My New Year's Prayer

Christmas One

Year C

30 December 2012

John 1:1-18

        Today’s Gospel reading is beautiful.  It is poetic and powerful—a song of the Incarnation.  A song celebrating God’s past action in creation and a song which promises that God continues to be dynamically and personally involved in the ongoing creative process of the world.  It is a song which proclaims who Jesus is and what the mission of Jesus to humanity is.  It is a song which loudly and beautifully proclaims God’s love for all of humanity and promises that nothing and no one is outside the creative life giving purpose of the Word.  And perhaps most importantly, it is a song which calls us to action.

        The Incarnation is a merciful act of God.  A contemporary theologian describes mercy as “entering into the chaos of another.”  Fr. Kevin, a catholic priest in New York in a recent Maureen Dowd article states that, “Christmas is really a celebration of the mercy of God who entered the chaos of our world in the person of Jesus, mercy incarnate.” [1] God’s unconditional love came to us in human form as an act of mercy entering into the chaos, the darkness of the world where occasionally, because of the Incarnation, we catch glimpses of, we experience moments of the Kingdom of God.  It is in and through the Incarnation that we are connected in a new way to God.  God has started a new creation, and we are asked, begged, commanded to participate as children of God.  We are to be the loving presence of Christ for others, to be the light in the darkness and the needed change for the world.  In an act which we can barely comprehend, God has chosen to enter the world today through others, through us.

        On Christmas Eve you may have felt a frenetic pace—a buzz of energy, the joyful expectation of the birth of Jesus; Christmas Day may have brought peace and wonder and awe, basking in the love and presence of the Christ child—today, however, I believe we are meant to feel a call to action—a pull to participate.  A pull to move from the comfortable, warm basking glow of the love and mercy of God into the darkness and brokenness of the world carrying the light and the love and mercy of God with us.

        To me it feels both energizing and overwhelming.  It is exciting and it is terrifying.  How are we to know what to do?  Jesus, John’s Gospel tells us is the model—He shows us in his life all we need to know.  Jesus shows us that we are to heal, forgive, embrace outcasts, and pray for those who hurt us.  We are to comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable (there are many more who are afflicted, not comfortable—even those who look comfortable are not necessarily so.  The pain and hurt of so many is deep and hidden.  What it looks like on the outside isn’t always the reality.) We are to be an unconditionally loving presence in the world.  A presence which soothes broken hearts, binds up wounds, and wipes away tears.  And that’s all.

        Yes it seems overwhelming—impossible—and it is, on our own.  But because of the Incarnation, because God is with us, we can see, hear and know God in ways never before possible.  Because of the Incarnation, we become, as children of God, active participants—part of the new creation.  “From his fullness we have all received, grace upon grace.” We are not alone.  Jesus speaks God’s power into our lives.  Not only has God given us the power, but God’s has also given us a community of faith. Our faith is lived in community. 

        In our community, just like in our own personal families, we are different and that in and of itself brings challenges.  We are called to step into the darkness and chaos of the world, to bring healing to others and to let light shine, but if we are honest, truly honest, we know that sometimes right here within our own community of faith it feels just as foreign and dark and chaotic.  There are times one may feel that he or she is the square peg in a round hole—that others do not see things the same way.  We may wonder how we fit within this community of faith, do we have a place, are we needed, are we worthy?  And we wonder if we cannot agree within our community of faith, how are we to bring the light of Christ to the world?  How are we to bring hope and mercy and love into the darkness, brokenness, and chaos of the world when we don’t seem to be able to find any unity among ourselves?  When it seems there is so much darkness and brokenness within our own community.  It is on these times of doubt that we must really listen, hear, believe, and practice the belief that nothing and no one is outside the creative life giving purpose of the Word.  We must challenge our narrow minded, black and white, right and wrong thinking.

        My prayer for this New Year, for myself, for this congregation, and for the world is that as we continue to live into this new creation and to participate in God’s eternal creative process, we are able to open our eyes and perhaps use a new lens.  Instead of searching out and gathering with those who think like us about theology, politics and life, that we are able to engage with those who seem different-who have a different view, a different way of being and yet also deeply desire  to bring healing and wholeness and light to the world.  We have to believe in and practice God’s unconditional love.

