The ordination of Maureen O'Connor to the transitional diaconate.
Y’all
ready for this?
If I’m lucky,
that question triggered a beat in every child of the ‘90s – and most of the
sports fans – in the room. It’s a
driving beat, the kind that sends teams out onto the field leaping and
high-fiving, a beat that rings with anticipation.
Music that stirs
us up, the kind that should be throbbing in our bones when we hear the songs of
Mary and Hannah: songs about God’s action in the world that overturn every bit
of the known order of things, confident and hopeful and full of anticipation.
A sense of WOW, even
in moments of great uncertainty.
The Lord kills and makes alive….they sing
lifts up the poor from the garbage heap
The hungry are full and
satisfied,
the rich evicted, begging
for bread…
The arrogant knocked down, the humble
lifted high.
The weapons of the mighty are crushed, the
weak become strong.
God’s promises made good, God’s victory
won!
These
proclamations would be perfectly at home as rap lyrics, at least for someone
with a gift of rhyme and rhythm, which I don’t claim.
The song says
the underdogs are taking the field, but they’ve already won, so now anything can happen.
Really, anything.
But the one
thing for sure is that it won’t be the way it’s always been.
And that should
stir us up.
Y’all
ready for this?
Because stirring
us up is exactly what we’re doing tonight: making a deacon, ordaining Mo,
and in the
process, paying attention to God’s insistent commitment to cast down, raise up,
make new, and generally upset whatever order we get comfortable with, in order
to tumble us into the Kingdom of God.
Into promises
fulfilled in ways we couldn’t dream, where the impossible is normal, and joy
comes from things we used to fear.
Into a world
where, over and over, our internal monologue runs:
Oh, hey,
-- what?? – no, wait!
oh…WOW!
Which is,
essentially, what my reaction to Mo’s ministry initiatives has been for the
last 3 or 4 years, come to think of it.
We’re not ready for this,
but we’re called
to hope for it, and to work to bring it about.
Mary’s song, and
Hannah’s song – their lyrical, hard-driving prayer and proclamation – show us
the world we are called to make real, with God.
A world where
the security of hoarding resources for ourselves is upended, but every hungry
person is fed, and full, and satisfied.
Where every
bully and enforcer is disarmed, and every fear washed away in God’s active
support.
Where no one – no one – can feel themselves to be
worthless, or alone,
or untouchable and secure.
In many ways,
this is what the church asks deacons to do, describing a particular call to
serve those who are helpless, poor, weak, sick or lonely; to bring the needs,
concerns, and hope of the world smack into the middle of the Church’s comfort
zone.
These are gifts
Mo has in abundance, gifts likely to thrive in this transitional period of her
ministry, gifts that will inevitably be part of her priesthood, too, but this
is never just the responsibility of the ordained.
We ordain
people, in the church, to enable this Kingdom ministry in all of us, inside -- and
especially outside -- the church’s walls.
So I’m glad that
we happen to be doing this on the Feast of the Visitation, when Mary’s song and
Hannah’s song remind us all so vividly of God’s dream for the world and for us.
It may seem odd
to have a church holiday to commemorate a family visit of one pregnant cousin
to another, but it’s appropriate to what we’re doing today, a celebration of
liminal time.
Now, I’ll admit
that my own fondness for the word “liminal” and its meaning are probably a
symptom of having spent too much time as a church professional, but that time
of in-between-ness, of threshold-ness, happens to all of us, even if we don’t
call it that.
It happens
between childhood and adulthood, (over and over!)
Between graduation
… and recognizing that we’re suddenly in the middle of our careers.
Between the
“come in to discuss your test results” call, and treatment.
Between jobs,
between homes, between starting to need reading glasses and getting them….
And Mary, in
that “liminal” place of an unexpected pregnancy, does what we all need to do in
those times: seeks out a companion in that threshold place, another woman
having the same strange anticipatory experience that she’s having, of carrying
the God-touched, carrying potential for the world to change.
And in that
encounter, as the women reach out to meet each other in the awkward in-between,
God leaps for joy inside them, and the elation and wonder of answered prayer
spills out of Mary, in a song we remember today.
Today is all
about answered prayer.
The church
holiday reminds us of God’s response to the prayers of generations of God’s
people: God born human, to change and make holy our gritty, ordinary human
lives, to transform death and life forever. Answered prayer for these two
women, given children – in ways they would not have prayed for if they’d
thought about it – and who are now filled with holiness in ways that will never
leave them.
It’s about answered
prayer in the work of ordaining this particular woman, marking out particular
ministry for the church and the world.
At Calvary,
after all, we’ve been praying for Mo – for healing and success and daily
survival, for her family, for the flowering and flourishing of this call that
the church sets a seal on today – praying with word and action for decades – so
much that a week ago she stood here and gave us credit for this day.
And today is
about God’s prayers answered, too:
when Mary and
Elizabeth say yes to the work of carrying and birthing and nurturing those unique
and uncomfortable children,
when Mo says yes
to the questions that call and bind her into this particular work the church
calls ordained ministry,
when any of us,
all of us, say yes to God’s dream of a world where hunger and power are
overturned for abundance and trust.
And it’s about
the way our prayers for salvation and healing and hope and change are answered –
again and again, over the centuries – by the appearance of women – and men –
who stir us up, make us restless and ready to respond, to act, when God’s dream
invites us in.
So, Mo, tonight is
indeed answered prayer, yours and ours and God’s, and we respond with you, rejoicing
that – called to be God’s priest – you are now made deacon, and working in that
threshold space.
As you live into
this calling, now and for months and years to come, seek out others in liminal
space, on the thresholds of hope and despair, sickness and health, sorrow and
joy, action or resistance. Seek them out, because you are called to be, and to
have, companions in this liminal work and life of change and anticipation, and
God rejoices in that.
As you answer
God’s prayer, and God answers yours, be gentle with the church when we’re not
ready for the disorienting abundance of God’s Kingdom,
and sometimes,
not ready for you.
But in that
gentleness, never let go of your gift and call to stir us up by your life and
work.
Be inspired, and
help us be inspired, over and over again, by the WOW, the disorienting,
glorious Wow that God makes in the world with you, and invites us into – drives us into – tonight, and always.
Y’all ready for
this?
Let’s
do it!
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