CHI ORDINATION SERMON | SPRING 2007
When Muhammad climbed the mountain near his home in Mecca to pray, he
expected some quiet time alone with his soul and his God. What he got
was much more than he bargained for, and if he had known what was
coming, my guess is he would have stayed home.
An unseen hand gripped his chest as if he were no bigger than a gerbil,
and squeezed. As Muhammad writhed in agony, a voice filled his ears.
“Recite!’ it commanded.
“But I don’t know how to read!” Muhammad protested.
“Recite!” the voice repeated.
“But I’m a nobody!” Muhammad insisted.
“Recite!”
“But who will listen to me?”
“Recite!”
When the terrifying experience was over, Muhammad stumbled down the
mountain, got into bed with his wife, and cowered under the covers
while she tried to comfort him. It took him days to recover, and when
he finally got up the nerve to tell someone besides his wife about it,
he told his brother-in-law, who was a Christian. His brother-in-law
said simply, “Maybe it was God.”
“What should I do?” Asked Muhammad.
“Well, if I were you,” his brother-in-law replied, “I’d recite.”
This story has parallels in the sacred literature of many traditions.
In the Jewish scriptures, we read the story of Isaiah, who found
himself in the splendor of the heavenly court. His immediate reaction,
upon figuring out where he was and what was going on, was to fall flat
on his face and tremble. “I’m not worthy!” he cries,
“I am a man of unclean lips!” So what does God do? He
cleans his lips. A napkin would have done the job, but in the heavenly
court, apparently, flaming coals are used. Don’t try this at home.
Once Isaiah’s mouth is cleansed, the Voice of God thunders out,
“Whom shall I send? Who will go for us?” And even though he
knows he has a potty mouth, Isaiah pipes right up. “Here am I,
send me!” he says.
This story appears again and again in the world’s scriptures
because it is something that happens a lot—especially those who
are called to some sort of professional ministry. I’m sure each
of our candidates for ordination—and any of you who have been
ordained—have your own version of this story to tell. You may not
have been squeezed like a gerbil or had your teeth brushed with coals,
but you know the kind of pressure the Spirit can apply when the call is
given and we have not responded. And you also know the protests:
“I’m too old; I’m too young; I’m too poor,
I’m too busy, I’m too scared, I’m not smart enough,
I’m not good enough, I’m not talented enough,” blah
blah blah. Not one of these excuses is going to do any good, and you
know it. “I am a man of unclean lips” didn’t get
Isaiah anywhere, and neither will our protests, sincere as they may be.
The reason for this is simple: the Divine never called any perfect
people. Because there aren’t any perfect people. The Divine only
ever calls flawed, wounded, limited, scared, imperfect people, because
that’s the only kind there are. So those of you who have doubted
the call of your loved ones because you know what they’re REALLY
like when they get up on the wrong side of the bed some mornings,
remember that Jesus said, “No prophet is accepted in his own home
town.” Those who really knew Jesus rejected his call, too.
But I invite you to rise above your doubts, and support those people
you love who have heard the Spirit’s call. They are going to need
you. They are going to have hard days when they doubt their own call,
when they are going to say, “what the hell am I doing this
for?” when they need a gentle reminder that they did not choose
to do this, but were chosen by a Higher Power to bring healing into a
wounded world.
A wise counselor once told a friend of mine, “Never go into the
ministry unless you can’t do anything else.” He
wasn’t talking about not having any native talents for anything
else, but about the relentless squeezing Mohammad felt, that insistent
whisper that will not let us go until we relent. For we do not say
“yes” to the Spirit because we want to be rich, or because
we want to be powerful or influential, because we will have none of
those things.
We say “yes” to the Spirit because there is suffering in
the world, and we want to bring a small part of the healing we have
experienced to it; because there is war in the world, and we want to
inspire peace; because there is dis-ease in the world, and we want to
provide occasions for rest; because there is hunger and poverty in the
world, and we want to give a small part of the abundance that we have
been given to someone else.
And not just to people who “deserve it,” not just to those
we approve of, not just to those who agree with us, not just to those
of our tribe, or nation, or faith, or political party. People come to
ChI to learn how to bring healing and peace and sustenance to all
peoples, regardless of who they are, what they’ve done, who they
love, what they believe, or what they don’t believe.
And we do it not because we’re perfect, but because we’re
flawed; not because we’re healthy, but because we’re
healing; not because we’ve arrived, but because we’re on
the journey; not because we’re great, but because we know the
pain of being small; not because we chose this for ourselves, but
because we were chosen, despite our protests, our flaws, our
insecurities, and every vestige of common sense.
Karen, Pandora, and Vicky Joy are here today not because of something
they hope to gain, but because of something they were willing to
surrender. Because the Spirit said, “Who will go for us?”
And they, in all their weakness, had the courage to let go of their
excuses; had the courage stand tall in the Divine presence; and had the
courage to answer, “Here am I. Send me.”