        I’m reminded of a kaleidoscope.  Remember those?  You look into the hole and see the many colors and shapes.  The beauty, the real beauty comes when the different colors and shapes overlap and when they connect.  Perhaps we should rethink the Kingdom of God and what it means to participate in it’s in breaking , to rethink what will hold the Kingdom together—perhaps unity is not the cement of God’s Kingdom, but rather love is.  What would that belief look like in your life?

---

[1] Dowd, Maureeen, New York Times, December 25.

Hope for the Church

Yesterday I had the opportunity to have lunch with two remarkable young men (actually 3, but only 2 under the age of 21). My children have known these two young men for five years--admired them from afar and then gradually become closer and closer to them as they reached out as mentors and friends. As I left the restaurant I thought to myself, "I'm not sure we should all be so concerned about the future of the Church. My family alone has been touched by the teenage generation in many ways." These teens do not endlessly spout the Gospel although they know it. Rather, these teens live the Gospel day in and day out in everything they do.

In 2002 we moved to Pittsburgh PA where we knew no one--no family within 6 1/2 hours. The church became our family--the church and particularly some of the families in it--families with teens. Keep in mind, at this time my children were 2, 3, 5 and 6--if I was a teen I'd run in the opposite direction. Instead, I would often walk into the youth room at church where my children would be snuggled on the couch with various teens watching Veggie Tale movies. And if I needed a babysitter? I just walked into the youth room and asked. First hand up got the job. Let me introduce a few of these teens to you.

Holland Banse--graceful, poised, beautiful and kind. Holland was an outstanding student who danced with the Pittsburgh ballet. SK also danced with the ballet and thought Holland walked on water. Every time Holland saw SK at the studio, she made time to stop and talk to her regardless of whether she was surrounded by her friends. Holland was a beautiful dancer and at the end of a show where she had a major role, before accepting her congratulations from her many admirers, she took the time to have pictures with SK. SK felt loved and accepted and worthy--she called Holland her best friend. Love, acceptance, worthiness, grace--the Gospel

Lee Banse--quiet and unassuming but oh so patient. Several times he would unpack his hockey bag to let my boys try on his pads. Now that I'm a mother of those huge sports bags, I can better appreciate the time it took to unpack and repack those bags. But he did it, every time. Caring for the littlest--the Gospel.

Big Will--that's what we called him. His laughter and joy spread through our family like wildfire. When Caroline spent the night at his house (a whole other story), Will gave up his bed--sacrifice--the Gospel.

TJ Woodyard--TJ was the football star. One Maundy Thursday service he was serving as the crucifer at the service. It was dark and completely silent. As he passed our pew, he winked at William who loudly declared, "Look Mama TJ plays football and he's friends with God." The next fall, TJ's senior year, they beat their rivals. As he was celebrating with his teammates, he saw my five year old on the other side of the fence.  He reached over, picked him up, put him on his shoulders, and for a moment let him be part of the celebration. My son's favorite memory is when TJ picked him up from football practice. We tried to pay TJ for his time and gas. His response, "No ma'm that's what friends do for each other." Inclusion--the Gospel

Genna Woodyard--a loyal fun filled babysitter. One horrible night Caroline had to be rushed to the hospital with a dog bite. Genna showed up to care for the children so Chris could be with me. She kept the other children occupied and accepted no payment. We had been invited to TJ's graduation party but couldn't go because Caroline was hospitalized. My children were devastated. Genna promised them she'd save the shrimp platter and balloons for them--and she did. Charity and love--the Gospel.

Cissy Woodyard--Cissy traveled to the beach with us and spent hours doing whatever our children wanted to do.  Building sandcastles and introducing them to other sand models.  On the day of her middle school orientation, she chose to spend the day with our children at an amusement water park.  Self less love--the Gospel.

And now back to these two young men. John and Stuart MacLean--they are fun; they are quirky. They listen to everyone child or adult with complete and total attention. When they talk to you their eyes almost pierce through you. You truly feel like you are the most important person in the world at that very moment. They are interested in your life. They are phenomenal role models for my children. They have taught them the importance of being true to yourself, of being part of a family warts and all, of being faithful to your family, friends, and faith. I suspect they have an inkling that my boys idolize them, but they treat them as friends.

