June 9, 2024
Mark 3.20-35
+ There is a great scene that I often quote from a little known
film called Mrs. Parker and the Vicious Circle.
The movie is about the poet and humorist Dorothy Parker and her
witty intellectual friends that formed the Algonquin Round Table in 1920s.
Parker was known for little humorous quips like,
“Men seldom makes passes at girls who wear glasses.”
“Women and elephants never forget.”
Or
“I requite only three things of a man. He must be handsome,
ruthless and stupid.”
At the end of the film, Parker, played by Jennifer Jason Leigh is
being given an award.
After she is introduced, Parker, now aged and alcoholic, slowly
makes her way to the podium.
Everyone of course is expecting a witty, joke-filled speech.
But as she reached the podium, she leans into the mike and says,
“I never thought I’d make it.”
She then turns and stumbles off the podium.
Well, today, as I celebrate the 20th anniversary of my
ordination to the Priesthood, I echo Dorothy Parker.
“I never thought I’d make it. “
Amen.
That’s my sermon for today.
Thank you all for coming.
Ok, just kidding.
No, there were many times when I wasn’t certain I would, in fact,
“make it.”
Ordained ministry is—I hate to break this news to all of you—hard.
Really hard.
Sometimes excruciatingly hard.
And as I look back at the many people who have walked this path
with me so far, as I look at other ordained people who have done so, there are
many who did not in fact “make it.”
The statistics are bleak for ordained people.
90% of clergy work 55 to 75 hours a week.
84% felt that they are on-call 24/7
80% believe ministry has negatively affected their families. Pastor’s kids very rarely if ever attend
church once they have reached adulthood.
65% feel they live constantly in a so-called “glass house.”
78% feel that their vacation and personal time is interrupted with
duties and expectations.
90% believe that parishioners think the pastor should be able to
read their minds. (I can’t read your minds, btw)
Only 1 out of every 10 clergy will retire as a pastor.
But, guess what?
I knew that going into it.
The Gospel reading on
the night I was ordained was Mark 10.7-16
In that reading, we hear
Jesus say, “I am sending you as sheep into the midst of wolves; so be wise as
serpents and innocent as doves.”
I’ve said it
before—I’ll sat it again—that could be my motto in life.
I can say that
scripture has definitely been a prophecy fulfilled in my ministry.
When I heard those
words twenty years ago, I had an idea of what Jesus meant.
Even ten years ago I
would’ve said, I definitely knew what that meant.
Twenty years later, I
can say I have lived that scripture thoroughly.
I’ve been there, in
the midst of those wolves.
I have known those
wolves well
Some of them even
claimed to be friends.
And if I have had any
gift granted to me by God, it has definitely been to be wise as a serpent and
innocent as a dove.
Well, I don’t know
how “wise” or “innocent” I’ve been.
But I’ve tried really
hard to be wise and innocent.
Twenty years ago, I remember
waiting in the vesting room of Gethsemane Cathedral in Fargo.
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, let
me tell you: it was something!
It was incredible.
When the Bishop laid
hands on my head, I FELT the Holy Spirit!
At moments, it seems
like it was just yesterday.
And at other moments,
it seems like it was 100 years ago.
Twenty years of
priestly ministry.
If we were going to
break the numbers down, they would fall into place like this:
2,026 Masses that
I’ve celebrated.
That’s 2,500 sermons
I have preached.
That’s over a hundred
baptisms
That’s over a hundred
weddings ( just did two this past weekend).
And more than 250 funerals,
including the burial services for my mother, two of my brothers, and many of my
aunts, uncles and cousins.
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 wolf 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, 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.
I have tripped.
I have stumbled.
I have made a mistake
or two. Or 800.
But even then, even despite
that, somehow it’s been so good.
No, it hasn’t been
easy.
I’ve wrestled with Bishops,
fellow clergy, a stalker or two and a few people who definitely did not
appreciated my particular style of ministry.
