God's Inconvenient Call

Trinity and St. Philip’s Cathedral, Newark NJ

May 8, 2021

The Ordinations of Carrie Cabush, Katherine Rollo, and Lorna Woodham

Jeremiah 1:4-9

Psalm 84

Acts 6:2-7

Luke 12:35-38

God’s Inconvenient Call

It’s always a good idea to begin with gratitude, so I want to say thank you to Bishop Hughes for inviting me to preach at this wonderful and sacred occasion, here in our cathedral where, like many of the clergy gathered today, I was ordained a deacon.

I had not expected that I would ever again have the chance to offer a sermon in this place, but we all know that God is always full of surprises.

And, we give thanks for all of the people who have supported Carrie, Katherine, and Lorna on their long and winding journeys – giving thanks for family and friends and mentors, and, let’s not forget the members of the Commission on Ministry!

And, we surely give thanks to God for our three soon-to-be-deacons, who have listened carefully, worked hard, prayed even harder – who have already been a blessing to so many throughout this time of preparation.

Today we make official what has been quite obvious to many of us for a long time: you have been called by God to ordained ministry.

Of course, during this time of preparation you have been engaged in the hard work of discernment.

Like a lot of us, when I first started to consider pursuing ordained ministry, I got very interested in the practice of discernment – listening for God’s call. 

And, I think like a lot of us, I struggled with it. I wondered, how do I know that the call I’m hearing is from God and not just from my own will or my imagination? 

I remember early on in my time at seminary I took a class on Discernment, hoping that this would help me figure it out, so I could cross discernment off my to-do list, settle matters once and for all.

Well, it was an excellent class, but discernment is never really settled – it’s always a lifelong process.

But, I have become sure about two principles of discernment.

First, we know from the Bible, and from history, and from our own experience that God seems to delight in calling some of the seemingly least likely people to some very big jobs.

We heard that dynamic loud and clear in today’s first lesson.  After hearing God’s call, the soon-to-be-prophet Jeremiah protests that, I’m sorry but there must be some mistake, “Ah, Lord God! Truly I do not know how to speak, for I am only a boy.”

But, God knows what God is doing, just like God knew what God was doing when God chose a poor public speaker to lead the Israelites from slavery to freedom, just like when God chose a shepherd boy to become Israel’s greatest king, and just like when God chose a poor young peasant woman to carry the Son of God into the world. 

So, Carrie, Katherine, and Lorna, if right about now you’re feeling a little unlikely – or if this whole event feels a little unlikely – well, I’d say that’s a good sign, and you’re in very good company.

But, there’s something else about God’s call: it tends to be inconvenient.

God’s inconvenient call.

In fact, I’d go so far as to say that if God’s call seems to be really convenient – really matches up with what you feel like doing – then it’s probably not a genuine call.

No, the God of surprises is always calling us out of comfort, always calling us to step out into the uncertain and the unknown, inviting us to trust that God will be with us, just as God was with Jeremiah during his many troubles.

God’s inconvenient call.

We see God’s inconvenient call throughout the gospels, as Jesus gathers his disciples.

The fisherman brothers James and John are called away from their boats and nets, called away from their livelihood, from probably the only work they had ever known, called away from their father who watched his sons, his future, walk off in a wildly unexpected direction.

God’s inconvenient call.

And, although inconvenience doesn't quite capture it, think of Mary Magdalene in the garden on the first Easter morning, exhausted from horror and grief, and now stunned by the unexpected best news of all time. Probably all she wanted to do was to sit for a bit, to cry, to hear more words from the Risen Lord, to try to make sense of what made no sense, but instead she is immediately called to be the apostle to the apostles, which sure sounds great to us, but she must have known that nobody would take her word for it.

God’s inconvenient call.

And, in today’s gospel lesson, Jesus promises even more inconvenient calls, warning that the master isn’t going to return at a civilized hour that fits our schedule, not going to return during regular business hours, but in the middle of the night or just before daybreak, when we’re bone tired and just want a few more minutes of sleep.

God’s inconvenient call.

