Episcopal priest, author, activist, founder of Thistle Farms, and Chaplain at St. Augustine's Chapel at Vanderbilt University
Readings:
You, the ones who are called the shepherd to the sheep, the chosen seventy—you, the candidates for ordination: lay down your life, and be happy about it.
You, Maria, know the insides and outs of the hospital, the fragility of the human body, are asked to offer your whole life for the sake of those fragile bodies.
You, Leslie, know the cost of raising and teaching children and how ungrateful they can be, are asked to offer your whole life for the sake of others.
And you, beloved Andrew, you know the cost and the years it has taken to come fully into yourself and into this calling, and how dearly it cost you, both as you made your identity and as you pastor to survivors all over this country, and you are asked to offer your whole life for the sake of others.
And as the three of you make your vows in a few minutes, we, this whole assembled congregation, will rejoice in it, as you offer your lives for the sake of others.
That is the truth of the deepest love that we know in this world. There is no way around it. You are getting ordained! On the feast of St. Peter and St. Paul! St. Peter—the disciple that lived gracefully into that dichotomy of love. And back in the good old days, before there was an early Church, and simply a fellowship of people, in which all people knew that that was the calling-- to lay down your life and rejoice.
Peter was asked by Jesus three times, “Do you love me?” Each time Peter said yes, he told him, “Feed my sheep.” Then he said, “When you were young, you went where you wanted. Now that you are my disciple, and the shepherd to the sheep, I will grab you by the belt and pull you where you don’t want to go.”
--I know that I paraphrased— I want everybody to know that I know that I did that (Laughter). It sounds better the way I say it so help me (Laughter). I just couldn’t remember on the airplane when I was writing it.— (laughter)
But, basically, he’s going to pull you by your cincture and take you to places that you don’t know that you want to go. And I am sure that Peter replied, “Thank you, Lord, thank you.”
Today is the day your cincture is pulled tight and draped with the stole of priesthood.
“Do you love Jesus?” the bishop might as well be asking you when he examines you.
“Yes, bishop,” you would reply.
“Then feed my sheep.”
“Do you love Jesus?” he could ask again.
“Yes, bishop!”
“Then feed my sheep.”
“Do you love Jesus?” he could ask a third time, and you could say “Yes, bishop, I have done everything you asked—I have spent ALL my money on school.” (Laughter) “I have taken invasive tests into my psychology. I have put my personal life on hold. I have submitted to obey you no matter what or how hard that is for me. Yes, you KNOW that I love Jesus--why else would I do all this?”
“Then feed the sheep,” he would say. And you will not be done until you lay down your life for the sheep, like a shepherd, into the footsteps and shadow of our Lord, and rejoice that you are called to do so.
There is a project I have been working on all year with the University of Virginia. It’s called Can I Get A Witness? and each of us in this project we assigned to write a chapter on a lesser-known saint in the Church. They gave me William Stringfellow.
(Pause)
For those of you who muttered something, I am VERY impressed, because I had never heard of him. (Laughter). And I went to TWO seminaries.
I didn’t know about this lay theologian in the Episcopal Church in the late 1960s. He lived in East Harlem after he graduated from Harvard to defend people oppressed by power and principalities in the United States. Who housed Father Daniel Berrigan when he became a fugitive for burning draft cards.
Readings:
Numbers 11:16-17, 24-26
Psalm 132:8-19
Philippians 4:4-9
John 10:11-18
The readings tonight for this ordination do two things—they ask us all to do two things:
Lay down your life, and rejoice about it. (Laughter)
It reminds me of when I was in high school and my mom would say. “Do the dishes and be happy about it.” (Laughter). Didn’t make sense to me then, but it kinda does now. My beautiful mom, who was a great preacher. She was never ordained, but she ran a community center and she was practical. She was a nurse. She knew how to take care of people.
