June 12, 2019
Matthew
10.7-16
I can say that scripture has
definitely been a prophecy-fulfilled in my ministry. When I heard those words
fifteen years ago last night, I may have had an idea of what Jesus meant.
Fifteen year later, I can truly say I KNOW what Jesus meant.
I’ve been there, in the midst of
those wolves. And if I have had any gift granted to me by God to survive, it has
definitely been to be wise as a serpent and innocent as a dove. Well,
I don’t know how “innocent” I’ve been. But I’ve tried really hard to
be innocent as a dove.
Fifteen years ago, on that that hot
night (and it WAS hot that night) I was impatient. I was biting at the bit. I
was straining forward. That ordination couldn’t happen fast enough.
And when it did, it was something.
It was unique. And it was wonderful. I truly experienced the Holy Spirit that
night.
I have told you before how, when the
Bishop laid hands on my head that night, I FELT the electricity of the Spirit
in that moment. And I definitely felt something change in me.
At moments, it seems like it was
just yesterday. And at other moments, it seems like it was 100 years
ago.
15 years of priestly ministry. 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 programmed into
me.
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 up.
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 twenty years ago, when I
told the first Episcopal priest I too 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.
The door was closed and that was
that.
And if that priest had had his way,
it would’ve ended there.
Actually, let’s face it: the odds
were against me. Because of who I am and what I am, I really can’t imagine now
how I made it through and was ordained.
And there were people who said I
shouldn’t have been ordained.
There were people who said I had no right
to stand at the altar.
Sadly for them, they did not get
their way.
Nor really did I.
God did.
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.
But it helped that 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 knew and was prepared for all of
those things.
Fifteen 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 fifteen years I’ve known
the beauty of grace and friendship. 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 have
been the buoys through the hard times. They have been the buoys when my father
died and then when my mother died. They have helped me when I have
felt so utterly alone in this world. They helped me keep my head above water.
So, 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
fifteen years ago last night. And tonight, I can say that prayer has been
answered. Again and again in my life. And for that, I am truly grateful.
Let us pray.
Holy God, 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 cannot imagine
and can only
vaguely comprehend.
It’s time,
Lord, and I am ready.
See! I am
ready to be your priest.
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