These are just a few of the youth who have touched our lives. I know there are so many others in the world.  I have listened endlessly to people complaining about the youth of today, the decline of the church, and there is some truth in all of that if we only want to view the youth and the church through the lens we've been using for 50 years. But these youth are moving on--they are showing me and showing others, that the Church is outside of the walls of a building. It is in a ballet studio, on a football field, in a hospital room, at camp, around a camp fire and anywhere they find themselves. The Gospel is alive; the Gospel is in action; I know. I've seen it in the youth of today

Reclaiming a Voice

Advent 4

Year C

        It has sickened me this week to hear people of faith trying to make sense of the shootings at Sandy Hook Elementary by claiming it is part of God’s plan.  Many have loudly proclaimed that God allowed these things to happen because God was taken out of the schools or because the state of Connecticut approved same-sex marriage.  One person in the paper yesterday compared the slaughter in Connecticut to the biblical book of Job saying that in Job God gave the devil permission to attack the righteous title character and to bring harm including killing children.  He concluded by saying God is sovereign and this is part of God’s plan.  I have been shocked and appalled and brought to tears whenever I try to talk about it with my children or anyone else.  It is into these events of the past week that these readings have come to me, to us.

        Mary, Elizabeth, and Micah were prophets.  We often understand prophets to be about predicting the future.  But these prophets were about naming the present—naming God’s activity in their very present lives and in their very broken worlds.  And they connected it to the history of God’s faithfulness and to the hope of what is yet to come.

        Mary was a young girl—a young unwed pregnant girl.  We often picture and sing about Mary as meek and mild—beautiful in her blue with a serene look on her face.  I challenge that.  I’m not saying she didn’t have those characteristics, but she also had a rebellious side—would probably fit well into the teenage world of my house.  Mary had to have known the danger of being an unwed pregnant woman—she could be killed because of it.  But Mary didn’t hide in her house—hide her pregnancy, dare I say it; hide what could bring her shame.  Mary took off with haste to her cousin’s house.  She must have known the dangers of traveling alone through the Judean countryside.  These were not safe time times; they were desperate times—desperate times make people desperate and desperate people can do horrible things.  The rulers of Judea and Israel were frantically trying to consolidate their positions of power—there were armies everywhere, bandits everywhere, and yet she set out with haste to her cousin’s house.  Mary’s daring actions as well as her song are responses to her faith. 

Mary’s song is—both deeply personal as well as for the world.  It connects her own experience of God and God’s faithfulness to God’s faithfulness in the world.  Her song is a response to God’s activity in the world; it is an interpretation of God in that moment, and it names who God is.  She names God a just, kind, humble, faithful, merciful—caring for the lowly, for the least of these.  That doesn’t sound to me like the God that is being proclaimed in the news—

        Being a prophet was and is dangerous—naming God’s activity in the world takes strength and courage.  It requires that we put ourselves out there and are possibly ridiculed, but speaking we must do.  Speaking our faith and naming what we see and what we know of God is powerful and essential.  We have to dig into our own faith and announce what our experience of a loving faithful God is.  I’ve said it before, words are powerful—think about the first time you told someone you loved them.  It was risky; you were vulnerable, and yet uttering those three words intensified the relationship.  You can act loving towards someone, but to say it makes it a reality; it brings a power and a force to a relationship.  In the same way, we must speak to the brokenness of this world with our faiths.  Like Mary, our faith is both deeply personal and also connected to the world; to the past, present and future of God and God’s activity in the world.

We cannot leave the speaking of our faith to the “experts”, and trust me I’m no expert.  Was Mary an expert?  Was Mary a powerful person who had the protection of graduate degrees or of body guards? 

I believe that we must speak up and speak loudly.  We must reclaim the prophetic voice that others are using and in my opinion bringing great harm to people.  We are called to respond and to participate in in the redemption of the world.  We must not only interpret God’s activity, but also name who God is—loving and merciful, just and kind.  God who cares for the lowly—who on that horrible day was with those small children caring for them, not using them as payback for kicking God out of the schools—because I’ve got news for you—you can’t kick God out.  It is our responsibility to claim that—to proclaim Emmanuel—God with us even in the darkness.  We have to not only live our faiths, act in ways that bring the light into the world, but we must also speak our faith—speak about the light and the hope.  My dear friend and mentor the Rev. Ben Maas says the goal is not to provide neat answers for why suffering occurs but rather to assure us of what is ultimately the message of Christmas.  “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness cannot overcome it, no matter how much it seems like the darkness is winning.”

