In the name of God, Merciful Father, Compassionate Son, Spirit of Wisdom. Amen.
Congratulations! After months of searching and careful deliberations the committee has selected you to receive the Servant of God prize… not for anything you’ve done – but for what you’re called to be.
You are called to be – God’s child, what you already are. You are called to be – his partner in service. You are called to be – his disciple, following his way.
You are called to inherit eternal life. You are called to be – a saint.
“The only tragedy is not to be a saint.”— Leon Bloy said it; my teacher Donald Nicholl used to love to quote that.
A saint? How can I be a saint? How can anyone be a saint?
That’s what the rich man wanted to know. That’s what the disciples wanted to know.
Jesus looked at them and said, ‘For mortals it is impossible, but not for God; for God all things are possible.’ (Mark 10:27)
A saint is not a person who is perfect – who has made it on their own – but a person who has trusted God, whatever their life circumstances.
A saint is one who is consecrated, set apart, for the service and worship of God.
A saint is one who dwells in the tabernacle of the holy, who lives within God's love.
And sometimes that is all we are - and all we have.
Job, that righteous man, stood naked before God: like King Lear buffeted by adversities (though not of his own making, Job’s daughters not being Lear’s) he voices his complaint even to the winds of the storm.
“Today also my complaint is bitter; his hand is heavy despite my groaning.” (Job 23:1)
Job feels no presence – just absence – as he tries to get a hearing with God.
“If I go forward, he is not there; or backward, I cannot perceive him; on the left, he hides, and I cannot behold him; I turn to the right, but I cannot see him.”
As Herb O’Driscoll pointed out, it’s ironically reverse from a familiar hymn:
Christ be with me, Christ within me, Christ behind me, Christ before me, Christ beside me, Christ to win me, Christ to comfort and restore me.
The psalm too, presents us with a man undone, laid bare to the eyes of all – and most of all, to the one who will be our judge.
“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” (Psalm 22:1)
It is the cry of the Exile, the cry of the homeless, the destitute; it is the cry of the powerless, the cry of the Holocaust. And it is the cry of Jesus on the Cross.
It is the cry of one utterly bereft of resources, completely unable to make it on his own.
How does it feel to be on your own?
“O my God, I cry in the daytime, but you do not answer; by night as well, but I find no rest.” (Psalm 22:2)
And yet – we are not alone. God has called us, not to try to make it on our own, not to try even to earn our way into the kingdom of heaven. He has only called us to walk with him.
He has not called us to be perfect: he has called us to follow him on the way.
And he will walk with us, and help us find the way.
Herb O’Driscoll reminds us of C. S. Lewis’s observation that our faith does not provide us with a map for the journey forward; it simply gives us a compass – a directional aid.
So often we expect the future to be simply an extension of the past.
We may picture history, past present future, as like a map spread out before us – or a picture of Earth seen from out in space, turning toward the sun, with some of it already lit, some still in shadow. The line between that moves with the sun is called the ‘shadow line’.
The lit-up part is the past: we can see the roads, the bridges, the mountains and the passes through them. We can see where we have come from. That’s nice – it feels secure. Whatever the road was like, we know what it looks like.
Now – looking to the future is like trying to look past the ‘shadow line’ on a distant planet, or the moon: what is lit up is easy to see – the features can be discerned – but what is in the dark, not yet revealed, because the sun of the present has not touched it yet, is hidden from our view. We do not know what is happening – we do not know the way. We only know we have our guide with us, our faith-compass in our hand, and our road before us. We must step forward – in faith.
Thomas Merton, in his book Thoughts in Solitude, offered this prayer:
My Lord God, I have no idea where I am going. I do not see the road ahead of me.
I cannot know for certain where it will end.
Nor do I really know myself, and the fact that I think that I am following your will does not mean that I am actually doing so.
But I believe that the desire to please you does in fact please you.
And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing. I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire.
And I know that if I do this you will lead me by the right road though I may know nothing about it.
Therefore will I trust you always though I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death. I will not fear, for you are ever with me, and you will never leave me to face my perils alone.
We don’t know. That’s the peril of it – and the glory. What must I do to gain eternal life?
What, in effect, did Jesus say to the man who ran up and knelt before him?
You must let go, my friend, and know that indeed you stand naked before God and answer to him, that you cannot make it on your own. Follow him.
Follow Christ.
Follow the one ‘who in every respect has been tested as we are, yet without sin. Let us therefore approach the throne of grace with boldness, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need.’ (Hebrews 4:15-16)
It’s a hard road, but a true one. It leads to life.
He called the crowd with his disciples, and said to them, ‘If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For what will it profit them to gain the whole world and forfeit their life? Indeed, what can they give in return for their life? For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake, and for the sake of the gospel, will save it.’ (Mark 8:34-35, 37, 36)
Most High, all-powerful, good Lord,
Yours are the praises, the glory, and the honor and all blessing.
To You alone, Most High, do they belong
and no human is worthy to mention Your name.
Most High, glorious God, enlighten the darkness of my heart
and give me true faith, certain hope and perfect charity,
sense and knowledge, Lord, that I may carry out
Your holy and true command. Amen.
(Prayers of St Francis of Assisi)
O Christ, the master carpenter, who at the last, through wood and nails, purchased our whole salvation, wield well your tools in the workshop of your world, so that we who come rough-hewn to your bench may here be fashioned to a truer beauty of your hand. We ask it for your own name’s sake. Amen.
(Prayer for our own reshaping, from the Iona Community)
St Alban's Episcopal Church, Edmonds, Wash.,
October 11, 2009.
JRL
Sources and inspirations include "The Word Today" by Herbert O'Driscoll (Toronto: Anglican Book Centre) and the Franciscans' website www.ofm.org for Francis' prayers.
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