March 20, 2011
Genesis 12:1-4a
+ These past few weeks have been one of those times when, I confess, I have seriously questioned some aspects of my calling—my vocation—to be a priest. Now, I will stress (and you have heard me say this again and again) that I love being a priest. I love, love, love being a priest. I love being a priest so much that I unashamedly say that being a priest is so bound up in my own personal identity that I really can’t tell the difference sometimes between who I am as a priest and who I am at other times. I am first and foremost, a priest, and everything else about me is kind of secondary.
But, as admirable as some people might think that is, such a view is actually more dangerous than anyone would initially think. Having one’s identity so bound up in one’s vocation is difficult. It dominates one’s life completely. And sometimes it’s difficult to tell where Priest Jamie ends and Regular Jamie begins. These past few weeks have been one of those times in my life when I have seriously questioned this blurring of the lines between Priest Jamie and Regular Jamie.
Now, I should add also that none of the problems I have anything to do with St. Stephen’s. I LOVE St. Stephen’s. And what’s great about being in ministry at St. Stephen’s is everyone is doing ministry here. This isn’t top-down management here. Everyone is actively engaged in ministry and doing ministry, and doing so definitely makes the priest’s job clear.
Still, when the tough times come up in one’s ministry, there is a moment when we find ourselves asking that all-important question: Was I really called to do this? Now, the answer for me is almost always clear: Yes. I have very little doubt that I was called to the ministry of the priesthood. But I have always been keenly aware of the fact that person God called to be a priest, even back then, when I was first called as a thirteen year old Lutheran boy, was, even then, a broken person.
My vocation as a priest has always been a clear one from that perspective: this broken person was called to serve other broken people. Essentially, that’s what ministry is. All of who are called to ministry—and all of us who are Christian are called to ministry—are essentially broken people called to serve broken people.
Last week in my sermon I sort of set the theme of what I would be preaching about during this season of Lent. I quoted Michael Ford in his biography of the great writer and Roman Catholic priest, Henri Nouwen, who acutely understood his vocation as being called to ministry. He understood that he was called to serve the “broken ones of God…[who] brought a new understanding and love to the Eucharist, the broken body of Christ.”
As someone whose personal and spiritual life is centered on the Eucharist, on this celebration of the broken Body and spilled Blood of Jesus, for me, as for Nouwen, it’s somewhat easy to see this connection between the broken Body of Jesus we share here at our altar and our own brokenness. And during this season of Lent, we are called, in much the same way as we are called to ministry, to examine our brokenness in the mirror of the broken Body of Jesus. We are called to take a good, long hard look at ourselves and see how we can improve—for God, for others and for ourselves. Ministry, for all of us who are Christian, means meeting people where they are. It is means not trying to change people—or even to convert people. It is simply to be present for people and to be, in our presence, the so-called “incarnational presence” of the broken Body of Jesus to others.
This weekend in Richardton, North Dakota, the Diocese of North Dakota hosted a Ministry Conference and our own Sandy Holbrook gave a talk on the importance of ministry. In her typical Sandy Holbrook bluntness, she said,
“I think laypeople are called to ministry as lay people rather than being God's leftovers- that is, there can be - if we listen - a distinct call to lay ministry just as some people experience a distinct call to an ordained form of ministry.”
Now when we look around us this morning, we see ministry. We see the ministry of music. I’m sure James and Michelle can tell us of the joys—and the not-so-joyful—aspects of their ministry. I know, because I’ve heard some of those stories. And I’m sure both James and Michelle can also tell us of how they were truly called to this ministry in much the same way I was called to be a priest.
As we continue to look around at our congregation, we see other forms of ministry. We see our acolytes, our ushers, our altar guild, our Children’s Chapel volunteers and leaders, just to name a very few. Each is an essential ministry here at St. Stephen’s And each has its own distinctive calling.
But our ministry together is not just in what we do. It is in who we are. Our ministry is often a ministry of who we are. Of our personalities. Of the person that God has created, even in our very brokenness. It’s all bound up very tightly together. And if each of us listens, if each of strains our spiritual ears and hearts toward God, we can hear that calling, deep in our hearts. We can find that God is calling us to the ministry of our day-to-day lives, the ministry of the person God has formed us to be, the ministry to serve others in the way God sees fit.
In our reading from the Hebrew Bible this morning, we find a clear call from God to Abram.
“Go from your country and your kindred and your father’s house to a land that I will show you.”