God is calling each one of us to respond to the darkness, to bring light, and to participate in the redemption of the world in whatever ways we can.  This week I read of the funeral of a six year old boy—his uncle and cousin were firefighters in NY and it was his dream to become a firefighter as well. On the day of his funeral over 800 firefighters showed up from all over the country—they showed up in their dress blues and they saluted this young boy.  They responded—they brought light and hope to the darkness and the pain and the grief.  Those firefighters and many others were God’s hands and feet in this world—in their action they proclaimed loudly that God comes to forgive and to heal, to bind up the broken hearted and to wipe the tears from those who mourn, to put this broken world and these broken lives back together.

How is God calling you to participate in the redemption of the world?  What is God calling you to proclaim?  We are all too painfully aware of how broken the world is—let us each bring the light and hope to the world.  God works through us all—through the meek and mild, the lowly—through an infant born to an unwed teenage mother.  As we move into Christmas and celebrate, let us remember that we are celebrating God’s incarnation—God’s presence and activity in the world—we are celebrating the work of restoration.  Don’t just light a candle of hope, be a candle of hope.

A reflection on Ordination

Sarah Katherine invoking the Holy Spirit

I was asked prior to Ordination if I would write about the experience for this edition of the CalvaryConnection.  I agreed having no idea what I would write but thinking somewhat arrogantly that I’d have plenty to say and would be able to say it easily and eloquently.  That has not been the case—so much so that I’m past deadline turning this article into the editorial board.  But I have tried to write it and have written it many times in my head and on paper, and yet none seem adequate or able to fully express what I felt that day and today.  And so I have trashed all those, and I ask to speak to you from the heart.  I want to be as honest and open about this experience as I possibly can whether or not it is poetic and elegant.  I won’t take you back to the day fifteen years ago when I first heard God call me into ordained ministry, but I would like to take you back to the week prior to Ordination.

            Beginning on Sunday, I started re-reading the vows that I would soon be making, and by Monday evening I was in a state of panic.  I was very ready to say I couldn’t do it.  I didn’t feel worthy or prepared.  And so I called the Bishop to set up an appointment and tell him so.  My mind kept saying, “Who do you think you are responding to these vows? You can never live into or up to them.”  Fortunately he didn’t call me back right away but rather I spent all week thinking, praying, and conversing with close clergy friends.

            Thursday morning the Bishop responded to my request, and truly God bless him; he sat with me for an hour and a half in his office as I wept and told him all the reasons I couldn’t do this.  I told him my fears of failure, of not living up to my call, and of becoming cynical and/or arrogant.  I told him I feared putting my family in the spotlight, and I told him I didn’t want to fail the church or the people I served.  It was truly one of the most pastoral times I have ever experienced.  Bishop White did not take my doubts lightly, nor did he feed into my anxiety.  Instead, he sat and he listened.  And then he offered me these words, “It is not about living into them 100% of the time.  It is about faithfully trying to live into them and when you don’t, asking forgiveness.”  And he prayed with me.

            Friday was a whirlwind.  There are few times in your life when those you love most in the world from all parts of your life gather in one place.  By Friday they were coming in, by car and plane.  I was and am eternally humbled and grateful that all these people came in the midst of the busyness of this month.  Thirty six family members and close friends descended upon Louisville.  Some of these people hadn’t seen one another in 19 years—since our wedding.  There was laughter, love and catching up (and a production of Beauty and the Beast in which Caroline played a role along with dinner out for 26.) 

           

Typical Caroline

Saturday morning felt so much like the morning of my wedding.  I knew it was a day that would change my life, and yet there seemed to be nothing to do.  So, I did laundry, made breakfast, and arrived at the church far too early—early enough to get in everyone else’s way.  As we lined up for the processional I held both my sons hands and shook like a leaf.  Right before we entered the

church the Bishop asked, “You holding up okay?”  To which I responded, “You know the day of my wedding on our way down the aisle Daddy said there was a limo waiting outside if I wanted to run.”  In his pastoral way, Bishop White just smiled and began singing.

