10/22/22
Rev. Richard Hogue
In a little while, Bishop Susan will examine you, Pete and Michael, outlining the order of
ministry on which you are embarking:
As a deacon in the Church, you are to study the Holy Scriptures, to seek nourishment from them, and to model your life upon them. You are to make Christ and his redemptive love known, by your word and example, to those among whom you live, and work, and worship. You are to interpret to the Church the needs, concerns, and hopes of the world. You are to assist the bishop and priests in public worship and in the ministration of God’s Word and Sacraments, and you are to carry out other duties assigned to you from time to time. At all times, your life and teaching are to show Christ’s people that in serving the helpless they are serving Christ himself.
“At all times, your life and teaching are to show Christ’s people that in serving the helpless they are serving Christ himself.” Now, I don’t care who you are, that’s a tall order. But you both have lived lives of service, and now that service will take a renewed form.
I’ll start at my beginning with each of you. Pete, the first time I saw you was one of my earliest Sundays at St. Andrew’s, Encinitas, if not my very first. You were speaking about the Franciscan way of life during the adult education hour between services. As a third order Franciscan, you clearly found joy in offering your spiritual gifts to the world, as a therapist, as a husband, and as a grandfather. I no longer remember all the words you used, but I distinctly remember you showing your tattoo of the cross as a symbol of your order, a literal imprint on your body of the calling to carry your cross. I was immediately captivated by your desire to showGod’s love in word and example. Already, the seeds of a diaconal ministry were apparent. Oh yeah, and your care of your grandson, Zeke, whose joyful scampers during church always gave me a hearty chortle, was also a symbol of your care for the present and the future. When you first approached me about a possible call to the diaconate, I remember the Spirit filling my heart with joy and excitement, feeling that this is exactly what and who you are, even if there was a lot of necessary discernment in community that had to take place to reach this place today.
Michael, we first met when I was assigned to you as your COM liaison. From the first conversation on, your quiet confidence, tempered with deep inquisitiveness, was obvious. I may not have known much else about you at first, but your willingness and openness in conversation exuded a spiritual gift of listening, which will make you an agile deacon, interpreting the needs of the world to the church. Your patience also spoke to a gracefulness of spirit, as your discernment journey took longer than any of us expected. Consistently in our conversations, you acknowledged your own internal desires to move forward more quickly than things were, but your deference to the time of the Spirit, or kairos time, was a sign of humility and servanthood all on its own. I loved a line that I’ve taken from your parish discernment committee report, revolving on your love for our liturgy: “Liturgy is an explosion of joy, a dynamic encounter with God!” Your love of being a verger, a sort of parade leader, for those who may not have heard the term before, is living proof of your desire to live the liturgy, not just perform it, and you did it with such great joy!
Each of you have a part of your call born in part out of conflict, be it the horrors of Vietnam, the splitting of congregations, or other circumstances in life. Rather than viewing those conflicts as sources of pain alone, both of you have the spiritual wherewithal to know that relying on God, rather than only human understanding, is the path amid pain and hurt. It is no wonder, upon reflection, that your lives took the forms of a therapist and a mediator. Redemption has been part of your approach to life because of the traumas of conflict, and your innate abilities to apply compassion instead of hubris to those parts of yourselves.
But now, you’re both moving to this new phase. You’ve had time to contemplate it, to pray about it, to speak with those who will be doing it with you, and yet all the preparation in the world will not be what makes you ready or able to do the work you are called to do. It is who you are innately, with all the ups-and-downs of the human experiences you’ve lived, that prepared both of you for this holy mission on which you are about to be sent.
You’ve both probably heard and turned over the idea of “ontological change” at this point. For those who may be unfamiliar with the term, it’s the idea that someone who is ordained substantively changes, that their entire being, upon having had the hands of the bishop laid upon them and through the power of the Holy Spirit, while you are still yourself, you also you are no longer the same. I personally rejected this idea for a long time, believing that ordination was an acknowledgement of what was always there, rather than any sort of transubstantiation of the core of one’s being. The longer I’ve been ordained, the more I re-interpret that sense of ontological change. Now, I do believe it, in this sense: that once you begin to live your ordained life, whether as a deacon or a priest, the orientation of life does change in real and meaningful ways.
“At all times, your life and teaching are to show Christ’s people that in serving the helpless they are serving Christ himself.” How can this not mark a distinctive change in course for how we comport ourselves, publicly and privately? Of course, we always are who we are, but there will be an additional layer of spiritual life you will now always have to consider as ordained ministers: you will be indelibly marked as a sign of the church as Christ’s body in the world. Yes, all Christians are to be that in some way, but from now on you will be easy to pick out in a crowd. Even when the clerical collar is off, whenever people ask what you do, the place of the church in your life will come into view. There is no part of you that won’t be seen through that lens from now on, in your family, in your work life, in your community, and in the public view. I think I feared that, and perhaps you might be too, but then again, this has always been who you are in another sense, right? Your servanthood has always set the two of you apart, now we’re seeing it in a new frame.
To quote the gospel: “A dispute also arose among them as to which one of them was to be regarded as the greatest. But he said to them, ‘The kings of the gentiles lord it over them, and those in authority over them are called benefactors. But not so with you; rather, the greatest among you must become like the youngest and the leader like one who serves. For who is greater, the one who is at the table or the one who serves? Is it not the one at the table? But I am among you as one who serves.’”
You have been among us as those who serve, even if it will be different now. Your gentleness has always been your power. All of us are here to affirm this with you, joyously, today. May this explosion of joy emanate from this day forward for you, spilling over like fountain. Thank you for the revelation of God’s love through you, and may it restore you on the difficult days. Your calling is a very tall order, but God has always been preparing you for it, and we are so honored to celebrate this truth with you. God has made you ready, and now we get to recognize it. Thank you, brothers, for the examples you’ve been. I’m thrilled to see what else God has in store for you, and the world, through your service. May many come to know God’s redemptive power through your lives and example!
Amen.