I have been called
(by the wife of a fellow clergy person), a “devil in priest’s garb.” (Considering
that Jesus was called “Beelzebub” in today’s Gospel, I consider myself in good
company with that insult).
I’ve been called “irreverent.”
I’ve been called a “heretic.”
I have been accused
of hubris, of not knowing my place, or simply just being a jerk.
And those are just
some of the nicer things.
But despite all of
that, I have never once been called a bad priest.
Because I’m not.
The late great Kathy Hawken
said to me again and again, “you’re one of the good ones.”
Coming from her,
those words held truth and power.
And I have held them
close to me over the years.
Still, I am not a
priest who suffers fools lightly.
And, I hate to break
the news to you, there are a fair number of fools in the Church.
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.
For better or for
worse.
Twenty years ago, I thought
I was prepared for the bad stuff.
I knew those things
always existed in the church.
After all, 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.
When it was bad, it
was really BAD!
But when it was good.
. . it was SOOO good!
It has also been a
truly glorious 20 years.
In these twenty years
I’ve known the beauty of grace and friendship.
I’ve known what it
was to be the priest in a parish of strong and caring people who truly care for
their priest.
I’ve known the joys
of being part of the celebrations of baptisms and weddings and the celebrations
of the good things of life.
I’ve enjoyed the
suppers and the parties and the births of new babies and all the other
celebrations that go along with being a priest.
And in each of those
moments, I was able to witness God breaking through in wonderful and incredible
ways.
You—all of you—have become
family to me.
I stand before you
today, a 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 so happy to be
your priest.
Of course, you all make it easier for me.
I am in a parish I love.
I am in a parish that I feel loves me.
Having said all of this, I just want to be clear: being ordained
doesn’t make someone “special.”
Yes, there are perks.
But the fact is, we—all of us who are Christian, who are called to
follow Jesus---are ministers.
We are ALL called to ministry, to do the work of furthering the Kingdom
of God here and now.
We are striving together to do the will of God.
In today’s Gospel, we hear Jesus saying,
“Whoever does
the will of God is my brother and my sister and my mother.”
What does it mean to do the will of God?
We know what doing the will of God is.
Doing the will of God is living out Jesus’ commandment to love God
and love one another.
Doing the will of God is loving—radically and fully and
completely.
Doing the will of God is accepting all people radically and
completely.
Doing the will of God is doing things that others say shouldn’t
(or can’t) be done.
Essentially, it is being a family—the sisters and brothers of
Jesus—to those who need families.
That is what the Church does best.
That is what we are all called to do in our own ministries.
Certainly, when we look around us here at St. Stephen’s, we do
understand what a family is, and what Jesus is talking about in our Gospel
reading for today.
Yes, we are an eclectic, eccentric bunch of people.
But, when we look around, we also realize we’re very much a
family.
Now, by that I don’t mean we’re all happy and nice with each other
all the times.
When we get this kind of variety together in one place, there are
going to be differences.
There are going to be people (or priests, or deacons) who drive us
crazy.
But, in the end, we always come together and do what we are called
to do as followers of Jesus.
We are the ones who, on good days and bad, who in the face of
life’s storms or in the sunshine of our youth, we are the ones who even at the
grave, are able to rejoice and sing and say, with true conviction, “Hallelujah!
Hallelujah! Hallelujah!”
This is what it
means to do the will of God.
And by doing this, we are the brothers and sisters of Jesus.
And sisters and brothers to each other as well.
“Who are my mother and my brothers and my sisters?” we are being
asked today.
We are!
We are being Jesus’ sisters and brothers in this world by doing
what we are called to do as followers of Jesus.
So, let us be the
siblings of Jesus in this world.
And thank you especially for being my family—my siblings—in my life
and ministry with you.
I do not know what the next or twenty years hold for me as a priest.
But I do hope and pray that God will always grant me people who
love me and support and endure me as you all have over these years.
Thank you!
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