Stand Up to Stand Down

Sermon for the diaconal ordination of Jean Long

Jeremiah 1:4-9; Acts 6:2-7; Luke 22:24-27

June 11, 2022

We gather today to begin something that’s been underway a long time now.  In a few minutes, Jean Long will come up here, and Bishop Diane will offer ancient prayers, and lay hands on her, and make her a deacon in God’s Church … at least for a season.  That will begin what the prayer book calls a “special ministry of servanthood,” the hallmark of the diaconate.  And yet, for anyone who’s known her more than five minutes, Jean Long has been living servant ministry for years now.  I don’t think I’ve ever known someone more deeply wired to serve, and her ministry here at St. Andrew’s and in diocesan youth work has revealed that over and over again.

But this special ministry of servanthood will also be a new chapter, separate and distinct from what’s come before.  At least that’s the Church’s hope for what we sometimes call the “transitional diaconate.”  I’m afraid that often, this part of the process toward the priesthood can be just that – part of the process, a box to check, a step to take on the way to somewhere else.  Honestly, that’s what it was like for me.  I came out of seminary, was ordained a deacon, and took charge of a small congregation, serving as a priest in every way except absolving, blessing, and consecrating.  If there’s theological integrity in serving as a deacon for a season, that ain’t it.

So, it begs the question … why do people on the path toward priesthood serve as deacons first?  Probably “because the canons say so” isn’t the best reason.  Here’s another possibility.  It might just be that serving as a deacon helps you remember whispers of God’s call that the priesthood might tempt you to forget.

One of those whispers is the call to serve “all people, particularly the poor, the weak, the sick, and the lonely,” as the prayer book puts it.  As Jean already knows very well, people will come needing love who can be the hardest to love, and when you’ve got a full schedule of everything else, serving that challenging person you weren’t expecting can take more than everything you’ve got.

But the reading today from Acts reminds me that “all people” includes not only the hard to love but also the hard to see.  The propers for today begin this Acts reading at verse 2 of chapter 6 – an interesting choice because it edits out the presenting circumstance for choosing not just seven people for servant ministry but perhaps these specific seven, too.  Here’s the verse we missed, chapter 6, verse 1:  “Now during those days, when the disciples were increasing in number, the Hellenists complained against the Hebrews because their widows were being neglected in the daily distribution of food.”  Then comes the material we heard about needing to set aside people for the ministry of diakonia – which, in Greek, could mean “waiting on tables” or “keeping accounts,” either of which could make sense here.  Then it goes on to name the people raised up for this special ministry of servanthood – at least several of them people from the group whose widows were being neglected.  The seven raised up for this ministry have Greek names.  Now, we don’t know with certainty how many of them were Hellenists, Greek-speakers only; but most likely several of them were.  And the symbolism matters for us, I think.  I imagine the apostles weren’t trying to discriminate against the Greek-speakers.  They just weren’t seeing them.  So, what do you do about that?  Raise them up into leadership.  From the start, diaconal ministry has been about helping the Church see those whom we’re tempted to miss, bring them into the circle, and let the Holy Spirit change us all.

What else can the priesthood tempt us to forget?  How about this: The truth that my voice and God’s voice are not the same.  We heard about that in the reading from Jeremiah today.  There, the young prophet-to-be hears God’s call and says, “What?  You’ve got to be kidding.”  Perhaps that might ring true for some of us.  But the Lord reassures Jeremiah that he won’t be tapping his own resources as a prophet.  “You shall go to all to whom I shall send you,” God says, “and you shall speak whatever I command you.  Do not be afraid of them … [for] now I have put my words in your mouth.” (1:7-9)  In parish ministry as a priest, the temptation is great to speak easy words, words that won’t stir up the folks who are looking for a chance to be reactive.  We know we aren’t called to take the easy way out; so sometimes we overcorrect and lean too far the other way.  We figure my passion must be God’s passion and my righteousness must be God’s righteousness … and we let ’em have it.  Jeremiah reminds us, especially those called to parish leadership, that neither silence nor the Gospel of Me will suffice.  I think when the Good News calls people on all sides to hear a word they hadn’t considered, those are truly words the Lord has put in your mouth.

OK.  There’s at least one more way diaconal ministry can help tune the ears of priests-to-be toward God’s countercultural call, and we heard about that in our Gospel reading today.  At this point in the story, it’s Maundy Thursday; and Jesus has just instituted the Eucharist, the ultimate sign of divine love fully present in the here and now.  He’s given his friends this sacrament so they can remember his paradigm – that self-giving love is, in fact, the reign and rule of God on earth.  If that’s true, then ultimate power comes from the absence of power, the giving up of power … which turns the disciples’ understanding of power on its head.  And you can see why.  All around them, they see power as a function of status.  In the imperial world, power flowed from the one named as Caesar.  In their religious world, power flowed from the ones named as high priest or members of the council.  Even in their own circle, power flowed from the one named as Messiah, God’s anointed king.  And if the Messiah is sitting with them delivering his farewell address, you could understand why his followers might jump to the question, “Well, who has enough status to take over for him?  Which of us is the greatest?”

It’s an opportunity for Jesus to give his friends some parting instruction.  Exercising God’s power has nothing to do with status.  Exercising God’s power has everything to do with authority.  And in the kingdom Jesus is inaugurating, authority has everything to do with the last thing the world would expect: servanthood.  I don’t think Jesus is telling his followers it’s wrong to exercise power.  They can’t help but exercise power.  They’ll be filled with the Holy Spirit, the ultimate power; and that power can’t just lie fallow, with the followers of Jesus twiddling their thumbs and waiting for him to come back.  Instead, they are to lead just as Jesus led – from the bottom up, from alongside “the least” and the broken, from a place of servanthood.  Status has nothing to do with authority, for it is from the bottom up that the power of God bubbles to its boiling point.  And to the extent that we followers of Jesus lean on the status conferred by titles and categories, we might do better to lean on the everlasting arms instead.   

So, why do those who are further ordained in the Church need to be deacons first?  Because that diaconal identity is the soil from which any further ordained ministry must grow.  It boils down to this: Without a servant’s heart, a Christian cannot lead.  So, no matter your order of ordained ministry, you’ve always got to be a deacon.

As we often hear, deacons bridge the Church and the world.  Deacons carry the word of God to a world not always ready to hear it.  Deacons carry the concerns of the world to a Church not always nimble enough to pivot the way the world needs.  Deacons carry the mantle of servant leadership in the stole across their chests, leading not from a seat of power but from the power of service, themselves outward and visible signs of self-giving love. 

Well, Jean, it’s time to stand up and embrace the call to stand down.  As you take these diaconal vows without having to cross your fingers behind your back, here’s my prayer for you:  May you tap the self-giving heart God’s already given you.  May you trust God’s words put into your mouth and heed the call to share them.  May you see those whom the Church may miss and bring their experience into view.  And may you live into Christ’s power and authority by being nothing less than the person God’s already formed you to be – a servant who leads with true power, that power that gives itself away.