From my own experience, I can tell you that it’s when I’ve been inconvenienced – when I’ve finally managed to block out some time to write my sermon and then I open my laptop, ready to begin – and then the phone rings – it’s then, in that moment of inconvenience, that I’ve often encountered God at work in my ministry.

God’s inconvenient call.

Since Lorna has done her field education in my parish, I’ve had the privilege and joy of getting to know her. But, I’ve had to ask some of my colleagues about you, Carrie and Katherine.

And, what I’ve learned is no surprise: all three of you are deeply faithful, compassionate, creative, hardworking, and persistent.

You really have already been gifts to the Church.

And, I have been totally unsurprised to learn that your calls have often been inconvenient – that this was not necessarily the way your foresaw your life unfolding – that your journeys have taken unexpected, sometimes unwelcome, twists and turns that have required you to be patient, that have called for some real faith and sacrifices on your part.

I don’t know how you feel about all of that, but I think this is all very good news, for you and for us.

When I was ordained a deacon – right over there - fourteen years ago, wise and well-meaning leaders of the Church had already been talking for years about how we could no longer do business as usual and that we needed to take the Church back out into the world.

But, while sometimes we did do business a little differently and every now and then we took the Church out into the world, for the most part not too much changed.

Let’s face it, with our beautiful buildings and lovely traditions, it is especially easy for us Episcopalians to get very comfortable.

I mean, if you’ve been around the church for any time, you’ve no doubt heard some of the many jokes that end with the punch line, “Because we’ve always done it this way.”

And then the pandemic struck. 

Like Julian of Norwich, who we honor today, we have been living with plague, trying to remain faithful when so much that we counted on and took for granted seems so insecure.

Of course, it’s been a time of deep fear and heartbreaking sorrow.

And, for us in the Church it has also been really inconvenient.

But, the God of surprises never misses an opportunity.

So, suddenly, business as usual was no longer an option.

Suddenly, we really did have to take the Church out into the world, or at least onto Zoom, Facebook, and YouTube

Suddenly, much of the injustice and suffering that many of us usually dismissed and ignored has been made plain for all with eyes to see and ears to hear.

My sisters, this is the Church and the world that God has inconveniently called you to serve in a new way.

And as we begin to come out of this terrible plague, no one knows what the future will bring. We don’t know what the Church will look like, though I’m sure – as Bishop Hughes has repeatedly warned us - there will be a push to somehow try to go back to the way things were before.

So, here’s my hope and my challenge for you:

Answer God’s inconvenient call by continuing to inconvenience us.

Let God use you to inconvenience us.

Yes, as deacons part of your job will be “waiting tables,” but don’t forget your call to “serve all people, particularly the poor, the weak, the sick and the lonely.”

As deacons, inconvenience us by pointing to the suffering all around us, challenging us to love and to help, rousing us from our comfort and complacency.

As deacons, inconvenience us by calling us out when we shrug and say, “But we’ve always done it this way.”

And, God willing and the people consenting, when you are priests, keep that diaconal spirit of inconvenience alive in your priesthood, alive in your heart, always.

So, today we give thanks to the God of surprises for so much – especially for Carrie, Katherine, and Lorna.

And, we give thanks for God’s inconvenient call – the call that always invites us out of comfort, inviting us to step out into the uncertain and the unknown, inviting us to trust that God will be with us, no matter what.

Thanks be to God for the inconvenient call to new life.

Amen.

Perseverance in Prayer

Grace Episcopal Church, Madison NJ

November 22, 2014

Evensong Celebrating the Thirtieth Anniversary of the Ordination of The Rev. Lauren Ackland to the Priesthood

Isaiah 6:1-8

Psalm 150

John10:11-18

Perseverance in Prayer

            A couple of weeks ago I received in the mail the invitation to today’s wonderful celebration in honor of my friend and mentor, someone I love and respect so very much, The Rev. Lauren Ackland.

            As usual, I carefully examined the card, making sure that my name was spelled correctly and noting the size of the font used to identify the name of the preacher.

            And then I noticed that the invitation declared that I would be giving a homily.

            Now, I don’t go to staff meetings at Grace anymore so I wasn’t part of the discussions that led to the use of the word “homily” rather than “sermon,” but I’m going to guess they revolved around how long I was going to preach and the length of the whole service.