As a single mom, with five kids, working in daycare, she knew what a gift it was to have that food and to be together as a family, and we needed to get grateful and clean it up. But back then it was like, you can either ask me to do it, or ask me to be happy, but don’t ask me to do BOTH! That doesn’t seem fair.
I don’t know if there’s a phrase to call this, but I’d like to introduce it this evening: Oxymoronical Good News. (Laughter) It is through the gospel lens that we can imagine these two things coming together: laying down our lives and rejoicing about it.
Psalm 132:8-19
Philippians 4:4-9
John 10:11-18
The readings tonight for this ordination do two things—they ask us all to do two things:
Lay down your life, and rejoice about it. (Laughter)
It reminds me of when I was in high school and my mom would say. “Do the dishes and be happy about it.” (Laughter). Didn’t make sense to me then, but it kinda does now. My beautiful mom, who was a great preacher. She was never ordained, but she ran a community center and she was practical. She was a nurse. She knew how to take care of people.
As a single mom, with five kids, working in daycare, she knew what a gift it was to have that food and to be together as a family, and we needed to get grateful and clean it up. But back then it was like, you can either ask me to do it, or ask me to be happy, but don’t ask me to do BOTH! That doesn’t seem fair.
I don’t know if there’s a phrase to call this, but I’d like to introduce it this evening: Oxymoronical Good News. (Laughter) It is through the gospel lens that we can imagine these two things coming together: laying down our lives and rejoicing about it.
You, the ones who are called the shepherd to the sheep, the chosen seventy—you, the candidates for ordination: lay down your life, and be happy about it.
You, Maria, know the insides and outs of the hospital, the fragility of the human body, are asked to offer your whole life for the sake of those fragile bodies.
You, Leslie, know the cost of raising and teaching children and how ungrateful they can be, are asked to offer your whole life for the sake of others.
And you, beloved Andrew, you know the cost and the years it has taken to come fully into yourself and into this calling, and how dearly it cost you, both as you made your identity and as you pastor to survivors all over this country, and you are asked to offer your whole life for the sake of others.
And as the three of you make your vows in a few minutes, we, this whole assembled congregation, will rejoice in it, as you offer your lives for the sake of others.
That is the truth of the deepest love that we know in this world. There is no way around it. You are getting ordained! On the feast of St. Peter and St. Paul! St. Peter—the disciple that lived gracefully into that dichotomy of love. And back in the good old days, before there was an early Church, and simply a fellowship of people, in which all people knew that that was the calling-- to lay down your life and rejoice.
Peter was asked by Jesus three times, “Do you love me?” Each time Peter said yes, he told him, “Feed my sheep.” Then he said, “When you were young, you went where you wanted. Now that you are my disciple, and the shepherd to the sheep, I will grab you by the belt and pull you where you don’t want to go.”
--I know that I paraphrased— I want everybody to know that I know that I did that (Laughter). It sounds better the way I say it so help me (Laughter). I just couldn’t remember on the airplane when I was writing it.— (laughter)
But, basically, he’s going to pull you by your cincture and take you to places that you don’t know that you want to go. And I am sure that Peter replied, “Thank you, Lord, thank you.”
Today is the day your cincture is pulled tight and draped with the stole of priesthood.
“Do you love Jesus?” the bishop might as well be asking you when he examines you.
“Yes, bishop,” you would reply.
“Then feed my sheep.”
“Do you love Jesus?” he could ask again.
“Yes, bishop!”
“Then feed my sheep.”
“Do you love Jesus?” he could ask a third time, and you could say “Yes, bishop, I have done everything you asked—I have spent ALL my money on school.” (Laughter) “I have taken invasive tests into my psychology. I have put my personal life on hold. I have submitted to obey you no matter what or how hard that is for me. Yes, you KNOW that I love Jesus--why else would I do all this?”
“Then feed the sheep,” he would say. And you will not be done until you lay down your life for the sheep, like a shepherd, into the footsteps and shadow of our Lord, and rejoice that you are called to do so.
