Sermons

Meeting Jesus Again

John Wilkinson                            Third Presbyterian Church
September 17, 2006                               Mark 8:27-38

Peter DuBois brings to his work a rare and valued combination: extraordinary musicianship, pastoral sensitivity, strong collegiality. Those who sing in the choir, or work with him in any way, know that, as do all of us who have experienced Peter’s leadership. It seems difficult to believe that Peter’s fifteenth anniversary at Third Church occurred just a few days ago. I, for one, am grateful beyond words for his gifts, and his willingness to share them in the worship ministry of this congregation. You will have the opportunity to express your gratitude, and enjoy a piece of cake, at coffee hour following worship. Peter, all we can do is say thank you, but know how deep our gratitude is!

***

Sometime in the past year I was on a very early flight that returned to Rochester the same day. Another gentleman was on both flights as well, and since we recognized each other from hours earlier, we greeted one another in the waiting area the second time around.

Now in my business, one is never quite sure how to proceed with those conversations. It can come across as a movie sequel: “Ministers on a Plane.” This one was not quite that, though in the course of the conversation, we mutually learned that he was a former member of this congregation. He seemed half expecting for me to invite him back, and I did not disappoint!

In that same conversation, though, we drifted briefly into another area…how I came to be a minister. Over the years, I’ve developed shorter versions and longer versions of that response. One take on the short version simply refers to the fact that my father is a minister. Oftentimes, people will give a knowing nod and that ends it. Though at the same time, I know many people for whom a parent in ministry was precisely the reason not to be a minister.

The longer version includes other factors. A long and gratifying relationship to the church, from cradle to this very moment. Meaningful connections. A sense of belonging all throughout my growing up years. When I went to college, the vistas of the church opened wider to me and the phrase “social justice” was added to my lexicon.

Still, when I got to seminary, I was not quite sure what to expect. I had been through vocational testing and psychological testing, and apparently any flags were pink and not too red. I knew I liked the church, loved the church, even. I didn’t know much about theology or the Bible. Yet somehow I sensed that this was what I was called to do.

It was, in fact, that question – what is your sense of call? – that occupied most of my early seminary career. It was asked a million times. I often thought that the question itself was a bit of a problem. On many days there seemed not to be much “sense” to this at all.

Later, in my first call, to a very little church on the North Side of Chicago, that complexity was played out in spades. It was the first week, if not the first month, when I moderated a Session meeting, visited a terminally ill church member, battled a broken sump pump and flooded church basement and preached a sermon. If I remember correctly, the sump pump episode went much better than the sermon.

But through it all, the deep sense that this was what I was called to do, had not only trained for and prepared for but was cut out to do, was present. And because that was the case, and because I was able to, permitted to, hear that voice and follow that path, I am grateful.

That that was not always the case for some, and now is, and that that is still not the case for others, vexes us, and leaves the church the poorer.

It is one of the great legacies of our Reformed and Presbyterian tradition, the assertion that we are all called. We have insisted that God has a plan and a purpose for everyone. It is true that we are all called in a more general sense, called to be disciples, called to be followers.

We will sing one of the best new hymns in the hymnal this morning, “Today We All Are Called to Be Disciples of the Lord.” And we believe that. Notice the list of things we are called to do, all of us.

But we have taken that notion of vocation another step, a deeper step. We are all called in a special way, given particular gifts and graces, talents and abilities. The Apostle Paul’s language speaks of everyone being given gifts that somehow fit together for the good of the whole, the common good. These gifts are part of who we are. They are not who we are. They do not define us, but they do give us shape and form.

And we hope, somehow, that he gifts and abilities we have been given, or have developed and nurtured, might have something to do with what we do, how we spend our time, work-wise and otherwise, although that fuller conversation, about work and worth and how we have equated what we do with who we are, is for another time.

But because we believe deeply that all are givens gifts to use for the common good, our tradition has believed that though ministry is a distinct calling, it is not a higher calling. Walter Rauschenbusch’s formulation on the bulletin cover reminds us of what an odd and unbalanced world it would be if we were all ministers, and “odd” is surely an understatement!

The task for all of us is to claim our call, claim your call, as a disciple first and then your more particular call. Whatever the call. And in relation to your work, if you discern it is not where you are called, to work on the tasks of discernment, to do our best, to follow that voice so that we can live into that lovely vision offered by Frederick Buechner: that vocation is where your greatest joy and the world’s greatest need meets.