            What happens if the service is too long? Will people think this satisfies their church obligation for the weekend? Will they skip church tomorrow? Will they – you - say, “Come on, we just went to church yesterday? Surely that counts!”

            So “they” went with “homily,” implying a short sermon, some brief remarks and then I’m done and we finish up the service, move on to the reception and the rest of our day, and most of us – you - hopefully go to church again tomorrow.

            Well, I’m sorry. But I’ve come all the way from Jersey City and, moreover, I feel that today’s occasion calls for something more than a homily.

            Thirty years – thirty years - of ordained ministry is, with God’s help, a major achievement and worthy of great celebration – and certainly merits a sermon, not just a homily.

            Besides, Lauren preached magnificently at both my own ordination to the priesthood right here at Grace more than seven years ago – and again at my celebration of new ministry at St. Paul’s Jersey City.

            So, now it’s my honor to return the favor.

            Thirty years.

            How many of you were at Lauren’s ordination?

            I know George was there and in fact read that same lesson from Isaiah we just heard. I’m told that, in typical fashion, he threatened to revise the words of the prophet to, “Here am I; send her!”

            He didn’t go through with it.

            But, you know, in a very real sense thirty years ago God sent both Lauren and George together on this adventure in ministry, a journey that took them from Manhattan, from their much-loved General Seminary and Church of the Ascension first to the rather unlikely spot of Oakland/Franklin Lakes where they did such great work building up St. Alban’s and then finally here to Grace Church, where as you know, she is the first woman to serve as rector.

              Through it all, Lauren and George have been a tremendous team.

             “Mr. Lauren Ackland” has been a strong and loyal, if somewhat offbeat, support for Lauren – for her life and work.

            I, of course, wasn’t at Lauren’s ordination. I mean, come on, thirty years ago I was just a child!

            But, thinking about today got me thinking about my own ordinations – both the grand celebration here at Grace and my ordination to the diaconate at our cathedral.

            At my diaconal ordination Bishop Beckwith said something that has stuck with me.

            In his sermon, the bishop said to us about-to-be deacons, “We pay you to pray.”

            “We pay you to pray.”

            I know that sounds a little commercial, kind of transactional – and I’ve never heard the bishop use that expression again - but over the years I’ve heard his words echo in my head especially during those times when I haven’t been as faithful as I should be in my personal prayers.

            “We pay you to pray” has been a reminder to me that prayer needs to be -must be - behind and beneath and above and through all the work I do as an ordained person.

            Just in case we forget the centrality of prayer for clergy, in the priestly ordination service the bishop asks the about-to-be priest, “Will you persevere in prayer, both in public and private, asking God’s grace, both for yourself and for others, offering all your labors to God, through the mediation of Jesus Christ, and in the sanctification of the Holy Spirit?”

            And the ordinand answers, “I will.”

            Now, I could stand up here all afternoon and talk about how amazing Lauren is – she’d hate that - but, let’s name it: she is remarkably hardworking, totally dedicated to the church, patient enough to sit through innumerable interminable meetings, smart – really smart, a gifted preacher and a thoughtful liturgist, a sensitive listener, a wise counselor, a good shepherd indeed, and much more.

            Lauren, how’re you doing over there?

            But, behind and beneath and above and through all of those qualities, Lauren Ackland is a person  - a priest – a rector of prayer.

            She takes her ordination vow to pray with utter seriousness.

            With God’s help, Lauren perseveres in prayer.

            She perseveres in her public prayer, rarely missing any of the daily services offered here at Grace, and she perseveres in her private prayers.

            I think even people who don’t know Lauren well can sense this prayerfulness. It’s a big reason why she is universally respected in the Church.

            Now, I can’t explain how prayer works – Lauren probably can, why don’t you ask her during the reception  – but, I think it has something to do with God wanting to share power and responsibility with us.

            Anyway, all I know is that prayer does work.

            Prayer works. And, if you don’t believe me, just look around.

            I remember when I first interviewed to be curate here at Grace. I was newly ordained and in desperate need of a job, but, as some of you know, this city kid had some misgivings about moving to the suburbs.

