St. Charles' Episcopal Church – St. Charles, IL

The Third Sunday after the Epiphany – 3 Epiphany – Year A RCL

Sunday January 27, 2008 – Annual Meeting Sunday

Isaiah 9:1-4; Psalm 27:1, 5-13; 1 Corinthians 1:10-18; Matthew 4:12-23  

Rev. William R. Nesbit, Jr.

In the name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit, Amen.

When I worked in the hospital, both as a chaplain and in my prior life as a pharmacist, I carried around a small little plastic box clipped to my belt. It had one switch and one button and a little screen on it. Every so often it would make an obnoxious beeping sound and remind me that I was needed somewhere for something. As a pharmacist it meant that a patient or nurse was in distress and needed a medication to relieve that distress.

As a chaplain it also meant that a patient or nurse was in distress but the outcome in that situation was far less certain. It is called a pager and it is a mystery to me why anyone would voluntarily put one on. Every single time the pager goes off it is an interruption. Once a week as a chaplain I was required to pull one 24 hour shift on call. That’s when you get to wear the pager. There was a small suite in the basement of the hospital, a small bedroom with a phone, and a small bathroom for the on call chaplain to use. It was rare that I would get to sleep through the night without a call. There were some nights when I never even made it to the room. I learned more about what it means to be called in my time as an on-call chaplain than I ever did in seminary.

Since call lies at the root of all our ministry, whether lay or ordained, I’d like to take you through just one brief episode, as a way to help you wonder about your own call. It is two fifteen in the morning. It is dark in my little room.The pager is screaming on the little table by the bed. Slowly I become aware of the sound as I rise out of unconsciousness. I fumble for my glasses and then fumble for the pager, stabbing the button to silence the shrill beeping. My initial response is one of anger. Anger at being awakened from my sleep, anger at having to leave my warm bed. But then I remember where I am. Sitting on the edge of the bed I wonder about what is waiting at the other end of the line; who is calling. I flip on the light beside the bed and the sudden brightness sears my eyes. I squint and stare at the little screen on the pager but it still takes a few seconds to make my eyes focus. My eyes are tearing and I wonder if that is a foreshadowing of what is to come. The little screen tells me Fourth floor. Medical. I dial the extension and tell the nurse who answers that I am the chaplain. The nurse replies, “It’s 23 bed 1. He’s going and the family is asking for a priest.” Often in the hospital when we get lazy we treat beds or diseases instead of patients, and so people become reduced to “23 bed 1,” or “the hip in 4.” Now is not the time to be lazy. I ask the nurse for the patients name. The name is not familiar to me. His room is on a floor that I don’t normally visit. I ask the nurse if she knows how long it will be before the man dies. She says probably a half hour. I hang up the phone. My body is telling me to climb back in bed. Someone else is telling me to follow. I go into the bathroom next door and splash cold water on my face, brush my teeth and comb my hair. All the while I am thinking about the man upstairs about to die and the family that waits with him. The family wants a priest. What they are getting a first year seminary student who knows more about being a pharmacist than about being a priest. Will it matter, I wonder. As I get dressed and put on my badge I stop and look at it. It has my name in large friendly letters and underneath that is the word “Chaplain.” Well, at least someone thinks I’m a chaplain. I am completely at a loss. I have no idea what to say to these people. I don’t even know them. I don’t know their names. I don’t know their history. What can I possibly do to ease their pain. What can I possibly do for this man who is about to die. I am afraid. I open the door of my safe little suite and step out into the hallway. It is empty and the lights are dimmed. I have a walk of about a hundred yards to the main bank of elevators. As I walk down the hall toward the elevators, part of me wants to run the other way. But I know that right now I am all that those people upstairs have. And even though I know that I am not enough, I go. I go because I was called. As I walk down that hallway the fear bleeds out of me and I find a sort of calm. By the time I reach the elevator I still have no idea what to do, but now I know that “not knowing” is probably a good thing. I don't have to know what to do, because I am following. As the elevator doors close and I begin my ascent to the fourth floor I leave all my baggage behind. All my fear, my exhaustion, my need to do something; all of it stays in the basement as I rise. I don’t know what is ahead, but I know that the Spirit is waiting for me in that room because I was called to be there.

In the Gospel today we hear the call of the first apostles, Simon, Andrew, James and John. In this story it seems so simple. Jesus calls and says, “Follow me,” and they drop everything and follow. It is only by reading the whole Gospel that we begin to see the true picture, the whole picture. We see how truly difficult it is to leave everything behind, even when we are called. We see a call being lived out. We see disciples that are afraid of where there next meal will come from, and who bicker over who is the most important disciple. In short we see the whole of a life of faith.

Back when I was a pharmacist and I announced that I was going to leave pharmacy for the priesthood, many people told me, “It must be nice to know that you are called; to know what you should be doing.” It is a common belief that priests, like apostles, get a special call. A clear unambiguous call. Well...I am here to tell you it just ain’t so, at least not for me. The call to priesthood is no different really, than the call to nursing, or secretarial work, or banking, or computers, or any other occupation you could name. It is a call to serve God in a particular way. We are all called by God to serve in our own particular way if we would only listen. At different times throughout history, different jobs have had more or less honor in our society. All are honorable before God, or they can be.

In the Episcopal Church many confuse a desire to deepen their relationship with God as a call to ordination. When we do this we miss the fact that we were ordained for ministry at our Baptism and we renew and take on those vows for ourselves at our confirmation. We get confused or afraid or we forget, and we run to church to find God and we forget that God is waiting for us out in the world. Our God is incarnate in the people we meet and work with every day. These are the people that need us, even though we are not enough. And these are the people that we need. The people that will help us to live out our lives of faith. The people that will help us give meaning to the Gospel in our lives. The people that put flesh on the bones of our faith.

Today is annual meeting Sunday, the day we gather and rededicate ourselves to the calling we have received to be the body of Christ, the hands and feet of the living God in this world – in this city. There is good news to share and healing to give. “The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who lived in a land of deep darkness-- on them light has shined. Do you not hear the voice calling?

Our Lord is bidding us, “Follow me.”