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I preached again on Sunday, and again I was quite pleased with it. The readings felt rather on the nose, given my current position as regards my own vocation, so I'm a bit worried that it's a bit "all about me" rather than "bringing my own perspective and then applying it more generally", and would particularly appreciate feedback on that question. Comments on whether the poem at the end worked would also be good.
The readings were Isaiah 6, 1 Corinthians 15.1-11, and Luke 5.1-11
Sermon for 7th February 2021 (5th Sunday in Ordinary Time)
I have a tremendous soft spot for the film Sister Act, which I’m sure many of you have seen. Whoopi Goldberg plays a lounge singer who has to go into hiding after agreeing to testify against her gangster ex-boyfriend. She is placed in a convent and told to pretend to be a nun, under the supervision of Maggie Smith as a severe Mother Superior, and wacky hijinks ensue. It’s an irreverent, silly, film for the most part, but with a heart-warming underbelly, and occasional moments of profundity. One such moment is this exchange between Goldberg’s character, and Sister Mary-Roberts, a young novice who is struggling to find her voice and her place in the world.
“Did you always want to be a nun?”
“I always knew that that was my calling: to lead a life of service. But. You see. I've always felt that there's something inside me… that l-I want to give. Something that's only me and nobody else. Does that sound like a terrible thing? Like pride?”
“No. It doesn't sound like a terrible thing at all.”
There is a sense in which we are all called to the same thing – to follow Christ, to spread the good news, to “go therefore and make disciples of all nations” in the words of Matthew’s gospel. But we are also all called as individuals, to serve in our own particular way, with our own particular gifts and strengths, and also with our own particular weaknesses and frailties. So we must listen for that call, that vocation, that feeling of something inside that we want to give, that God wants us to give. And when we hear that call, we must decide how to respond.
In today’s readings we hear three people react to that call, and there are some striking similarities in their responses:
Isaiah says “Woe is me! I am lost, for I am a man of unclean lips, and I live among a people of unclean lips”.
Paul says “For I am the least of the apostles, unfit to be called an apostle, because I persecuted the church of God.”
Peter says “Go away from me Lord, for I am a sinful man.”
One way or another, all of these men are saying “What? You can’t mean me? I’m nothing special, I’m not good enough.” Quite the opposite of the sense that our young sister was worried was prideful. And yet these men are also saying “No God. I know myself better than you. You’ve made a mistake.” And what could be more prideful than that?
Of course, all three stories continue to see the men accept the calls that they feel unworthy of, to trust that God does in fact know what is best, and they all go on to do great things in service of the Lord, although not without making plenty of mistakes along the way.
In the same way, we too may have doubts; it is certainly natural to feel that our weaknesses and our sins mean that we will never live up to Christ’s demand that we “be perfect as our heavenly Father is perfect,” but that shouldn’t stop us from striving to understand what it is that God is calling us to do, and to live out that call as best as we are able.
That said, sometimes it feels like Isaiah, Paul, and Peter had it a bit easier than we do. Isaiah has a glorious vision of God enthroned, telling him explicitly what to do and say. Paul is blinded on the road to Damascus, and he and his companions hear the voice of Jesus directly, and he is then miraculously healed. Peter meets Jesus in the flesh, and hears the words directly from his own mouth. They are left with little opportunity for doubt or uncertainty.
In these days such clear visions and revelations are rare, and so we must discern more cautiously what it is that God wishes of us. For some fortunate souls it is easy; from a young age they know a deep longing to teach, or to heal, or to bring joy through music, to increase the sum of human knowledge, to offer homes to orphans, or to minister to God’s people, and so they become teachers, doctors, nurses, singers and composers, scientists and historians, foster parents, or priests. For most of us though, it is far less clear, and we must come back to the question again and again, remembering as well that we may be called to different things at different times in our lives, depending on the circumstances we find ourselves in, and the needs of those around us.
There are many things we can do to try and hear God’s call more clearly. Naturally we pray, we ask God for guidance, and we listen for a response however it might come. It might not be a clanging thunderbolt or a Damascus road moment, and it doesn’t necessarily mean making huge changes that uproot our lives completely. It could be something as simple as a friend asking us if we’ve ever considered doing this, or that, and feeling our heart leap at the thought. It could be noticing what in our life makes us feel the most joy, the most peace, the most sense of being right with God, and then looking for ways to do more of that. It could be realising that something we once thought was right for us is making us feel hollow and empty, and trying something new.