            That’s a story for another day, but I remember during the interview being stunned by Lauren’s description of life at Grace – so many vibrant ministries, so many people – including children and even men, so many gifted, generous people – lots and lots of them.

            There were so many services, so many kids and adults in the choirs – all volunteers, thank you very much - and there was even music at the 7:30 service on Sunday mornings – which seemed a little early to me but, um, did I mention I needed a job?

            Now, as someone from a struggling little church in the city, I remember thinking, how can this be? Sitting in her office near the end of the interview, I finally just asked, why? Why was Grace thriving? What made Grace tick?

            Prayer.

            Without hesitation, Lauren credited the health of Grace Church to the daily prayer offered here, prayer that bathes this room, prayer that has blessings more powerful and numerous than we can know or imagine.

            Over my two stints at Grace, I recognized that Lauren was right about the importance of daily worship. But I think the answer is a little deeper and more personal than that.

            Grace has thrived and continues to be a great blessing for so many of us because it is led by Lauren Ackland, a person – a priest – a rector of prayer.

            Somehow, I don’t know how exactly, Lauren’s prayers ripple out into all the ministries that happen here.

            Those prayers have touched – touch - all of our lives.

            And, I know for sure that those prayers are heard in places served by those Lauren has mentored, including in a little church in Jersey City.

            So, today we give thanks for thirty years of ordained ministry - a major achievement and worthy of great celebration, surely meriting a sermon more than a homily.

            We give thanks for the amazing partnership, the continuing journey, of Lauren and George.

            We give thanks for thirty years of ordained ministry, for all of that hard work and tireless devotion to duty, but most of all, for all of those prayers that you have offered to God for us all.

            We honor those thirty years with today’s celebration.

            But, it seems to me, that we honor Lauren best first by going to church tomorrow – the sermon wasn’t that long! – and, most of all, we honor Lauren when we follow her example, when we, you and I, all of us, with God’s help, persevere in prayer.

            Amen.

Pontifex

Trinity & St. Philip’s Cathedral, Newark NJ

September 28, 2013

The Ordination of Miguel Hernandez to the Transitional Diaconate

Jeremiah 1:4-9

Psalm 84 (Hymn 517)

Acts of the Apostles 6:2-7

Luke 22:24-27

Pontifex

            You’ve probably noticed that over the past few months, and especially in the last week or so, lots of people have been caught up in a kind of “Pope-Mania.” That probably includes at least some of you. Although I’m an Episcopal priest, I’ll admit that I’ve been excited, fascinated and inspired by the first bishop of Rome from the Americas, Pope Francis.

            Showing the powerful effect one leader can have, from the start Francis has set a new tone in the Vatican and across the entire church. And, like Francis the beloved friar from Assisi, this new pope is teaching through simplicity and love what living the gospel life looks like.

            When he has been given the opportunity, he has declined to sit in judgment of others.

            He has been willing to listen to various points of view.

            He has displayed fearlessness and radiated joy.

            When powerful forces seemed to be on the unstoppable march to war, he invited everyone to fast for peace.

            He has shed most of the many trappings of his office, pulling off the nearly impossible feat of living simply in the midst of great opulence and splendor.

            And, on top of all that, he’s very much a 21^st Century leader. He engages the media – spending a couple of hours talking freely and seemingly off the cuff with reporters on the long flight back to Rome from Brazil.

            And… he uses twitter like a real social media expert. This pope tweets like crazy!

            If you’ve seen his tweets, you know that they are very simple and beautiful messages about God’s love and mercy - about the centrality of Christ in our lives.

            Like his predecessor, Francis tweets using the handle, “@pontifex.”

            “Pontifex” is a nod to one of the pope’s many titles, one that was inherited from the Roman emperors: “Pontifex Maximus.”

            “Pontifex Maximus” means “greatest priest” or “high priest.” I’m sure we can all agree that, unless you’re Jesus, that title is kind of immodest and really a bit much. And, I bet it’s a title that’s more than a little embarrassing for Pope Francis.

            But, you know, that word “pontifex” literally means “bridge-builder.”

