When Paul first suggested that we, meaning you and I--the parishioners here at St. George's--share our faith stories from the pulpit on Sunday, my initial reaction was, "That's wonderful," but I was also thinking, "Not me. Who wants to hear about my faith story? Sometimes when I get nervous, I sound like Minnie Mouse, and who wants to hear that for goodness sakes. My faith journey is full of stumbles, fumbles, and mumbles. Frankly, it's real messy. We'll just let other people step forward and do that."
But as so often happens when I'm thinking, "Not me," another voice, definitely not my own, is saying, "Yes, you." Sometimes I wish that voice would clearly and succinctly say, "This is what I want you to do, how, and by when." It would be great if our individual and collective faith journeys were all tied up in a nice package. The good thing is, through Jesus, we know what waits. We know the ultimate end game. We just need to figure out all how best to get there, making the most of our lives, and what God is calling us to be and to do. Sound simple? Oh, I don't think so.
I have long known that God is part of my life. I have long explored what my faith, what my heart, what my soul, is calling me to be. I do that with great humility--the kind that has sometimes brought me to my knees. For you see, within that exploration is so much uncertainty, so much unknown, so much that I have to rely on trust and faith to reveal.
My faith journey at St. George's has been a mixed bag of service. For years I was involved with the youth. That wasn't easy. It was a time of frequent change over in youth ministers, and those of us volunteering had to pick up the pieces after they left. It was a time when some of our kids were dragging their parents through the comb backwards and then back out the other side. That does just a little bit more than mess up your hair. It was rough. It was tough. And it definitely was messy. But we couldn't and didn't give up, and we just kept right on going, trying to give our young people the foundation of support that they needed.
I once heard an elementary school principal talk about hope and want that means to our children. He said, "Listen to children without hope. You will not hear them talk about what the future could be. You will not hear them talk about what they are going to be when they grow up. You will not hear their possibilities. Our job as adults is to give them hope--that's our moral and ethical obligation."
So maybe, maybe, for some of the kids, St. George's and its wonderful, caring, giving people was their hope. I know it was for those of us parents going through some difficult times. It wasn't just the youth leaders who extended that hope. I still have visions of Will Gove who was a pied piper grandfather to many. He would be surrounded by kids during the coffee hour, and he always had time for each and every of them. Then there was Kenny Wales who intuitively knew when the going was a little tough for the parents. You would feel a tug on your sleeve, turn around, and Kenny was right there with a hug. And Marion Miller, her invitation to "come and play," meant so much to those young musicians.
The kids--those wonderful, grab the world and shake-it up kids--they've grown up. They are amazing young people. They have careers. They have families. They have futures that they have created. Some of them have returned to St. George's. Some are finding their own faith paths, and we may or may not see them here again. But regardless, thanks be to God for all they have become, and all they are. Thanks be to God for all the wonderful people at St. George's who never gave up.
I believe that faith service can transform you in unexpected ways. When we first started a Lay Eucharistic Visitor (LEV) ministry here, I went through the training, but then hesitated. Who was I to take the consecrated bread and wine from the altar, and take it to homes or apartments of our parishioners? I was scared. I'm an introvert, and the thought of visiting people I didn't know was more than a little intimidating. I was afraid to carry the consecrated bread and wine, as silly as that may sound. And I was worried that I would get it wrong, make a mistake.
Sometimes a spiritual nudge can come from someone who dares to share and reach out to someone else. For me, that person was Laura Harmon. I was moved when she shared how much communion and Lay Eucharistic Visits meant to her dying father, and how greatly he appreciated sharing communion brought to him by members of his parish. She called, and asked me to go on a visit with her. It would be the first for both of us. It was an extremely difficult visit. The person we were seeing was in crisis. We stayed for an hour, and shared communion and prayers. After leaving, Laura and I, both of us pretty shook up by the experience that we had just been through, hugged and cried.
You would think that I would have said, "Never again," after such an intense and moving experience. Not so. Something happened. First of all, it created what I can only call a spiritual thread connection, a bond of genuine compassion, empathy and affection, between Laura and I that remains to this day. This experience also made me realize that being a LEV is not about me. It is not about performing the small service perfectly. It is not about mixing up the prayers. It is not about our sometimes unique interpretations of the sermon message--it is definitely not about that. It's about bringing the body and blood of Christ from the St. George's community to those who can't be present with us. It is about being there, being fully present with someone else, sharing us--St. George's--with them. It is about the bonds that you share with your LEV partner and the person you are visiting.