There is a project I have been working on all year with the University of Virginia. It’s called Can I Get A Witness? and each of us in this project we assigned to write a chapter on a lesser-known saint in the Church. They gave me William Stringfellow.
(Pause)
For those of you who muttered something, I am VERY impressed, because I had never heard of him. (Laughter). And I went to TWO seminaries.
I didn’t know about this lay theologian in the Episcopal Church in the late 1960s. He lived in East Harlem after he graduated from Harvard to defend people oppressed by power and principalities in the United States. Who housed Father Daniel Berrigan when he became a fugitive for burning draft cards.
I hadn’t read hardly anything about William Stringfellow because most seminaries and institutions don’t really appreciate his theology and his teaching…. in which he wrote about how useless seminaries are in the United States of America. (Laughter). He said our teaching institutions for priests water down the gospel and they corrupt the young theologians to buy into the myth that there is not a cost to this. And what they do is they leave the sheep lost. All they are is a sheep without a shepherd.
Not too long ago, I listened to a sermon he gave at a graduation at Princeton Theological Seminary in 1976. And when he talked about the true cost to all the graduates, he said everyone should be weeping in the congregation for what this means.
I am grateful for William Stringfellow’s witness and words. How he believed in the reforming of the institution from within and not leaving it. He believed we are called to be dissenters of the state, agitators within institutions, and activists within our professions. Toward the end of his short fifty-seven years, after he wrote about the transformation of his life, as he grieved his life-time partner, Anthony Towne, I believe he may have amended that sermon to the Princeton graduates to say, “Let your tears be ones of rejoicing as well as sadness at the cost.”
We know Peter wept plenty— he had to have on his journey, as he felt the pull against his belt many times. It’s not hard to imagine Peter weeping as they arrested him, and as the state killed him.
But just as surely even some of those painful tears were filled with rejoicing and gratitude. Those tears also carried the memory of walking on water, of watching five thousand people get fed from a few loaves, of seeing an alabaster jar poured out like boundless forgiveness. His tears knew the intimacy of having your feet washed by the One you follow and love more than anything in the world. His tears, like water from the deep well, knew the depth and breadth of love, that he probably would not have traded that for anything in the world. He is a great saint for your ordination, who can teach you how to about how to lay down your life and rejoice.
I remember when I started Thistle Farms, still a young priest. I quickly knew I was in over my head. Nothing in seminary or again in my life before had prepared me. But eventually it was just going to be me in the house with five women. It wasn’t dramatic, it wasn’t romantic, there was no filming or background music. It was just my just my old wounds meeting their fresher ones.
One of the first women I met there was Regina. She was the one who taught me that we could lay down our lives for the sake of others and rejoice. She who came into the house and was dancing to music and explained to me that you can dance with the Holy Spirit in the midst of recovery. After she taught me that, I remember weeping, myself--weeping at the cost of what I knew was lying ahead of me. Weeping for all of the brokenness in this world, and what we do to each other. How we lie, and sell each other, imprison each other, judge each other. And how we can love without judgment on this path if we choose it, if we are willing to surrender to love, we can build something so much deeper. And I knew I wanted to dance like Regina with the Holy Spirit. I wanted to lay down my life and rejoice and be done with all the rest.
As you prepare for this ordination, I pray that you can do both of those things: dance when the Spirit calls you, and find the freedom to surrender to love. Always in your priesthood, no matter where it takes you, keep taking out the trash and cleaning bathrooms. Always. It keeps your perspective as you live out this calling with a collar on, and know that most shepherding is pretty humble work. No matter how much power that you’re given, you will see that in the end. No matter how much failure or success you have, love will preach through both, loud and clear.
Whenever you are celebrating the Holy Eucharist, remember to look at the light of the candles. It grounds yourself in this present moment where you can lay down your life and rejoice. That present moment where the eternal and the temporal meet.
Rejoice in the Lord, always! Again, I say rejoice! The prophets teach us as they lay down.