That is to say, being a minister is not all that I am. There are other more primary aspects to my vocation. But that I was able to, permitted to, discern and follow this particular path has been a gift for which I am grateful.

Such permission has not been available, always, to all, and still is not for some.

Until 1953, women in the Presbyterian church who experienced a sense of call to this work were not permitted to follow it, were not permitted to respond fully to the spirit’s voice – whispering or hollering. The primary argument made was a biblical one, a few verses from Paul. The deeper argument was 2000 years of practice and cultural and theological obstructionism.

But in 1953, a woman named Lilian Alexander wrote a letter to the Session of the Third Presbyterian Church of Rochester, New York. Perhaps you’ve heard of the place. And the Session said yes, and the presbytery said yes, and the General Assembly said yes, after two long years. And in October 1956, Margaret Towner became the first woman ordained to ministry in the Presbyterian Church.

That’s what we will celebrate more fully and formally next week. Come to the conference on Saturday. Come to worship on Sunday. Note the brochure in your bulletin. If you cannot come for the day on Saturday, come Saturday evening to experience “Julian.” Invite a friend.

I like to think that such a move to allow for the ordination of women was inevitable, just as I like to think that other changes in our ordination practices will be inevitable. But they needed a springboard somewhere, and this was the place for that one.

Someone asked me this week whether that vote and that decision fifty years ago was controversial. History shows it that it was not so much. We were, then, not fighting ordination battles the way we are now, but then again, the cultural and religious climate in 2006 is much different than it was in 1956.

What I did say was that just because a vote had happened, reality did not change overnight. You may have read the Times article of several weeks ago, regarding a kind of “stained-glass ceiling” for placements for women in ministry. Some congregations and locations are still wary – their minds are quickly changed when they experience the ministry of women. Which seems to be the point.

At the beginning of the day, and the ending, it seems much less important for us, for the church, to establish categories and categorical prohibitions, then it does to remove all impediments so that those who are called to this work, who are qualified, who can jump through the many ordination hoops, may serve in this way.

As I have said, ministry is not a higher calling than dishwashing or lawyering or teaching or garbage collecting or stay-at-home parenting or engineering or playing shortstop. (Although, playing shortstop may actually be a higher calling.) Ministry is not a higher calling, but it is a calling, and those who are called by the spirit to pursue it should have no obstacles in their way.

The real question this morning is not about who may serve, but about how all of us will answer the question posed to our disciple forbears. “Who do you say that I am?” Jesus asked them. We have been fussing 2000 years about the theological ramifications of that question, and its response. Another way to respond is this. Whoever you are, Jesus, you have transformed my life, have claimed my commitment, and I am called to follow you.

Scholars say that this is one of the most pivotal episodes in the gospels. It is surely meant to help us understand who Jesus is, but it seems as surely about who the disciples were. There may be no more demanding words than these: “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.” He knows what is to come. He continues: “For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake, and for the sake of the gospel, will save it.”

There are no categorical distinctions, no qualifiers. The bar is not set higher for any one, ministers included. But no one gets a pass, either, ministers included. That seems to me what Lilian Alexander understood, and what Margaret Towner and other foremothers did, what all those saints whom we have known, in every walk of life, who have responded in such a way and made a difference understood and did.

When the spirit calls, invites someone to lose their life in order to gain it, then our task is to remove all impediments and simply get out of the way.

One aspect of next week’s celebration is rightly to give thanks for the pioneers who helped to make women’s ordination a possibility. An even deeper aspect is to give thanks to God, who calls us all and gives us all gifts and graces to pursue that call.

You may have read that three rabbis were ordained in Germany this past Thursday, the first rabbis ordained in Germany since World War II. Germany’s Jewish population is growing, but rabbis serving in Germany are usually imported from other countries. Tomas Kucera, one of those ordained, said that “For me, that I have become a rabbi is more important than whether I have done so in Germany, or am among the first since the Holocaust – although it sounds good and is an important step in history.” (Democrat and Chronicle, September 15, 2006, page 10A)

I have a hunch that Rabbi Kucera would understand ecaxtly what we are talking about this morning. Amen.