Mary Phelp's invitation to all of us to start a pastoral care team, led me along a new path in my spiritual journey. I'm beginning to realize that most spiritual paths are not smooth, and can take you to the most unexpected of places. As a LEV, I was privileged to make a deeply personal connection with a person whom I came to love deeply. And she loved me. As her physical condition deteriorated, the LEV visits became pastoral care visits. This lovely woman recently died, days after she told me she was going to die, and our last visit was spent holding hands, praying, and crying. I am still working my way through this experience. I am still grieving and missing this woman. You'd think after this experience that I wouldn't want to continue as a member of the pastoral care team. Not so. My ministry in this area is not finished, and may never be. I don't know, and in this case, I'm OK with not knowing. I have to trust right now that this is what God wants me to be doing. To paraphrase a Garth Brooks song, if I had known that my special friend was going to die, would I have changed anything? Probably not, because I wouldn't have wanted to miss the dance. I wouldn't have wanted to miss knowing this special woman, miss sharing our friendship with each other.
I know what some of you are probably thinking. Let me reassure you, I don't cry all of the time, and it's OK if I come to visit you. Nothing is going to happen.
There is so much that I don't know. After years of leadership and volunteering at St. George's, I found myself distancing myself from this parish family. That detachment was more than three years in length, and honestly, I didn't know if I would be coming back, or even if I wanted to. And then one Sunday, I met our new deacon, Philip, for the first time. His sermon that day was about social justice, and social responsibility. He re-ignited a spark that morning. I, too, have long wanted to become involved in social justice issues, particularly since I see the effects of inequity every day in my professional life working in a public school district. I see the growing disparities between the have and the have-nots. Unfortunately, the ugliness of racism and classism is alive and well in my community. I have seen first-hand the effects of public policy that eliminates bus transportation to our low income housing apartments, or eliminates federal funding for community based programs that are designed to help the poorest of the poor. Social justice has always been a passion, and I'm looking forward to our continued exploration of Isaiah, a faith-based advocacy organization that Philip has talked to us about. I am profoundly interested in the Millennium Development Goals. And I am deeply disturbed by the discussions concerning inclusion, or should I say exclusion, currently taking place in the Episcopal and Anglican community.
I don't know if was turning 50 or becoming a grandmother, but this fall I took a huge step, or more like leapt off a cliff, and started the Master's of Public Affairs program at the Humphrey Institute. My classes are full of other adults like me, searching for the more than, the next step in their lives, and, you know what, they are just as confused as I am. When I grow up, I hope to work on social justice issues. But we'll see.
So, where is my faith journey taking me? I really don't know. That not knowing comes with so many dichotomies--trust and frustration, commitment and uncertainty, not knowing, but believing. Like many of you, I am worried about St. George's. I don't know where we will be or if we will be three to five years from now.
Recently, I finished reading a wonderful book called, Change the World: How Ordinary People Can Accomplish Extraordinary Results by Robert E. Quinn. Quinn uses the spiritual and philosophical teachings of Jesus, Gandhi, and the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr., whom he calls the sacred servants, to urge people to become transformational change agents, capable of changing themselves, their relationships with other people, and the organizations that they are part of. Transformational change is profound, deep, radical, and out-of-the-box. It requires letting go of control and having the courage to face the unknown.
Productive community is essential for transformational change. Productive community members are inner directed and other focused, which means that their motivation comes from deep within, their contributions exceed self-interests, and they make sacrifices in order to make things happen. Productive community members recognize the need for change; know who they are and their common purpose; have trusting and supportive relationships; allow for learning; and constantly evolve and grow. I truly believe that St. George's is a productive community. Right now, we are engaged in deep moral reflection, discernment and prayer, thinking about what is the right thing to do, involving others in our community in getting things done, and embodying a vision of the common good where all of our members, those with us today, those who need us to come to them, and those yet to enter through our doors, are committed to each other and a higher good--the higher good that we get from and through Jesus.
Figuring out what God, what Jesus, is calling St. George's to be is kind of scary. The journey that we are on together as a faith community is a little rough and rocky at times. And it definitely is messy. In today's Old Testament reading from Exodus, Moses receives his commission from God to bring the Israelites out of Egypt. Moses asks, "Who am I that I should go to Egypt and do this?" And God replies, as he does so often and is so many different ways, "I will be with you . . . ." What more could we possible want or need?