Essentially this is the call to all of us who are in ministry. God calls to us wherever we may be and when that happens, we must heed it. We must step out from our comfortable places, and we must step out into our service others even if that means going to those people in strange and alien places. And sometimes when we step into those uncomfortable places, we are made all the more aware of our own brokenness—we become even more vulnerable.
But that’s just a simple fact in ministry: when God calls, God calls heedless of our brokenness. In fact, God calls us knowing full well our brokenness. And, as Henri Nouwen and countless other teachers and leaders and ministers in the Church would tell us, God uses our brokenness. God can truly work through our brokenness and use our fractured selves in reaching out to other fractured people.
For too many people our brokenness divides us. It separates us. It isolates us. And when it does, our brokenness becomes a kind of condemnation. It becomes the open wound we must carry with us—allowed by us to stink and fester.
But when we can use our brokenness to reach out, when we allow God to use our brokenness, it is no longer a curse and a condemnation. Our brokenness becomes a fruitful means for ministry. It becomes a means for renewal and rebirth. It becomes the basis for ministry—for reaching out and helping those who are broken and in need around us.
Each of us is called. Each of us has been issued a call from God to serve. It might not have been a dramatic calling—an overwhelming sense of the Presence of God in our lives that motivates us to go and serve God. But each Sunday we receive the invitation. Each time we gather at this altar to celebrate the Eucharist, we are, essentially, called to then go out, refreshed and renewed in our broken selves by this broken Body of Jesus, to serve the broken people of God. We are called to go out and minister, not only by preaching and proclaiming with words, but by who we are, by our very lives and examples.
So, let us heed the call of God. Let us do as Abram did in our reading from Genesis did today.
“Abram went, as the Lord told him…”
Let us, as well, go as God has told us. Let us go knowing full well that heeding God’s call and doing what God calls us to do may mean leaving our country and our kindred and our house—in essence, everything we find comfortable and safe—and going to a foreign place—a place that may be frightening. And going will be doubly frightening when we know we go as imperfect human beings—as people broken and vulnerable. But let us also go, sure in our calling from God. Let us go sure that God has blessed each of us, even in our brokenness. Let us go know that God will use the cracks and fractures within us, as always, for good. Let us go assured that truly God will make us a blessing to others and that God will “bless those who bless us.”
What more can we possibly ask of the ministry God has called us to carry out?
Genesis 12:1-4a
+ These past few weeks have been one of those times when, I confess, I have seriously questioned some aspects of my calling—my vocation—to be a priest. Now, I will stress (and you have heard me say this again and again) that I love being a priest. I love, love, love being a priest. I love being a priest so much that I unashamedly say that being a priest is so bound up in my own personal identity that I really can’t tell the difference sometimes between who I am as a priest and who I am at other times. I am first and foremost, a priest, and everything else about me is kind of secondary.
But, as admirable as some people might think that is, such a view is actually more dangerous than anyone would initially think. Having one’s identity so bound up in one’s vocation is difficult. It dominates one’s life completely. And sometimes it’s difficult to tell where Priest Jamie ends and Regular Jamie begins. These past few weeks have been one of those times in my life when I have seriously questioned this blurring of the lines between Priest Jamie and Regular Jamie.
Now, I should add also that none of the problems I have anything to do with St. Stephen’s. I LOVE St. Stephen’s. And what’s great about being in ministry at St. Stephen’s is everyone is doing ministry here. This isn’t top-down management here. Everyone is actively engaged in ministry and doing ministry, and doing so definitely makes the priest’s job clear.
Still, when the tough times come up in one’s ministry, there is a moment when we find ourselves asking that all-important question: Was I really called to do this? Now, the answer for me is almost always clear: Yes. I have very little doubt that I was called to the ministry of the priesthood. But I have always been keenly aware of the fact that person God called to be a priest, even back then, when I was first called as a thirteen year old Lutheran boy, was, even then, a broken person.
My vocation as a priest has always been a clear one from that perspective: this broken person was called to serve other broken people. Essentially, that’s what ministry is. All of who are called to ministry—and all of us who are Christian are called to ministry—are essentially broken people called to serve broken people.
Last week in my sermon I sort of set the theme of what I would be preaching about during this season of Lent. I quoted Michael Ford in his biography of the great writer and Roman Catholic priest, Henri Nouwen, who acutely understood his vocation as being called to ministry. He understood that he was called to serve the “broken ones of God…[who] brought a new understanding and love to the Eucharist, the broken body of Christ.”
