When I was 19 years old, I hitchhiked out West in search of adventure. I had just finished my first year of university at Queen's University in Kingston. I planned to take a break from school and seek my fortune in the Canadian West.
Unfortunately,
I only made it as far as Winnipeg. After staying two nights in the YMCA, I let
fear get in the way. I turned on my heels and hitch-hiked back to Ontario. Because
of that fear, I view that trip as a failed journey of faith.
My childhood had
been constrained by fears, whose origins, even to this day, remain obscure to
me. My decision to take a year off school and travel West signaled that life at
Queen's had increased my courage. The fact that I only stayed on the journey
for a week showed that my fears were still getting the better of me. My ability
to trust in myself, the world, and the Loving Source we call God was weaker
than I had hoped.
I didn't come
out West again until 2009 when I was sent to Didsbury Alberta as a student
intern minister. That trip also scared me. In particular, I was afraid I would
not be able to provide a pastoral presence for grieving families. But in the
event, I loved the work of being the minister of Knox United in Didsbury, including
walking with grieving families and presiding at funerals.
I imagined that
those 10 months in Didsbury would be the end of my life in the West. In June
2010, I returned to Toronto for the last year of my Masters of Divinity degree.
Then in 2011, I took another leap of faith and applied for settlement as an
ordained United Church minister.
I had hoped to be settled in Ontario, but instead I was
sent to Borderlands, which is by far the most rural and isolated place I have
ever lived. Although Borderlands was not the settlement for which I was hoping,
I have loved my work here as your minister. I have enjoyed our three churches,
the people of our communities, and the beauty of this area. My fears of
isolation were overblown.
In August, when
I started to look for a call to another congregation, I expected that I would return
to Toronto. But as you know, Mill Woods in Edmonton was looking for a minister
and I liked their profile. When I met with the Mill Woods Search Committee in
September, we felt a mutual call. So I will continue to live and work out West.
Today as we consider journeys of faith,
we do so against the backdrop of a story of the Holy Family after the first Christmas. They flee west
from Bethlehem to Egypt when Joseph has a dream in which an angel warns him that
King Herod is plotting to murder the
baby Jesus.
The dangers facing Joseph are much bigger
than mine. Nevertheless, I identify with him. Joseph is the patron saint of workers.
But I believe he should also be the patron saint of step fathers. Joseph cares
for Jesus without hesitation despite not being his biological father.
The role of paid, accountable minister strikes
me as a cross between a step parent and a foster parent. A minister is called
to an existing family of faith. The role of the minister is to love the members
of this family and to allow himself to be loved by them in turn. When the call is
over, the minister moves to another family.
As I leave Borderlands today, it is not
clear what is next for this charge. Will you call another "foster parent?"
Will you join with other faith families to the north? The congregations of
Borderlands are no longer large or energetic enough to continue without change.
I appreciate all I have learned and
experienced here. I also feel a call to engage with a different congregation as
I continue to confront fear and journey with other pilgrims towards faith.
The idea of God's call continues to mystify
me. In today's Scripture reading, Joseph responds to a call from God in a
vision of an angel in a dream. My own experience has not been as clear cut.
I returned to church 12 years ago in the face
of a disintegrating marriage. As I engaged with worship, I was surprised by the
strength of the pull that God's Spirit exerted. When I was a child, I had missed
the power of the story of Holy Week in which Jesus is arrested, tortured and
executed by the same evil Empire that had tried to murder him as a child.
Coming to grips with the story of Holy Week
changed my life. Finally, here was a story that captured the truth of my small
life and of all our lives. It reminds us that the false gods we worship die in
the painful vicissitudes of life, and that out of the ashes, the God who is
Love rises to new life in our hearts.
The story of Jesus provides what I had
lacked in many failed faith journeys. It helps move me from self-preoccupation
to faith in a God as big as the universe and as powerful as Love. I am trying
to follow the pull of this heartbreaking and hope-filled story wherever it leads.
On a Sunday in July 2007 in Toronto, I
made the decision to pursue ordination as I walked home from church to my apartment
southwest of the church near the shore
of Lake Ontario. The "call " I experienced that day felt like the pull of
gravity. It wasn't like Joseph's vision of an angel in a dream. It wasn't God
speaking as to a prophet. It was the simple pull of gravity as I walked down a
steep hill.
Sometime later, I read an interview with the
atheist philosopher Daniel Dennett in which he was asked, "Surely,
professor, you must believe in a higher power that orders and creates the
universe?" To which Dennett replied, "Of course I believe in such a
higher power. It is called gravity."
I don't know if that quote invalidates my
call to ministry. Responding to God's call for me feels like surrender. It is not
verbal, but is felt in the gut and heart. It acknowledges that my small self is
utterly dependent on vast forces that are greater than us, forces which we know
as God's Love.
When I decided to seek ordination, it was
not clear to me that at the end of the process there would be congregations.
But when congregations showed up -- first in Didsbury, and later in Borderlands
-- I got it. Congregations are a crucible in which we can confront fear and to
try to accept God's grace.
Any family would do for this purpose, I
suppose. But since I don't have children of my own, I am grateful for the role
of foster parent that is given to a minister. As a still inexperienced minister,
I am aware of my sins of omission and commission during our time together. I am
also grateful for all that I have learned by worshipping and working with you
all.
Joseph responds to God's call amid the
violence and evil of King Herod. He doesn't doubt or hesitate, but simply
obeys. His faith does not mean that children are not murdered in Bethlehem. His
success in keeping Jesus safe as a child doesn't save Jesus from arrest and
execution as an adult.
Ministers sometimes dread preaching on dark
biblical stories like the flight of the Holy Family to Egypt and the Killing of
the Innocents in Bethlehem, and I can understand that attitude. On the other
hand, the stark horror of today's story strikes me as realistic and therefore
reassuring.
As with Joseph and Mary, our journey of
faith is not one without warnings, danger, or pain. The journey is about
accepting God's grace to confront and then shed our fears despite
the difficulties and pain of life.
When we feel the pull of God's Spirit, we
don't know where it will take us. Nor does our response mean an end to all
heartbreak or to the evils of a violent society.
Responding to the call means awareness of
God's support on the journey. It reveals the truth that no matter the outcome
of our journey, we are assured of God's mercy. We will all return to the Love
from which we have all come.
I don't know what life in Edmonton and Mill
Woods will be like, but I am excited for 2014 and beyond. I don't know what is
next for Borderlands charge or for you as individuals. But I am sure that it will
be within God's love.
God seems to be calling me West again, as happened
when I was 19, when I was sent to Didsbury, and when I was settled here in the
beauty of Borderlands.
I leave Borderlands with gratitude for our
experiences together and for all that I have learned from you. I offer you my wishes
and prayers with the sure hope that God's blessings will continue to enrich you
regardless of what happens with the church.
Sometimes God calls us to flee in the
night. Sometimes God calls us to stay rooted in a land of courageous settlers,
like this one.
Wherever our journeys take us, may they take
us beyond the fears of our small selves and closer to a trusting faith in the Great Spirit, the God who is Love.
On all of these journeys, Jesus is our loving
companion. To him be the glory and praise forever.
Amen.
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