The Ordination of Mary Davis to the Priesthood

By the Rev. Bernard W. Poppe, Rector

I arise today Through a mighty strength: God's power to guide me, God's might to uphold me, God's eyes to watch over me; God's ear to hear me, God's word to give me speech, God's hand to guard me, God's way to lie before me, God's shield to shelter me, God's host to secure me. Amen.

Since Mary didn't choose St. Patrick's Breastplate for her processional hymn, (and that's not a criticism) I thought it fitting to open with a Celtic prayer. Christianity has more flavours than Coldstone Ice Cream, and two of the flavours that are important to Mary are from the Celtic tradition and from the community of Taizé in France.

Ordinations are joyous events, one in which we are all participants and all the givers and receivers of blessings. In the lesson from Isaiah the seraphs flew around and called to each other "Holy, Holy, Holy is the Lord of hosts. The whole earth is full of his glory." And on a day like today we who are all saints and angels in the heart of God call to each other, holy, holy holy is the lord of hosts, the whole earth is full of his glory." Joy is finding that God is the source of all that is good and sharing that with each other and praising God for that realization. We are here this day, joyful and praising God.

As the lesson continued and Isaiah heard the voice of God asking "Who will go for us and whom shall we send", he uttered those now famous words, "Here am I, send me." Do you think he had any idea what he was getting into? He rather got swept up in the moment and dove in, and even despite the brief fear that he wasn't worthy he said, "Here am I send me."

Since this is the season of Advent we'll read a lesson next week about another woman named Mary who was visited by an angel who had a question for her and asked if she would bear the Son of God and without hesitation she said, let it be as you have said. Do you think she had any idea what she was getting into?

In a little while after I finish the Bishop will have a few questions for you, Mary. Do you have any idea what you're getting into? I think not. None of us did, and speaking for myself, I wouldn't have it any other way.

The whole point of Advent expectation is being open to the leading of God and trusting in the love of God that calls us forward deeper into the mystery of grace and discovering how that grace is manifested in the world around us, in fact how the incarnation of God's love surrounds us.

I was delighted to see the image of a labyrinth on the bulletin this morning. For those unfamiliar with the labyrinth it is a diagram of a path representing our spiritual journey in life. Labyrinths are as ancient as most civilizations and have found a compatible home in Christianity. One of the earliest known Christian forms is in the Cathedral in Chartres in France. The tiles are worked into the floor into the labyrinth pattern similar to the one on the cover of the bulletin and pilgrims have been walking it for hundreds of years and continue to do so. We see more labyrinths around these days in recognition of their spiritual value. They are a symbol of the twists and turns in our lives, but unlike the mazes they resemble, these paths have no dead ends. It is a continuous line to the center representing union with God. The wisdom of the Labyrinth is that the pilgrim must then emerge from the center and return having been changed by the experience and returning to the world to proclaim to the others, holy, holy, holy is the lord of Hosts, heaven and earth are full of God's glory.

In the Cathedral of Chartres and in others places that have created labyrinths, it's not uncommon to see more than one person on the labyrinth walk. We enter at different times, go at different paces, pause in different spots, reach our goals at different times, gain our own insights and emerge to our own new callings. Each of us here is in a labyrinth of our lives, walking together at different paces and discovering different aspects of ourselves and God's grace. We each hear God's call differently as it is fitting to do so.

In the lesson to the Ephesians, Paul talks about the different the gifts of Christ -- "some would be apostle, some prophets, some evangelists, some pastors, some teachers. We are joined and knitted together. Growing and building up in love." We are the body and Christ is the head. Each of us has different calls, different tasks for which God has asked "whom shall we send," into education, health, law, business, social services, families, and so many others areas. And each of us has in one way or another said, "here am I send me."

Mary, God has called you to the ordained ministry as a priest. You discerned the call and heard the question, Who will go for us and whom shall we send. And you answered, here am I send me. The symbol of the labyrinth is a powerful one and yet originally, not a Christian one. It's been found in pre-Christian civilizations in the far East, Native America, early Rome to name a few, and now in the Christian community. Nancy Roth, a priest, writer and retreat leader wrote a book a few years ago called Christian yoga. She was interviewed by a fundamentalist radio talk show host in the mid west who didn't believe yoga had anything to do with Christianity. She told him that when Christians do yoga, it's Christian yoga. As in yoga whose roots are non-Christian, and in labyrinths, whose roots are non-Christian, as in the world which can be very non-Christian we bring Christ. We witness the love of God in Christ crucified, Christ resurrected and the spirit of Christ still in the world. Christians see Christ in the world and it informs how we negotiate the labyrinths we walk and interact with the various children of God on our way.

As a priest, you will stand at the altar and bless the bread and wine, taking ordinary elements and they will be changed into the body and blood of Christ. You will pronounce absolution and blessings. You will anoint the sick, visit the lonely and those in need, and you will take your place in the councils of the church. And you will do all this in the name of Jesus.

In the Gospel Jesus looks at the people with compassion and tells his disciples that the harvest is plentiful but the laborers are few. As a priest you will come into contact with many people who need to feel God's love and hear about Jesus. To be sure, you're not the only laborer in the fields, but you are the only one that has your particular gifts. God called you in order to bring those gifts to fulfillment and to reach those that only you can.

For those of you who don't know me I'm the rector of St. George's church in Maplewood where Mary did her field work for two years. One of the concepts I like seminarians to wrestle with is the understanding of the "Ontological change." It's a wonderful word and sounds so heady. It's a $50 word from seminary roughly referring to an inner change that goes to our very sense of identity and spiritual substance. It's hard to pin down it's meaning, but I think you can get a sense of it when I describe it in terms of Baptism or marriage. When a baby is baptized something spiritual happens and although the baby looks and sounds the same she is completely different. How many of you are married or have been joined in civil union? The sacramental moment changed something in you. You each entered the church one way and yet when you left, you were the same people and yet totally different. That's the ontological change. God's call to service changes us and how we respond to it changes us. We grow and become more of who God made us to be. For most of our lives we have a sense that we don't know where we're going, St. Paul in the letter to the Corinthians compared it to looking through a glass dimly. Part of the change is that we learn to trust God more, and though we don't always know where we're going, go freely, expectantly, open to the mysteries yet to be revealed.

The Rev. Bernie Poppe (in pulpit, top left) preaches at the
priesthood ordination of the Rev. Mary Davis (standing)
while the Rt. Rev. Mark Beckwith, Bishop of Newark looks on (right).

Mary, my sister, please stand. You are a kinetic person. You seem to be most comfortable in running shoes and no doubt you travelled a good distance of your labyrinth at a 5K pace, wrestling with ideas and challenges on the go. I suspect that even now you are restless, wound up like a clock about to strike. Turn around slowly. I want you to take a look at the people here. I want you to take some deep breaths, slow down and remember this moment. Your history is here, all the people who mean the most to you in the world are here. Even those who have died are here in the communion of Saints. Your present is here in that your ministry is among many of the good people here. Your future is here in the spirit of God that will lead you your whole life long. God made you kinetic to move among the people of God and spread His word and sacraments. You are a harvester, and there is much to harvest. I asked you earlier if you knew what you were getting into. Maybe a little, but not a lot. But like Isaiah and the other Mary and so many others who laboured in the fields and those that still do, we've gotten into the love and service of God. We don't know where that will take us or what will be asked of us as time goes on, but what we can always be certain of is that God is with us, gently guiding us along the turns, mmm, sometimes not so gently, but always in a way that inspires us to tell those whom we meet along the way, Holy, Holy, Holy is the Lord of hosts. The whole earth is full of God's glory."

Let us pray using the words of Br. Roger from the Taizé community:

Jesus, joy of our hearts, you send your Holy Spirit upon us. He comes to reawaken trust within us. Through Him, we realize that the simple desire for God brings our soul back to life. (Br. Roger, Taizé)

©2010 St. George's Episcopal Church, Maplewood, NJ

Hope

By The Rev. Bernard W. Poppe, Rector

Advent is that season of quiet waiting. A time of giving voice to long held hopes and desires. The lessons of the four weeks of Advent can be looked at as a unit, a series that has some movement.

Last week the lesson were vague in their sense of hope in the future, in broad terms, the message was simply "Wait." This week's lessons refine that message a bit and point to the hope in the arrival of an individual. Next week the hope is more specifically placed in God and the fourth week is the culmination of those hopes in the God made manifest in human form.

The lesson from Isaiah refers to a shoot coming from the stump of Jesse. It's a poetic way of stating a hope that the monarchy of Israel would be restored. Most everyone has heard of King David. From our earliest church school days we heard stories about David and Goliath - the young man who single-handedly slew the great giant and saved his country. It's a story as cherished now as it was when it was first spoken. Later David becomes King and establishes a long line of kings. David's father's name was Jesse. And although Jesse was a simple man of humble birth, the line of Kings in Israel is sometimes referred to by his name -- the House of Jesse.

One of the images of Kings is a mighty tree, but in the case of Israel several hundred years after David lived, the line was broken by a foreign invasion. The last King of Israel was captured, tortured and marched in chains through the town in front of his subjects. One of the legacies of that humiliation was the enduring hatred Israel developed for its enemies and the distrust of neighboring countries.

Yet even in disgrace, humiliation and occupation, Isaiah wrote of a hope that the line of Jesse would somehow be re-established. That a shoot would grow out of the stump of the mighty tree that had been cut down.

Medieval times echoed this kind of hope in the emergence of the legends of King Arthur. The people waited in hope for the one who would pull the sword from the stone. And even after that legend ran its cycle, hope of a king like Arthur lived on.

Part of the waiting for any king under painful circumstances is that the expectations get bigger and bigger. Isaiah rhapsodizes over the future king. He describes how God would endow him with wisdom and understanding, knowledge and faith. He would rule with great righteousness and courage. Peace would be brought at last and a just society would be established -- even the animals would get along peacefully.

This hope is echoed in the psalm from this morning also. "He shall defend the needy among the people, he shall rescue the poor and crush the oppressor. He shall live as long as the sun and moon endure...." The hope of the people for such a king stands in equal proportion to the despair they felt for the circumstances in which they lived.

It's beautiful poetry and in the case of the psalms, music was composed to accompany it and it became their souls' songs. But there was a built in problem with these hopes as they were expressed. As Isaiah wrote, " He shall judge...; he shall strike the Earth with the rod of his mouth; righteousness shall be his belt; the breath of his lips shall kill the wicked...." A dynamic was being created that the individual alone would do all these things. The expectation places all the work on the shoulders of the new king and the people would watch and be vindicated for their endured suffering. They would be taken care of.

Yesterday I accompanied several of the members of our healing study group to a quiet day in Manhattan led by Brother Andrew, a monk from the Order of the Holy Cross. I got to know Brother Andrew on my sabbatical while he was in the monastery in Grahamstown, South Africa. Sometime last year he left South Africa and returned to the mother house in West Park, New York to assume new duties as the novice master. He also gets invited to lead retreats and quiet days. When I discovered that he would be leading one so close, I asked the group that usually meets on Saturday mornings if they wanted to go. It was a wonderful day of addresses and meditations on the psalms used in this season of Advent. He discussed a lot about the nature of song and its importance to people in expressing their soul. We've heard the term "soul music" before but even that term gets glossed over and speaks of rhythms rather than the true depth of soul stirring it does.

When the soul is in its deepest pain or joy or fear or hope, music arises and when it's expressed it touches the soul of another with resonances that go far beyond the words. Instrumentalists feel this as much as vocalists and audiences respond through applause, because a response is called for. One of the unfortunate traditions of the Episcopal Church is not to applaud after a piece of music. The rationale for that is that music is prayer, not performance. But I think applause is a natural outpouring of the soul's response to having been stirred -- and perhaps shaken. In truth, silence can be an eloquent response allowing the music to drift heavenward on our behalf, but sometimes you just have to clap or shout amen.

Brother Andrew told of the role of the psalms in the life of the Israelites as an oppressed people and compared it to the traditional music of the black South Africans during Apartheid. It voiced the hope that change would come, that freedom would come, that God would come and heal the pain of cruel bondage. As he was talking I thought a similar case could be made for the music of the Negro spirituals sung during American slavery. Music kept the soul glowing the flames of hope.

The Israelites were in bondage and occupation for many generations -- Assyrians, Babylonians, Greeks and Romans. As one empire rose and fell to the next, they watched their hopes of freedom rise and fall, but never lost the sense of promise that one day a King would arise and establish God's promised land again. And each generation the hope got bigger and bigger.

It's into this terrain that John the Baptist appeared. He shouted that the time was near and that the long waiting was about to end. He told them to prepare and get ready. He told them to repent, to turn and start to live with integrity and righteousness. John's words planted a new thought into an old idea. The king will bring leadership and the people will help. In order to help they needed to prepare themselves. It's the difference between watching the race and getting in it. Watching the work be done, or rolling up the sleeves and pitching in.

Jesus came to build the kingdom of God, but not by himself. He came to preach the Good News, but not by himself. He prepared his disciples to continue his work, not sit back and watch him do it. This Saturday, Mary Davis will be ordained a priest, and like so many before her, myself included, she's chosen a lesson from Isaiah which ends with the prophet hearing God's question, "Who will go for us, and whom shall we send." The prophet responds, "Here am I send me."

The Israelites were tired from their captivity and years of occupation. They wanted the shoot of Jesse to fix the world for them so they could rest. It's tempting to let our fatigue or frustration take us out of the race. But God's call is not to fall away, but prepare by taking care of ourselves and each other so that we can stay in it.

Advent is that season of waiting for the coming of God to in our lives each day. Establishing justice through our justice, and righteousness through our righteousness. Establishing love through our love. Not on our behalf, but through us. When we sing, we sing our soul's hopes and fears, frustrations and joys. We sing of God's grace in our lives that strengthens us and supports us. Each day is a new beginning and a new hope. Each day brings a new discovery of how God will use us to establish the world we so deeply need and desire. Amen.

©2010 St. George's Episcopal Church, Maplewood, NJ