            So what did it feel like?  It did in many ways feel like my wedding day.  I entered the church and saw so many people who I loved and who loved me.  People I knew would be there and people I didn’t.  My knees almost gave way when I saw a new friend smiling at me because I knew she was missing her son’s basketball tournament to be there and we’ve only been friends for a few short months.  I saw Calvary parishioners, St. Mark’s parishioners, friends from the past, my children’s friends, and my family.  And although my doubts did not dissipate, I was held up knowing that these people believed in me and believed in my call; their presence said so.  As a community of faith we are called to lift one another up, to carry one another’s burdens, and to love one another faithfully and unconditionally.  I am so proud, honored, and humbled to be part of this community of faith.

           

The service was phenomenal.  Honestly, I cannot wait to see the video because I was so affected by each and every part that I know I missed some things.  A highlight for me was receiving a high five from my son after I signed my declaration.  That act said so much—it said I love you, I accept you, I believe in you, and I believe in your call.  In that moment a high five was just as holy as receiving the Bible.  It’s a lesson to be remembered—the love of God and community comes in the grandiose, but it also comes in the simple, everyday acts.  The ordinary becomes holy in the presence of God. 

            I think I began crying at the beginning of the service and didn’t stop.  It has been a long journey—a journey filled with mountains and valleys.  And in these moments it all came together.  All the fear and the doubts united with the love and peace of God, and it was sacred and it was real. 

           

In true and complete transparency I will share with you one of my greatest fears.  Perhaps because I am “older” and have worked in churches for many years, I have seen the good, the bad, and the ugly.  As I told the Bishop, “If that’s what’s going to happen to me, I don’t want it.  I don’t want to change who I am as a person, a mother, a wife, and a friend.  I love being a Deacon and serving others-I never want to lose that.  But, I so strongly feel called to the celebration of the sacraments.  I need to do this.”  The Ordination service spoke to these fears—there are many churches who would

not have “allowed” the full participation of my family members, who would have balked at a preacher from outside the Diocese (much less the country), who would have ignored those from other denominations.  But this community not only welcomed everyone, but you also lifted us all in prayer, understood the importance for each of us, and most importantly you told us so.  The presence of the Holy Spirit was powerfully felt.

            One final aspect to highlight—that of the laying on of hands.  Was it heavy?  Yes. Over 20 priests laid their hands on my head at the same time—very heavy.  Another gift I have of being “older” is knowing so well the clergy in this Diocese.  I count them some of my best friends.  And so yes, their hands were heavy—

the heaviness said to me you are taking on a huge vocation that will not always be easy.  A vocation where you will sometimes feel weighed down by it all, and it will bring you to your knees.  But in those hands I also felt the caresses of friends who loved me and who would continue to love me.  Hands that said, “When you feel the weight, we are here your colleagues and your friends, and we will lift you up.” Hands that would be available to clasp mine in prayer.

            I’m never quite certain how to respond to “congratulations” or “do you feel different?”  I know that I alone did not do this; I alone in fact, did very little.  As my dear friend Father Christopher Halliday said in his sermon, in his Gospel, John writes, “you did not choose me, no I chose you and appointed you to go and bear fruit.”  Fr. Christopher said, “John is very clear that in our faith journeys it is God who calls us, it is God who chooses us for ministries; it is God who initiates the process and hopefully we recognize and respond.”  Congratulations do not belong to me—do I feel different?  Yes, how I cannot explain—not weighted but not weightless.  I feel different I think because I said yes to the identity that God called me to say yes to.  The Holy Spirit clothed me on Dec. 8 with the ministry to which I was called.  God called and I responded.  I ask for your continued prayers, support and friendship as I continue to try to live into this calling, and you will be in mine—my prayers and my heart.  I am truly blessed that Calvary is the church to which I have been called as I begin the ministry of my priesthood. 

