June 11, 2014
Matthew 10.7-16
+ In our Gospel
reading for tonight, we hear Jesus say, “I am sending you as sheep into the
midst of wolves; so be wise as serpents and innocent as doves.”
51 baptisms
97 funerals.
You wonder why I
may be tired. You have heard me say it before. I will say it again a hundred
times I’m sure.
I love being a
priest.
I can say in all
honesty that I was meant to be a priest. As sure as a shark is meant to hunt,
or a fish to swim, I was meant to be a priest. It was almost like it was
programed into me. From that first day,
when I heard my calling to be a priest at age 13, back in 1983, I knew this was
what I was meant to do.
Now saying that,
I’m not saying I have been a perfect priest. I was never called to be a perfect
priest. Nor even at times, have I been a
particular good priest. I have failed. I have tripped. I have stumbled. I have
made many, many mistakes. But even then, even with all the mistakes I’ve made,
it’s all right. It’s all good.
Still, it hasn’t
been easy. I remember fifteen years ago,
when I told the first Episcopal priest I wanted to be an Episcopal priest, he leaned
back in his chair, put his fingers to his chin and shook his head.
“It’s never
going to happen,” he said.
And I thought
then, that was it. All right. And if that priest had had his way, it would’ve
ended there. Sadly for him, he did not get his way.
Jesus did.
Despite things
like that, it has been a glorious ten years. And it has been a difficult ten years
of my life. Some priests have been able to fly under the radar. Not me. Which
is not always a good thing. Being a priest like me means being a target. A big
target. For better or for worse.
Ten years ago, I
was prepared for the backbiting, the unwarranted nitpicking, the sometimes steady
criticisms, the fact that nothing I could do sometimes would ever be right for
some people. I knew those things always
existed in the church. I did not go into this as some doe-eyed, naïve PollyAnna.
I was prepared for all this vocation
would give me—both good and bad. I was
prepared for people who were not in ordained ministry who thought they knew more
doing ordained ministry than me. I was
prepared for those people who thought they could do my job better than I could.
And I was prepared for those who were ready to piggyback onto the good works I
actually was able to accomplish. I knew
and was prepared for all of those things.
Ten years ago I
thought I knew what it meant to be “broken.” I know now what it means to be
broken. And I have served many broken people.
But I was also prepared
for the good things, as much as anyone can be prepared for such things in their
lives. In these ten years I’ve known the
beauty of grace and friendship. I’ve known what it was to be the priest in a
congregation of strong and caring people who truly care for their priest. I’ve known the joys of being part of the
celebrations that our church is known for as well—for the baptisms and the
weddings and the celebrations of the good things of life. I’ve enjoyed the
suppers and the parties and all the other celebrations that go along with being
a priest.
And I’ve known
the incredible joy of being the priest of a congregation that has grown and
expanded by leaps and bounds and to be a part of a place that has amazed everyone.
I knew what it was, in those moments, to
see God breaking through in wonderful and incredible ways.
I also realized
that all that spiritual training I had—clinging to the Holy Eucharist and the
discipline of the Daily Offices of Morning and Evening Prayer—could truly sustain
one spiritually when the Devil takes you by throat and shakes you. The Holy Eucharist and the Daily Office have
been my buoys. They helped me keep my
head above water.
Yes, I am the scarred
veteran priest. But I stand before you as priest who can still hold my head up
and say, without one qualm, without one doubt, without hesitation: I am so
happy to be a priest. I am! I really am!
I’m going to
close tonight with the prayer I had printed on my worship booklet back then. It
was a prayer I adapted from a prayer by one of my all-time heroes, Michael Ramsey,
Archbishop of Canterbury. I can say that this has been a prayer that has been
answered in ways I never knew prayers could be answered. This is a prayer that
is a very clear warning to everyone: be careful sometimes what you pray
for. It might actually be answered.
I close with
this prayer I prayed ten years ago tonight. And tonight, I can say that prayer
has been answered. And for that, I am truly grateful.
Let us pray.
Lord Jesus, the years have fallen away—one by one—
only to reveal this one shining moment.
It lies here before me as a precious gift I neither asked for nor deserved.
And yet, here it is. Here it is in its beauty, more precious than any other gift.
Only one thing I ask: take my heart and break it.
Break it not as I would like it to be broken, but as you would.
And because it is you who are breaking it, how can I be afraid,
for your hands are the hands I have felt all my life at my back and on my face, supporting me, comforting me and guiding me
to the places you wanted me to be.
Your hands are safety and in them, I am safe.
Take my heart and where you have broken it, fill it with joy—
not the joy I want for myself, but the joy you want for me.
Fill my heart with a burning joy and let its fire burn away
everything dead or dying within me.
Let my heart burn with a joy I can not imagine
and can only vaguely comprehend.
It’s
time, Lord Jesus, and I am ready.
See!
I am ready to be your priest.
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