            “Bridge-builder.” That’s a powerful image for a Christian leader, isn’t it?

            It looks like Pope Francis is working hard at being a good bridge-builder, reaching out to the disenchanted and disenfranchised - extending his hand in friendship and respect to Jews, Muslims and even atheists.

            But, it’s not just the Bishop of Rome who is called to be a pontifex. It’s not just the pope who is meant to be a bridge-builder. And, for that matter, it’s not just bishops, priests and deacons who are called to be bridge-builders.

            The truth is that all Christians – all of us - are called to be bridge-builders.

            If we are going to fulfill our sacred mission to restore all people to unity with God and each other in Christ, then we are going to have to build lots and lots of bridges.

            If we are going to do the work that God has given us to do, then, with God’s help, we all need to build bridges to the many people all around us who are hurting -the many people who can’t pay their bills – the many people who are carrying nagging guilt and shame – the many people who mourn profound losses – the many people who dread the future – the many people who don’t know where to turn for help – and the many people who would never even think of turning to God – never even think of turning to Jesus – never even think of turning to the Episcopal Church.

            Yes, we are all called to be bridge-builders.

            But, out of all of us, it’s the deacons who are most called – and expected – to build bridges.

            As we heard in the reading from the Acts of the Apostles, right from the start the deacons were called upon to offer a ministry of service – and, actually, a ministry of service that apparently others were too busy or unwilling to perform.

            And since those early days the diaconal ministry and identity has been developed and refined into the work of bridge-building.

             Deacons are expected to build bridges between the Church and the world.

            Part of that bridge-building is reaching out and sharing the Good News of Christ to the disenchanted and the disenfranchised – reaching out to the poor, the lonely, the guilty, the frightened, the lost, the bewildered, and the helpless.

            And at least as important is the deacon’s ministry of interpreting to the Church the “needs, concerns, and hopes of the world.”

            In this diocese we are so blessed by our deacons, who every day are out there in the world building bridges.

            We are so blessed by our deacons, who live out their vocation in such beautiful and devoted ways – proclaiming the Gospel in word and deed, feeding the hungry, providing young people with opportunities to serve, ministering to the deaf, and so much more.

            And we are so blessed by our deacons who, on occasion, pointedly remind the Church of its Christ-given obligation to serve the least among us.

            The diaconate is a beautiful and profound ministry.

            And, Miguel, this is the sacred order of bridge-building that you are about to enter.

            Of course, you’re not quite a boy like Jeremiah was when God called him to his holy work. And, unlike Jeremiah, you’re already open to letting God speak and work through you. And, unlike Jeremiah, you’re already quite eloquent – in two languages!

            In fact, you’ve been at the work of bridge-building for a long time.

            In thinking about your journey I thought how even your distinguished work at Bell Labs, improving how we communicate with one another, was really at heart all about building bridges.

            And during your long and frequently obstacle-filled road to ordination you’ve been building bridges all along – sharing the Good News, making connections, reaching out to people who maybe didn’t know they could find a spiritual home in the Episcopal Church.

            All along your long road to ordination you’ve been nurturing individuals and communities and you’ve challenged the Church to care for people we might otherwise easily overlook.

            It turns out that all along, you’ve been a pontifex. All along, you’ve been a bridge-builder.

            Now, today we’re here to recognize what God has been doing in and through you for a long time.

            And we’re here to pray and celebrate as you take on an even deeper commitment to building bridges as a deacon.

            And, God willing, in about six months we will all reassemble for your ordination to the priesthood.

            In the eyes of the world and maybe even in the eyes of the Church, your time as a deacon will be short. Yet, all the best priests I know carry inside themselves a deacon’s heart.

            So, Miguel, my prayer for you on this sacred and joyful day is that with God’s help you will continue and deepen your work of building bridges between and among individuals and communities.

            May you be a pontifex.

            May you – and may we all – lay people, deacons, priests and bishops - be bridge-builders. With God’s help, may we reach out in love to the disenchanted and the disenfranchised – to the poor, the lonely, the guilty, the frightened, the lost, the bewildered, and the helpless.

            May we all be bridge-builders.

            Amen.