It is often the little things that change our lives. From the single person out of billions who crosses our path and transforms the way we live to the books we happen to pick up and read. Every choice changes who we are in some minute way. More often than not, the differences can’t be drawn back to a specific moment or even a series of moments but then sometimes they can. St. John the Divine, the man who experienced a revelation while in exile on Patmos and described it in the last book of the Bible,
could trace every change back to that one astonishing moment, and to the sacrificial lamb that represented Christ. But for me and for many others revelation takes many years and only looking back are we able to recognize how much we have gradually grown and changed.
could trace every change back to that one astonishing moment, and to the sacrificial lamb that represented Christ. But for me and for many others revelation takes many years and only looking back are we able to recognize how much we have gradually grown and changed.
So as a college student seeking to begin the ordination process, I was asked a question over and over again to which I did not know an answer. The question was, “When did you know that ordination was the path for you?” I heard it the first time when I asked the rector of my church to support me on the path to ordination. I heard it many times in interviews with the Commission on Ministry, the Standing Committee and the bishop (these were the people charged with the support of the discernment process). When someone asked, “when did you know?” they seemed to want a date and time stamp, a description of a specific moment in time when I received the call from God. They wanted a dramatic story about the flash of light, a burning bush, or some other miraculous moment of discernment.
Some people may have experienced such a life transforming moment. The skies might have opened up and called to them, or maybe they experienced a dream, or possibly a series of traumatic coincidences encouraging them to choose a ministerial direction.
The experience may have been as bizarre as John’s revelation or as dramatic as Saul’s conversion on the road to Damascus, if that is possible. Saul’s transformation was quite extraordinary. As Saul traveled to new towns, the very earliest of Christian disciples, for good reason, hid from him. He had the same effect on people as Jud Fry from Oklahoma, Bill Sikes from Oliver Twist, or Darth Vader from Star Wars. These are only a few literary examples that elicit terror like Saul. An appearance of Saul forced the early disciples to hide in fear of being discovered because he was a zealous persecutor of the people following “The Way.” His travel to Damascus was not as a casual observer or as a tourist; he had received permission from the high priest to bring the bound Jesus followers to Jerusalem to face prosecution. One such disciple was a man named Ananius. When he was told in a dream, to seek out Saul, Ananius refused in fear for his own life.
On the Damascus Road, Saul was blinded by a flash of light and heard the voice of Jesus calling him to change his ways; instead of persecuting he should become an evangelist. Ananius, contrary to his good sense, courageously set out to find Saul. He found him huddled in a house on the street named Straight. And there, Saul was baptized and given the Holy Spirit. And in doing so, Saul’s sight, gone for three days, was returned. From then on, he was no longer Saul the persecutor but Paul the advocate. His contributions would eventually far outweigh his oppression.
Paul experienced one of those life-altering incidents; the kind that I thought people expected of me. They wanted to know when it happened and what it looked like.
My answer is not as exciting as Paul because I don’t know when I knew, I don’t know when I didn’t know. The call to ministry was something that grew in me but at the same time, was it ever not there. I don’t say this thinking that I am set aside as different because I think we are all called to ministry and often that vision is hidden within. It is waiting to grow and to be noticed in our lives. We often get so busy focusing on other things, whether it be work, or school, or television, or sport, or books, or whatever. These things, important in their own way, often dominate our lives, so much so, that we miss seeing that which is right in front of us, even a part of us. We get so busy that we miss the obvious.
I heard this riddle when I was in elementary school. It goes like this: “A doctor and his son were in an terrible automobile accident. Both were injured and rushed to the hospital for immediate surgery. They were wheeled into separate operating rooms and two doctors prepped to work on them, one doctor for each patient. The doctor operating on the father got started right away, but the doctor assigned to the young boy stared at him in surprise. ‘I can’t operate on him!’ the doctor exclaimed to the staff. ‘That child is my son!’
How can that be?”
The answer is so obvious. The doctor is the boy’s mother but we are tricked with extra information that is unimportant to the question. I certainly was when I first heard it. Of course, the gender stereotypes were more pronounced then but we are often tricked from seeing the most obvious answers and are surprised when they are pointed out to us.
Peter in today’s Gospel lesson demonstrates this. He and many of the other disciples were out fishing. After a long night of work, they had caught nothing. At daybreak, upon returning to shore, a stranger told them to cast their nets on the right side of the boat. For some reason, these professional fishermen did what the man said and as a result they brought in an amazing catch, John tells us precisely one hundred and fifty-three fish. When the beloved disciple realized their good fortune, he declared that the man must be “The Lord.” Very similar to Thomas’s declaration in the previous resurrection appearance that we heard in last week’s Gospel lesson. When the obvious is pointed out, Peter and the other disciples come to recognize that the stranger was Jesus. When they join him on the shore, Jesus served them and in doing so made himself known in the most simple of meals: bread and fish.
In both of these stories, Paul and Peter were blind to the world around them. They were focusing on the day-to-day grind of life: Paul or Saul as a persecutor of Christians and Peter as a fisherman. They were so focused on their own path that they failed to see where it was leading them. They failed to see where they might turn and how that might be called. Before Paul was blinded on that road to Damascus and before Peter threw the nets to the other side of the boat, they were called to serve God. They had a responsibility born in them to serve the world. Through miraculous events, they came to know what that responsibility was.
But they are not alone. The call is not reserved for a certain set of people who have seen a flash of light, or have caught a miraculous number of fish. The skies don’t have to open up and call, nor do we have to hear voices. Which is good because in today’s world, hearing mystical voices or seeing lights would, at best, lead to a suspicion of mental instability. We all have these calls deep within us, in our souls, and in our bodies. God wants us to recognize these things, to nurture our call to serve the world that God gave each of us.
In order to discover where we are called, we have to look deep into ourselves. But we can’t hunker down in a way that excludes us from community. Discernment is not a solitary activity. This kind of work requires us to seek the help of others just as Paul needed Ananius and Peter needed the beloved disciple, we need to listen carefully to those around us who serve as our mentors, advocates, and friends. We must come to realize that in the breaking of the bread, we can come to know something about ourselves. In the most routine moments of our lives, we can discern meaning. We must open our eyes to new paths and new journeys of faith.
Jesus asked, “Do you love me?” If so, “Feed my sheep…and follow me.” (John 21.17f)
I was away on Sunday so really love this blog!
ReplyDeleteI agree, sometimes our path has always been before us, we just need to pay attention and listen. Lovely.