I promise you, if you don’t you will learn this truth: there is nothing more boring than a priest with resentments. Nothing. You, like Peter, like all the pastors before you are choosing this life, even this calling. We have all made this choice, and walk this path. We want to do it with grateful and humble hearts.
You have felt it, and you already know the cost.
We are all so grateful to you three—to Andrew, to Leslie, to Maria. Because you have chosen this, there is hope for the sheep, there is hope for all of us. Thank you. Thank you for letting us rejoice with both our tears and our laughter with you, that you have answered the call to love.
Not too long ago, I listened to a sermon he gave at a graduation at Princeton Theological Seminary in 1976. And when he talked about the true cost to all the graduates, he said everyone should be weeping in the congregation for what this means.
I am grateful for William Stringfellow’s witness and words. How he believed in the reforming of the institution from within and not leaving it. He believed we are called to be dissenters of the state, agitators within institutions, and activists within our professions. Toward the end of his short fifty-seven years, after he wrote about the transformation of his life, as he grieved his life-time partner, Anthony Towne, I believe he may have amended that sermon to the Princeton graduates to say, “Let your tears be ones of rejoicing as well as sadness at the cost.”
We know Peter wept plenty— he had to have on his journey, as he felt the pull against his belt many times. It’s not hard to imagine Peter weeping as they arrested him, and as the state killed him.
But just as surely even some of those painful tears were filled with rejoicing and gratitude. Those tears also carried the memory of walking on water, of watching five thousand people get fed from a few loaves, of seeing an alabaster jar poured out like boundless forgiveness. His tears knew the intimacy of having your feet washed by the One you follow and love more than anything in the world. His tears, like water from the deep well, knew the depth and breadth of love, that he probably would not have traded that for anything in the world. He is a great saint for your ordination, who can teach you how to about how to lay down your life and rejoice.
I remember when I started Thistle Farms, still a young priest. I quickly knew I was in over my head. Nothing in seminary or again in my life before had prepared me. But eventually it was just going to be me in the house with five women. It wasn’t dramatic, it wasn’t romantic, there was no filming or background music. It was just my just my old wounds meeting their fresher ones.
One of the first women I met there was Regina. She was the one who taught me that we could lay down our lives for the sake of others and rejoice. She who came into the house and was dancing to music and explained to me that you can dance with the Holy Spirit in the midst of recovery. After she taught me that, I remember weeping, myself--weeping at the cost of what I knew was lying ahead of me. Weeping for all of the brokenness in this world, and what we do to each other. How we lie, and sell each other, imprison each other, judge each other. And how we can love without judgment on this path if we choose it, if we are willing to surrender to love, we can build something so much deeper. And I knew I wanted to dance like Regina with the Holy Spirit. I wanted to lay down my life and rejoice and be done with all the rest.
As you prepare for this ordination, I pray that you can do both of those things: dance when the Spirit calls you, and find the freedom to surrender to love. Always in your priesthood, no matter where it takes you, keep taking out the trash and cleaning bathrooms. Always. It keeps your perspective as you live out this calling with a collar on, and know that most shepherding is pretty humble work. No matter how much power that you’re given, you will see that in the end. No matter how much failure or success you have, love will preach through both, loud and clear.
Whenever you are celebrating the Holy Eucharist, remember to look at the light of the candles. It grounds yourself in this present moment where you can lay down your life and rejoice. That present moment where the eternal and the temporal meet.
Rejoice in the Lord, always! Again, I say rejoice! The prophets teach us as they lay down.
I promise you, if you don’t you will learn this truth: there is nothing more boring than a priest with resentments. Nothing. You, like Peter, like all the pastors before you are choosing this life, even this calling. We have all made this choice, and walk this path. We want to do it with grateful and humble hearts.
You have felt it, and you already know the cost.
We are all so grateful to you three—to Andrew, to Leslie, to Maria. Because you have chosen this, there is hope for the sheep, there is hope for all of us. Thank you. Thank you for letting us rejoice with both our tears and our laughter with you, that you have answered the call to love.