As someone whose personal and spiritual life is centered on the Eucharist, on this celebration of the broken Body and spilled Blood of Jesus, for me, as for Nouwen, it’s somewhat easy to see this connection between the broken Body of Jesus we share here at our altar and our own brokenness. And during this season of Lent, we are called, in much the same way as we are called to ministry, to examine our brokenness in the mirror of the broken Body of Jesus. We are called to take a good, long hard look at ourselves and see how we can improve—for God, for others and for ourselves. Ministry, for all of us who are Christian, means meeting people where they are. It is means not trying to change people—or even to convert people. It is simply to be present for people and to be, in our presence, the so-called “incarnational presence” of the broken Body of Jesus to others.
This weekend in Richardton, North Dakota, the Diocese of North Dakota hosted a Ministry Conference and our own Sandy Holbrook gave a talk on the importance of ministry. In her typical Sandy Holbrook bluntness, she said,
“I think laypeople are called to ministry as lay people rather than being God's leftovers- that is, there can be - if we listen - a distinct call to lay ministry just as some people experience a distinct call to an ordained form of ministry.”
Now when we look around us this morning, we see ministry. We see the ministry of music. I’m sure James and Michelle can tell us of the joys—and the not-so-joyful—aspects of their ministry. I know, because I’ve heard some of those stories. And I’m sure both James and Michelle can also tell us of how they were truly called to this ministry in much the same way I was called to be a priest.
As we continue to look around at our congregation, we see other forms of ministry. We see our acolytes, our ushers, our altar guild, our Children’s Chapel volunteers and leaders, just to name a very few. Each is an essential ministry here at St. Stephen’s And each has its own distinctive calling.
But our ministry together is not just in what we do. It is in who we are. Our ministry is often a ministry of who we are. Of our personalities. Of the person that God has created, even in our very brokenness. It’s all bound up very tightly together. And if each of us listens, if each of strains our spiritual ears and hearts toward God, we can hear that calling, deep in our hearts. We can find that God is calling us to the ministry of our day-to-day lives, the ministry of the person God has formed us to be, the ministry to serve others in the way God sees fit.
In our reading from the Hebrew Bible this morning, we find a clear call from God to Abram.
“Go from your country and your kindred and your father’s house to a land that I will show you.”
Essentially this is the call to all of us who are in ministry. God calls to us wherever we may be and when that happens, we must heed it. We must step out from our comfortable places, and we must step out into our service others even if that means going to those people in strange and alien places. And sometimes when we step into those uncomfortable places, we are made all the more aware of our own brokenness—we become even more vulnerable.
But that’s just a simple fact in ministry: when God calls, God calls heedless of our brokenness. In fact, God calls us knowing full well our brokenness. And, as Henri Nouwen and countless other teachers and leaders and ministers in the Church would tell us, God uses our brokenness. God can truly work through our brokenness and use our fractured selves in reaching out to other fractured people.
For too many people our brokenness divides us. It separates us. It isolates us. And when it does, our brokenness becomes a kind of condemnation. It becomes the open wound we must carry with us—allowed by us to stink and fester.
But when we can use our brokenness to reach out, when we allow God to use our brokenness, it is no longer a curse and a condemnation. Our brokenness becomes a fruitful means for ministry. It becomes a means for renewal and rebirth. It becomes the basis for ministry—for reaching out and helping those who are broken and in need around us.
Each of us is called. Each of us has been issued a call from God to serve. It might not have been a dramatic calling—an overwhelming sense of the Presence of God in our lives that motivates us to go and serve God. But each Sunday we receive the invitation. Each time we gather at this altar to celebrate the Eucharist, we are, essentially, called to then go out, refreshed and renewed in our broken selves by this broken Body of Jesus, to serve the broken people of God. We are called to go out and minister, not only by preaching and proclaiming with words, but by who we are, by our very lives and examples.
So, let us heed the call of God. Let us do as Abram did in our reading from Genesis did today.
“Abram went, as the Lord told him…”
Let us, as well, go as God has told us. Let us go knowing full well that heeding God’s call and doing what God calls us to do may mean leaving our country and our kindred and our house—in essence, everything we find comfortable and safe—and going to a foreign place—a place that may be frightening. And going will be doubly frightening when we know we go as imperfect human beings—as people broken and vulnerable. But let us also go, sure in our calling from God. Let us go sure that God has blessed each of us, even in our brokenness. Let us go know that God will use the cracks and fractures within us, as always, for good. Let us go assured that truly God will make us a blessing to others and that God will “bless those who bless us.”
What more can we possibly ask of the ministry God has called us to carry out?
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