It can often help to talk to someone trusted about questions of vocation. That might be a priest, it might be a good and wise friend, it might be a partner, or it might be a spiritual director. No-one else except God can tell you what God is calling you to do and to be, but sometimes another person can help you to listen to the Holy Spirit, can notice things that you’ve become so used to that they’ve become part of the background noise, and can ask you the questions that you’ve been unable to ask yourself, perhaps because you feel that sense of unworthiness that we heard in the readings, or perhaps because you fear what an answer might mean.
Discerning our vocation can take time, and even when we think we know what it is, it doesn’t mean that everything about it will make sense. That certainly seems to be the case for Isaiah – even after he responds to God with “Here I am; send me!” the instructions which follow seem difficult and painful. He is told that the people to whom he is to preach will not listen or understand until cities lie waste and the land is utterly desolate. It’s a disconcerting and uncomfortable image, and underlines how important it is that we trust God to have bigger plans than we can see.
When priests and deacons in the Church of England are ordained they make a series of declarations, after which the bishop addresses them with these words.
“In the name of our Lord, we bid you remember the greatness of the trust in which you are now to share: the ministry of Christ himself, who for our sake took the form of a servant. Remember always with thanksgiving that the people among whom you will minister are made in God’s image and likeness. In serving them you are serving Christ himself, before whom you will be called to account.”
Well that doesn’t sound terrifying at all, right? However, it then continues:
“You cannot bear the weight of this calling in your own strength, but only by the grace and power of God. Pray therefore that your heart may daily be enlarged and your understanding of the Scriptures enlightened.
Pray earnestly for the gift of the Holy Spirit.”
Following God’s call, whatever it may be for each of us, is not always easy, and not always clear, and certainly not always something that we can bear under the weight of our own strength. But we do not have to bear that weight alone, we have the Holy Spirit besides us and within us and before us.
I would like to finish with a poem, The Summer Day, by Mary Oliver.
Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean--
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down --
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
With your one wild and precious life?
And so I invite you to ask yourselves, what is God calling me to do with my one wild and precious life? And when you hear an answer, however much it scares you, however unworthy you might feel, to turn towards God and say “Here I am; send me!”
We also had music back again this week, including a sung psalm, and as for the moment I'm the only person willing to cant who's attending in person, I'm probably going to be doing a fair bit of it. My confidence around singing is still pretty shaky at the moment, and I certainly spent far longer rehearsing than one ought to need for something that short and simple, but I was pretty happy with how it came out. I even didn't hate it when I listened back(13.53 on the video), which sometimes happens even when it felt okay from inside.
The readings were Isaiah 6, 1 Corinthians 15.1-11, and Luke 5.1-11
Sermon for 7th February 2021 (5th Sunday in Ordinary Time)
I have a tremendous soft spot for the film Sister Act, which I’m sure many of you have seen. Whoopi Goldberg plays a lounge singer who has to go into hiding after agreeing to testify against her gangster ex-boyfriend. She is placed in a convent and told to pretend to be a nun, under the supervision of Maggie Smith as a severe Mother Superior, and wacky hijinks ensue. It’s an irreverent, silly, film for the most part, but with a heart-warming underbelly, and occasional moments of profundity. One such moment is this exchange between Goldberg’s character, and Sister Mary-Roberts, a young novice who is struggling to find her voice and her place in the world.
“Did you always want to be a nun?”
“I always knew that that was my calling: to lead a life of service. But. You see. I've always felt that there's something inside me… that l-I want to give. Something that's only me and nobody else. Does that sound like a terrible thing? Like pride?”
“No. It doesn't sound like a terrible thing at all.”
There is a sense in which we are all called to the same thing – to follow Christ, to spread the good news, to “go therefore and make disciples of all nations” in the words of Matthew’s gospel. But we are also all called as individuals, to serve in our own particular way, with our own particular gifts and strengths, and also with our own particular weaknesses and frailties. So we must listen for that call, that vocation, that feeling of something inside that we want to give, that God wants us to give. And when we hear that call, we must decide how to respond.
In today’s readings we hear three people react to that call, and there are some striking similarities in their responses:
Isaiah says “Woe is me! I am lost, for I am a man of unclean lips, and I live among a people of unclean lips”.
Paul says “For I am the least of the apostles, unfit to be called an apostle, because I persecuted the church of God.”
Peter says “Go away from me Lord, for I am a sinful man.”
One way or another, all of these men are saying “What? You can’t mean me? I’m nothing special, I’m not good enough.” Quite the opposite of the sense that our young sister was worried was prideful. And yet these men are also saying “No God. I know myself better than you. You’ve made a mistake.” And what could be more prideful than that?
Of course, all three stories continue to see the men accept the calls that they feel unworthy of, to trust that God does in fact know what is best, and they all go on to do great things in service of the Lord, although not without making plenty of mistakes along the way.