             

Magic Hands

I'm sitting here this morning trying to write my sermon.  But after the shootings yesterday at Sandy Hook Elementary School, everything I had planned to say no longer seems, well, right.  I'm trying to figure out how to talk about what happened because it has to be talked about; it has to be named.  And yet I have no words.  Having no words is not easy for me--

This may seem simple and trite, but here's what keeps going through my mind.  I'm reflecting back over this week, my first week of being an ordained priest or as some call it "getting the magic hands."  My family has always asked when I would get the mojo (I know completely sacrilegious and inappropriate, perhaps my bishop will never see those words).  "Hands" that is the word that continues to resonate in my mind.

See this week I went on Mommy strike.  I felt that my children were becoming unappreciative and entitled, and so I stopped doing some of the things I normally do like waking them up by bringing a tray of hot chocolate and/or coffee to their bedside.  It was an act of love, an act of servant hood, an act I deeply loved doing.  I have hated not doing it this week.  I have missed doing it this week--each time I bring them their mugs, I gaze down at their sleeping heads and pictures of time fly through my head.  I see them at all stages of their lives sleeping peacefully in my home, under my roof--where I can see them, touch them and hear them breathe.  And I know all too soon they will begin one by one to not be here as they move onto the next phase of their lives.  And so in an attempt to "help them" develop into caring compassionate adults, I stopped my morning ritual.

Last night while watching the news I thought to myself, "how many of those parents would give anything to take a mug of hot chocolate to their sleeping babies, to gaze down on them and remember the past and look with anticipation to the future.  How many of them wouldn't care if their children acted spoiled as long as they were still in their homes and not slaughtered in a school."  And I wept.  I wept for the parents, for the children, and for all parents and children.  And I wept for how hard it is to parent, for how hard it is to say no to our children.  And I wept for parents who do their very best and either they don't feel good enough or society tells them their not.  I wept for those parents who have lost children and for people who have never had them, for parents who did everything they knew how to do, and still life for their children didn't turn out the way they wanted.  And I began to struggle--what is all this teaching me?  How can I learn from this, should I just forget my strike?  Should my hands once again bring my children their mugs no matter how they behave?  And then I thought and am still thinking about the consequences of that....

I want to be clear that I am making no judgments on parenting--shoot I think the idea of being on strike means not ironing their sheets when I change them--but I do wonder.  I wonder if we want our children to feel so loved and safe and good that we forget that our jobs are also to develop them into caring, compassionate, loving adults.  If we allow behaviors to begin to be fostered because we are afraid--afraid our children won't love us, afraid our children will reject us.  That fear is powerful.  That fear sometimes leads me to give in, to look the other way, to say, "it's not so bad." As one of my closest friends said to me yesterday, "do not give in, remember why you are doing this. Stand up for yourself and tell your kids the truth in love.  You deserve their respect and admiration. 

And so I'm back to "hands".  Yesterday I held my children a little tighter and a little longer even though they squirmed to get out.  And I know many other parents did as well.  I think about what we can do with our hands--we can make mugs of hot chocolate, We can hug our children and other children, we can hug and hold the hands of those that grieve, and we can hold up our hands and stay "stop".  But I think what makes all of our hands magic is that we can use them to pray.  And today I will do just that-as a priest and as a mother; I invite you to do it with me.   Tomorrow I'll think about the hot chocolate.  

Answering God's Call--It's not a choice

Second Sunday of Advent

Year C

2012 December 9

Malachi 3:1-4; Philippians 1:3-11; Luke 3:-16

          Yesterday was beautiful—breathtakingly beautiful.  And in this very place the presence of God was powerfully felt.  The Holy Spirit could be felt moving through the music, the liturgy and through the very people gathered.  I was overwhelmed and emotional (you might have noticed that), but I was also uplifted and energized—terrified but ready to say yes to my vows and ready to begin my ministry as a priest.  I was ready to answer the call God was making to me.  But let me for a moment take you back to where it all began---

          Picture this scene for me if you will—one very early hot and humid July morning in 1997, we were living in  Athens GA,   I was standing in my dining room at the side board changing my newborn son; yes in the dining room at the sideboard which had been converted into a changing table because I couldn’t go up the stairs due to the c-section.  Standing on the chair next to me “helping” was my not yet 2 year old daughter talking non-stop (wonder where she gets that).  My eyes were rimmed with dark circles, my feet were still swollen, I probably hadn’t showered in a day or two; I was covered with the results of a baby with reflux and surrounded by a collection of dirty sippy cups—and all of a sudden I very clearly heard God calling me into ordained ministry.  That night I decided to test this out—not that I had too much time during the day to think about this powerful moment, but occasionally it occurred to me that I might have been hallucinating due to lack of sleep—so that night I said to Chris, “I think I know what I’m supposed to do when the children are grown.”  And he looked at me and said, “Me too—you’re supposed to be a priest.”  And in that moment God was as powerfully present as He was here yesterday.  The Holy Spirit was working in the chaotic ordinariness of our lives just like the Holy Spirit was working yesterday in the extraordinariness of the ordination liturgy. 

          Our Gospel today brings these two together—the ordinary and the extraordinary, the holy and the ordinary—the reading begins by setting the particular time and place; it names 7 very important, very powerful, very well-known political and religious leaders, but it is not these people to whom the word of God came.  No, the word of God came to a simple eccentric nobody, according to world’s standards—to a man living in the wilderness with wild hair and wild looking clothes made of camel’s hair (probably looked a lot like I did on that July morning)—a man subsisting on wild honey and locust—a humble ordinary every man.  The word of God did not come to those who “deserved” it—to those who thought they deserved it, and it did not come to those who had the most power and influence—but rather to John the son of Zechariah, an unassuming man living in the wilderness.  And he responded.

          John responded to his call right where he was in the region around Jordan.  John’s ministry was to a particular place at a particular time and yet that ministry—John’s answering yes to God’s call—changed the world. 

          Now before you sit back and think “whew” I know for a fact I’m not called to live in the wilderness and I’m sure I’m not called into ordained ministry, read the final lines—all flesh.  Yes, that means you.  God is calling each and every one of us—everyone here is called into a ministry at your particular place and at this particular time.  God is calling us all to prepare, to prepare ourselves and to prepare the world.  Today’s passage reminds us that the Kingdom of God is here and yet it is all still to come.  God is still in the process of redemption, and God is calling all of us to participate—God is confronting us, commanding our attention, and demanding our response.

          God is coming to us in the our own wildernesses; in the messiness of our everyday chaotic ordinary lives and challenging us to evaluate our lives, our values and our priorities.  To look at our lives and to see how we are living into our ministries wherever they may be—the office, the home, or school.  How are we living that proclaims the presence of and the coming of the Kingdom of God?  Our first reading talks about refining and purifying—what in our lives needs to be refined so that we are prepared to answer and live into God’s call?

          It is not easy—in our lives there have been, there are and there will be challenges.  The path is not straight; there are valleys to go through and mountains to climb.  There are days we won’t feel like it or days that we will be challenged and feel like the whole world is against us and that God has abandoned us.  Days where we are certain there God has no purpose for our particular life in this particular time.  There may even be days we want to give up—throw in the towel and let the others, those important people do the work.  And in those days, in those wildernesses God is right there with us.  God is with us and pushing us forward.  In the messiness of our every day ordinary lives where bills have to be paid, lunches have to be made, baseboards have to be cleaned, and laundry has to be done, God is demanding that we pay attention and that even in those mundane things we do we remember that we are to be constantly preparing for and living into the Kingdom of God.

          Fifteen years—fifteen years ago I heard God’s call into ordained ministry; fifteen years ago and through mountains of dirty diapers, endless trips to hospitals, thousands upon thousands of lunches made, multiple moves and adjustments, God continued to work.   I can promise you (and there are people here today who can attest to this) that there were many days I wanted to say never mind.  I’ve said it before here, I was perfectly happy being a stay at home mom.  It’s the greatest job in the world.  There were days I was certain that yesterday would never come—the road blocks seemed too many, the work too hard, the challenges too great, but God doesn’t let us say no when He calls.  There is no choice.  And God has chosen each and every one of us into a particular ministry in our own particular places and at our own particular times.  Hear God’s call to you, live into God’s call for you—prepare yourselves, prepare your heart and in that way we will all together prepare the world to receive the love of and the salvation of God.  Amen.