Say Yes, Trust, and Rejoice

Sermon for the ordination of the Rev. Rita Kendagor

May 28, 2022

Rita, it seems like a long journey that’s brought you here today.  I went back into my email and found a message about us meeting in December of 2017 because you were hearing God nudging you toward ordained ministry in the Episcopal Church.  It wasn’t exactly a predictable course for someone from the Pentecostal tradition with a long career as a clinical social worker.  But of course, as we celebrate today, your journey’s only just begun.  

That journey of ministry is different for each of us, and it’s a journey each of us takes – not just the people who wear the funny clothes.  We each encounter different challenges, different growing edges, different joys.  So, I wouldn’t dare stand up here and tell you what lies ahead.  But maybe some friends of ours we’ve heard from today can give us some signposts, things to watch for along the way.

One of those friends is the prophet Isaiah.  I can only begin to imagine how Isaiah must have felt receiving this vision we heard about in our first reading.  It’s tremendously inspiring and, at the same time, enough to make you never pray for divine guidance again.  We don’t know the backstory, whether Isaiah had felt stirrings of a prophetic call before, or whether this vision just came out of the blue.  But come it did. 

Isaiah is minding his own business, doing whatever he does in the service of the Temple’s worship life, when all of a sudden, faith gets real.  The presence of Yahweh fills the Temple not just spiritually but physically, the heavenly throne ensconced right there in the Holy of Holies.  It would be as if Jesus were suddenly standing behind the altar on a Sunday morning, serving us Communion:  It’s one thing to believe in a theological truth; it’s another to see it come to life before you … and, for Isaiah, including giant flying cobras known as seraphs, too.  No wonder he’s afraid.  Isaiah also knows he has no business standing there in the Lord’s presence, that neither he nor his people can claim the holiness required for that royal audience.  So, a giant flying cobra picks up a blazing chunk of coal and touches Isaiah’s lips with it.  I’m sure that wasn’t frightening at all. 

But in the midst of this holy terror comes a voice Isaiah knows deep in his soul, the voice of God speaking the last thing Isaiah expects to hear: words of invitation.  “Whom shall I send,” Yahweh asks, “and who will go for us?” (6:8).  It’s not a command.  It’s a request.  The power that shaped all creation and shakes the Temple’s foundations now speaks to Isaiah … and asks for his help.  And Isaiah, probably astonished to hear any words coming from his own mouth, speaks for each of us who’s ever heard God calling in the night: “Here am I,” he says.  “Send me.” (6:8)

As we head down this twisting road of ministry, taking one blind curve after another, here’s the signpost I see our friend Isaiah pointing out: that the sovereign of the universe does not compel our service.  Instead, God invites you, Rita, and all of us, to say “yes” – not just once, but over and over again.  Like Moses at the burning bush, like young Samuel lying in the Temple, like Mary visited by the angel, Isaiah stands before God and says, “Here am I.”  Here am I.  It’s the best news God gets to hear, I think – when a beloved and gifted child says, “Yes.  Here am I.”  And today, we honor that holy “yes” once again, as Rita hears the divine whisper, or sees the burning bush, or dodges the giant flying cobras and says, “Here am I.  Send me.”

We also got to hear from another friend this morning – the Gospel writer John, giving us another signpost along this twisting path of ministry.  John’s telling the story of Jesus feeding the 5,000 and then arguing with the religious leaders for the next 38 verses about what the miracle means and who the miracle worker is. 

Before the material we heard today, the religious leaders have asked Jesus what they’re supposed to do to perform the works of God and thereby receive “the food that endures for eternal life” (6:27).  Now, hit the “pause” button just a minute:  Does their way of thinking feel familiar to anyone else here this morning?  Come on, ‘fess up.  “Good morning, God.  Fr. John reporting for duty.  What works do you have on my list today?  Give me today’s assignment.”  Yes, yes, it’s God the Supervisor –not my best God, but the one I default to, I’m afraid.  And with ordination, I think the temptation to see God as our supervisor only gets worse. 

Anyway, the religious leaders want to know how they’re supposed to earn eternal life.  Jesus instead offers to give them “the bread of God … that … comes down from heaven and gives life to the world” (6:33).  They say, “Great!”  And he says, “OK; It’s me.  You’ve seen me, but you don’t believe.” 

And, by the way, the kind of belief Jesus has in mind isn’t the kind of belief we tend to think about.  This isn’t just nodding our heads and agreeing that something is intellectually true.  This is a form of the word pistis in Greek.  In its verb form, it drives your whole life.  It’s really not the same as “believe” in English.  It’s more like “trust,” or even better, “stake your life on.”  “Whoever comes to me will never be hungry,” Jesus says, “and whoever stakes their life on me will never be thirsty.”  I think that’s the signpost our friend John has for us today along the twisting path of ministry:  Keep on coming to Jesus, and keep on trusting in Jesus.  For the bread of life is there, and you can stake your life on it.

Finally, this morning, we got to hear from our friend Paul, in his letter to the Philippians.  Now, good ol’ Paul can be a bit of a curmudgeon, grumpy at this person or that group for missing the mark as we figure out how to live in this new world order that Jesus’ resurrection has begun.  And as we struggle to get it right, as individuals and as congregations and as a Church, I worry that if Paul were here with us today, he might begin his teaching with, “You foolish Episcopalians….”  You can fill in the blank for yourself with your favorite example of how we miss the mark. 

And for those of us in ordained ministry, I fear Paul’s critique might be particularly scathing.  When we’re tempted to make ministry be about us, Paul reminds us to “let the same mind be in you that was in Jesus Christ, who … emptied himself … and … humbled himself … on a cross” (Philippians 2:5-8).  When we’re tempted to get discouraged by the slings and arrows of outrageous parishioners, Paul reminds us that he’s already suffered “calamities, beatings, imprisonments, riots, labors, [and] sleepless nights” (2 Corinthians 6:5).  And when we’re tempted to divide off into “us” and “them,” following the culture’s siren song, Paul reminds us to “love one another with mutual affection; outdo one another in showing honor.” (Romans 12:10) 

So, what does Paul the curmudgeon have for us on this ordination day?  “Rejoice,” Paul exhorts.  Wait, what?  “Rejoice in the Lord always, and again I say, rejoice.” (Philippians 4:4)  “Do not worry about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God” (4:6).  Rather than trying to sort everything out on our own, rather than accepting the pressure to be outstanding, rather than seeing every day in ministry as a performance evaluation – focus on where you see the power of God at work, Paul says.  “Whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever us just, whatever is pure, whatever is pleasing, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence and if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things” (4:8).  Give your needs to God, Paul says, and give yourself a break, and this whole ministry thing will go much better for everyone.

Rita, these readings capture you so well.  You bring to the Church a prophet’s voice, a believer’s trust, and a contemplative’s heart.  Thank you for offering yourself, for saying “yes” when you heard God calling in the night.  Now, it’s traditional at this point for the ordinand to stand to receive a “charge” from the preacher, so I suppose we should honor that.  Rita, here is the best I’ve got for you:  Keep saying yes to God, despite how scary the call may be.  Keep coming to Jesus, and keep trusting in him with everything you’ve got.  Do not worry, but in everything, with prayer and thanksgiving, tell God what you need.  Rejoice always – and know that, just as we rejoice along with you today, we’ll be here to work alongside you tomorrow.  And through it all, through it all, through it all, know this: that “the God of peace will be with you” (Philippians 4:9).