In the same way, we too may have doubts; it is certainly natural to feel that our weaknesses and our sins mean that we will never live up to Christ’s demand that we “be perfect as our heavenly Father is perfect,” but that shouldn’t stop us from striving to understand what it is that God is calling us to do, and to live out that call as best as we are able.
That said, sometimes it feels like Isaiah, Paul, and Peter had it a bit easier than we do. Isaiah has a glorious vision of God enthroned, telling him explicitly what to do and say. Paul is blinded on the road to Damascus, and he and his companions hear the voice of Jesus directly, and he is then miraculously healed. Peter meets Jesus in the flesh, and hears the words directly from his own mouth. They are left with little opportunity for doubt or uncertainty.
In these days such clear visions and revelations are rare, and so we must discern more cautiously what it is that God wishes of us. For some fortunate souls it is easy; from a young age they know a deep longing to teach, or to heal, or to bring joy through music, to increase the sum of human knowledge, to offer homes to orphans, or to minister to God’s people, and so they become teachers, doctors, nurses, singers and composers, scientists and historians, foster parents, or priests. For most of us though, it is far less clear, and we must come back to the question again and again, remembering as well that we may be called to different things at different times in our lives, depending on the circumstances we find ourselves in, and the needs of those around us.
There are many things we can do to try and hear God’s call more clearly. Naturally we pray, we ask God for guidance, and we listen for a response however it might come. It might not be a clanging thunderbolt or a Damascus road moment, and it doesn’t necessarily mean making huge changes that uproot our lives completely. It could be something as simple as a friend asking us if we’ve ever considered doing this, or that, and feeling our heart leap at the thought. It could be noticing what in our life makes us feel the most joy, the most peace, the most sense of being right with God, and then looking for ways to do more of that. It could be realising that something we once thought was right for us is making us feel hollow and empty, and trying something new.
It can often help to talk to someone trusted about questions of vocation. That might be a priest, it might be a good and wise friend, it might be a partner, or it might be a spiritual director. No-one else except God can tell you what God is calling you to do and to be, but sometimes another person can help you to listen to the Holy Spirit, can notice things that you’ve become so used to that they’ve become part of the background noise, and can ask you the questions that you’ve been unable to ask yourself, perhaps because you feel that sense of unworthiness that we heard in the readings, or perhaps because you fear what an answer might mean.
Discerning our vocation can take time, and even when we think we know what it is, it doesn’t mean that everything about it will make sense. That certainly seems to be the case for Isaiah – even after he responds to God with “Here I am; send me!” the instructions which follow seem difficult and painful. He is told that the people to whom he is to preach will not listen or understand until cities lie waste and the land is utterly desolate. It’s a disconcerting and uncomfortable image, and underlines how important it is that we trust God to have bigger plans than we can see.
When priests and deacons in the Church of England are ordained they make a series of declarations, after which the bishop addresses them with these words.
“In the name of our Lord, we bid you remember the greatness of the trust in which you are now to share: the ministry of Christ himself, who for our sake took the form of a servant. Remember always with thanksgiving that the people among whom you will minister are made in God’s image and likeness. In serving them you are serving Christ himself, before whom you will be called to account.”
Well that doesn’t sound terrifying at all, right? However, it then continues:
“You cannot bear the weight of this calling in your own strength, but only by the grace and power of God. Pray therefore that your heart may daily be enlarged and your understanding of the Scriptures enlightened.
Pray earnestly for the gift of the Holy Spirit.”
Following God’s call, whatever it may be for each of us, is not always easy, and not always clear, and certainly not always something that we can bear under the weight of our own strength. But we do not have to bear that weight alone, we have the Holy Spirit besides us and within us and before us.
I would like to finish with a poem, The Summer Day, by Mary Oliver.
Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean--
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down --
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
With your one wild and precious life?
And so I invite you to ask yourselves, what is God calling me to do with my one wild and precious life? And when you hear an answer, however much it scares you, however unworthy you might feel, to turn towards God and say “Here I am; send me!”
We also had music back again this week, including a sung psalm, and as for the moment I'm the only person willing to cant who's attending in person, I'm probably going to be doing a fair bit of it. My confidence around singing is still pretty shaky at the moment, and I certainly spent far longer rehearsing than one ought to need for something that short and simple, but I was pretty happy with how it came out. I even didn't hate it when I listened back(13.53 on the video), which sometimes happens even when it felt okay from inside.
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Date: 2022-02-08 01:06 am (UTC)From:I wasn't quite sure how the poem was fitting in at first, but it came round to it, and well you can't go too far wrong with Mary Oliver.
no subject
Date: 2022-02-08 10:35 am (UTC)From:Christ doth call one and all.
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Date: 2022-02-09 06:52 pm (UTC)From: