In another one of those glorious coincidences of the lectionary, this morning’s readings all focus on the theme of vocation and God’s call to each one of us. I place the emphasis on God’s call to each one of us even as I reflect privately on where my own call has led me over my lifetime and will pray publicly in a short time what the vocation of priest asks me to do. I find it curious that most of the commentaries I normally use in reflecting on the texts from Jeremiah and Luke place the emphasis on the ordained person’s call and leave out the most important part of the equation, the call of the baptised. This morning, I’d like to bring the rest of you, God’s people, on board.
Both Jeremiah and Jesus have a pretty hard time of it at the beginnings of their ministry. Both experience unique calls from God. Since we have heard about Jesus’ call at the moment of his baptism, let’s look at that of Jeremiah, which is less well known. Paradoxically, it is the reading appointed for the ordination of persons to the diaconate.
Jeremiah’s ministry spanned the last decades of Judah as a sovereign nation. Jeremiah witnessed firsthand all the paranoia, scheming, plotting and denial of the truth that erupts when power is being dismembered. During his time as prophet, Jeremiah saw the rise and fall of four Judaean kings — the beloved, Camelot-like king, Josiah; Jehoiachin who was kidnapped by the Babylonians after three months of rule, Jehoiakim, his arch opponent and Zedekiah, the puppet king.
God called Jeremiah to be a prophet about 627 BCE, during a calm period in Judah’s history. Even though beloved Josiah was working to protect the country’s borders, rumours about the great menace from the north flew about, provoking great paranoia. Assyria was about to fall apart and be conquered by Babylon and all the kingdoms south of there were trying to figure out what would happen to them.
Being called to be a prophet during a period of such uncertainty surely was the worst thing that could happen to someone. Worse, to be appointed as the one who would pluck up and pull down, destroy and overthrow, build and plant, was a surefire way to meet up with the rulers’ anger. And yet that is what happened to Jeremiah and it was no mistake.
Like Moses, Jeremiah was not at all eager to become a prophet. From what we have just heard, he protests, claiming he is a boy and does not have the right words (as Moses also did claim). But God would not have it; nor could God’s call be avoided. God commanded Jeremiah not to speak of himself as a boy and not to be afraid of the powers he would confront. God would be with him, for God’s calling was not something spontaneous, but something set forth from the time Jeremiah was in his mother’s womb.
God makes no promises that life as God’s mouthpiece will be easy. God understands that speaking the truth in God’s name will bring down contempt and hatred on the prophet. Yet God promises Jeremiah that no matter what, ‘I am with you, to deliver you.’ With those words of promise, Jeremiah exhorts his people as God has called him to do.
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Whereas the first reading speaks of the moment of call, the gospel reading goes a little further in the story, telling what will happen once God’s chosen one will speak God’s words. Jesus has just proclaimed Isaiah’s prophetic words of societal reversal — words that greatly upset his listeners. Moreover, Jesus has refused to heal them, telling them he cannot do such things in his hometown. Whatever initial respect his listeners had for him has now melted and transformed itself into hatred — hatred so strong that they try to kill Jesus. Their challenge to Jesus’ powers is not the last: it will be echoed in the crowd’s taunt for him to come down from the cross and save himself. Rejection may be Jesus’ lot, but it never overcomes him — instead, God’s redeeming love overshadows everything.
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Maybe some of you are thinking that it’s fine by you if this prophetic call and rejection stuff land only in the lap of the ordained. Maybe it feels safer to cast all this strife and difficulty on those whom God has called to ordained ministry. But I don’t quite think that is what the ministry of the baptised is about. If we claim to share in Christ’s priesthood through baptism, then each one of us is called in a very particular way to do two things: in my friend Porter Taylor’s words, to talk to God and remind others that this is possible, and to pollinate that world with God’s spirit. I add in a two more things: to be witnesses to God’s outrageous justice and love and to be bearers of hope. Just as God never promised Jeremiah it would always be easy to do these things, neither do our baptismal vows. But we, like Jeremiah, have God’s words of promise: ‘I am with you, to deliver you.’
First, each one of us can remind those whom we meet in the course of the day that God is present and walking with us and to speak of God’s presence. Maybe it is to my colleague who is down because of family illness. Or to a friend who suffers from seasonal affect disorder, particularly acute at this time of year. Or to those with whom I disagree politically (even within the larger church!) but still love. All are occasions when we encounter God; all are occasions when we can remind ourselves and others of God’s presence in our midst. All are occasions when we can talk to God with the words of our lips or of our heart.
Each one of us can pollinate the world with God’s Spirit. Just as the sun sparkles on the frozen crystals formed by an early river’s mist or the granite-like snowflakes we saw last night, the Holy Spirit settles on each one of us at the break of day. Throughout the day, however we do it — in a word, a smile, a silent prayer, a thanks to God for the sheer miracle of living, we can cover our environment and those around us with God’s Spirit.
Pollinating the world with God’s Spirit also means we sometimes have to speak the hard truths, to say those things with which not everyone may agree. Being baptised is not a popularity contest; exemplifying God’s inclusive love sometimes means taking on the status quo. Those whites and blacks who walked hand-in-hand during the 1960s civil rights marches knew what that is about. Those who became buddies to people with AIDS in the 1980s knew what that is about. And even the school child today who stands up to those who are bullying another child know what that is about. The examples are many. Our call demands that clarity of us.
Lastly, each one of us has been called from the moment we were in our mother’s womb to bear witness to the God of hope. That hope lies in our faith in the resurrection. We are always dying; we are always rising. Each one of us is something that was cast down and being raised up, something that had become old that is being made new in Christ’s name. In that rebirth lies our hope, a hope we must share with others.
Having been on both sides of the desk, as it were, I think that living into one’s Christian vocation is a lot harder as a member of the baptised than as a member of the clergy. Clergy have built-in support — a title, a uniform with a universal signifier (the collar), and society’s permission to talk God-talk. The latter gift is perhaps the most critical. People expect me to talk about God, and bring God into conversation — they tell me to pray because ‘that’s what you’re supposed to do.’(They also want me to cover my ears if they say something bad but I tell them my ears have heard those words before.) It is less risky, I think, for me to do that than you. So the challenge for all the baptised lies in how to find one’s voice and be comfortable speaking about God even when doing so might be unexpected. Together we can take that challenge on.
Don’t be afraid to live into baptism. At the moment water was sprinkled on our head, and oil marked on our forehead, we heard God’s wonderful words: ‘Don’t be afraid — for I am always with you and will deliver you.’ Surely with that promise, we can do what God has called each one of us to do. We can be the prophets we already are.
[photo of the 10.00 HE congregation on Trinity Sunday 2006]
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