’t allowed to do my homework; or my little sister scribbled all over it while I was watching t.v.  And of course probably everyone’s favorite excuse: the dog ate it!  

As Jeremiah found out rather quickly, excuses didn’t work well with God.  Moses found that out, too, when God told Moses that if he couldn’t speak to the Israelites, then he’d get his brother, Aaron, to do it.  As it turned out, neither Moses nor Jeremiah had a choice in the matter of God’s call of them.  God had planted those seeds of call a long time ago.  “Before I formed you in the womb,” God told Jeremiah, “…I appointed you a prophet to the nations” (1:5). 

So when Jeremiah said “No” to God, God said “Yes!” to Jeremiah and furthermore said: “You will go where I send you and you will speak as I command you to speak” (paraphrased 1:6).  There were good reasons why Jeremiah didn’t want to be a prophet and you’ve heard some of them if you’ve been to any of our classes on the prophet, Amos. 

Prophets were agents of sometimes brutal change.  Their words, which were actually God’s words, had a certain sting to them, a certain urgency which made them difficult to say and to hear.  Yet what was always behind the harsh rhetoric, and often not obvious, was God’s steadfast love for the Israelites.  If God hadn’t loved them so much, He wouldn’t have cared enough to choose prophets to tell them what they needed to hear to correct their wayward behavior. 

As we learn later in the book of Jeremiah, the prophet eventually said “Yes” to God’s call of him but only after he heard God’s promise.  “Do not be afraid” God said, “for I am with you” (1:8).  God said the same words to Moses (Exodus 4:13) and he also said them to the prophet Isaiah (41:13).  And through the angel Gabriel, God told Mary not to be afraid when she heard that she would bear God’s son (Luke 1:30).  Those words “for I am with you always” seemed to soften the blow of unexpected and difficult messages and prepare the seeds of call to germinate.  

Divine messages, or calls, can be significant experiences and most people assume that all clergy have had such experiences – some even involving elaborate dreams or visions.  Sometimes that happens.  Other times the call can be experienced as a gentle but persistent persuasion.  My oldest sister was ordained an Episcopal priest in the Diocese of Massachusetts 1990 and as close as we are, I’ve never asked her about her call experience.  It has always seemed so obvious to me that she would be a minister because of her compassion and her heart that is so clearly oriented toward being a servant.  

She’s never asked me about my call experience either.  Although I’m convinced she planted some spiritual seeds of her own in me, I doubt if she really expected them to grow.  My heart was clearly oriented to the secular world.  I think that’s why I like Jeremiah so much.  His call, like mine, seemed to come out of the blue and his first reaction of “No way!” was mine as well.

My preaching and worship professor in seminary told me one day that she has always been somewhat disappointed that she had no dramatic experience of call – no blinding light, no bolt of lightening, no writing on the wall.  But then she told me that’s it’s not how God calls us that matters, but rather how we respond to that call. 

Barbara Brown Taylor explored the meaning of call in her book The Preaching Life.  She insists that God does not just call us once, but many times.  She wrote: “…Sometimes those calls ring clear as a bell, other times they are barely audible.  But in any case, we are not meant to hear them by ourselves.  It was part of God’s genius” she continues, “to incorporate us as one body so that our ears have other ears, other eyes, minds, hearts and voices to help us interpret what we have heard.”

That seems to be a slightly different take on what we have been hearing from the apostle Paul the last two Sundays about what he thought it meant to be the body of Christ – about the fact that we all have various gifts that are equally as important to the body whether we perform the function of a foot or an eye or an arm. 

What I think they are both saying is that it takes the whole body to discern if we are called to serve and how to do it.  What has been your experience with God’s call of you and with whom have you shared it?  It certainly doesn’t have to be a call to ordained ministry nor does it have to be a call to achieve greatness.  God’s call can manifest itself in a strong interest or passion in something, or it can be a thought that just won’t go away.  It can be an epiphany of some sort, too, which would be perfect for this time of year! 

Using Jeremiah’s experience as an example, we know that calls usually take us by surprise and sometimes run counter to everything that we know and believe about ourselves.  But in the end, God is the one knowing us so well and believing in us and preparing us for our calling.  It’s God’s invitation to us individually and as the church to find strengths and talents we might not even know we have and to offer them in service to others. 

Both the call and the capacity to fulfill that call come from God; and if we have the assurance that we have nothing to fear because God is with us, how can we respond in any other way but “Yes”?

As we heard this morning, God appointed Jeremiah “over nations and kingdoms, to pluck up and to pull down, to destroy and to overthrow, to build and to plant” (Jeremiah 1:10).  God sows seeds in every one of us, yet when and how those seeds germinate depend on what our experiences have been and how they have formed us, and how receptive we are to God’s plans for us.

I believe St. Mary’s is a safe and nurturing place to have those seeds germinate and to try out what we believe God is calling us to do.  I’ve seen shy individuals become confident lay readers and Lay Eucharistic ministers.  I’ve seen parents, who at first seemed intimidated in our Sunday school rooms, become effective teachers.  I’ve seen newcomers find fellowship in the kitchen and go on to become heads of committees, and I’ve seen high schoolers mentoring young acolytes. 

     I’ve seen seemingly complacent individuals burn with a passion for Outreach and those who have had their lives changed here speak out confidently for Stewardship.    And I’m convinced that what I have witnessed is not for purposes of over-achievement or power or recognition.  I’m convinced it’s because they have decided that it’s not so important what we do in response to God’s call but that we do it and do it in a way that as John Calvin wrote, “will shine and be reckoned very precious in God’s sight” (Institutes of the Christian Religion (Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1960) 3.5.10.). Amen.